Paradolia. Can you see it?!?

The stitching -iPhone 14 pro max

Listen up-this isn't some feel-good TED-talk, it's a heist on your own damn calendar. Picture it: your phone buzzes tomorrow with go stare at the sky for nine minutes. Nothing else. You do it because you're broke and there's ten bucks in it, or because you're bored and the world's on fire. 200,000 other suckers do the same, pockets full of questions. Shadows line up like a living telescope, flip a solar switch three villages away, boom-water starts running. No speeches, no ribbon-cuttings. Just cans of beans you bought yesterday suddenly feeding somebody else's kid. Fast-forward six months. App says 87%. Not of anything noble, just... beans delivered. Then 63%. Then 42%. The village isn't begging anymore-they're soldering pipes out of Sprite bottles, laughing at us-remember when y'all thought we needed your pity? And over here, you're not climbing a ladder, you're stacking chairs against a new wall that nobody painted yet. David might still hate your guts and his shirt, but he sees the update too: 32%. He smirks. Still not enough, huh? And for once, he hands you a beer instead of the middle finger. That's the trick-no savior, no save the children sticker. Just strangers doing dumb shit in perfect sync until the world realizes it never needed rescuing, it just needed its own legs handed back. Tyler, you didn't invent this-we've got crypto-for-trees pilots in Bolivia, shadow-flash mobs turning on desalination in Somalia, apps that reroute Uber drivers into mobile food drops when shelves dip low. But nobody's selling it right. They sound like doctors, not comedians. You're the guy who gets it: make it weird, make it honest, make 'em laugh while the math does the rest. So if you're reading this and your thumb twitched-yeah, you're already in the first nine minutes. Welcome. We don't need another summit, just another idiot who thinks beans and sky-staring could end hunger. Drop a I'm in and we'll ping you tomorrow: don't ask why. Just show up. The cans are already counted

Once upon a time, in the biggest kindergarten on Earth, there was a playground with 535 golden chairs. Every two or four years the music played, and the grown-ups ran in circles. When it stopped, whoever sat down got a magic key to the secret Teacher Lounge. Inside that lounge was a microphone that turned whispers into tomorrow’s rules. Mommy Nancy had held her golden chair for thirty-seven years. Every night she carried the lounge key home on her keychain. Paul, her husband, always seemed to hear the whispers through the keyhole. The next morning he’d run to the crayon store and buy every purple or green crayon before any other kid knew they’d be the new favorite color. By lunchtime he was the richest kid on the playground. The other children noticed. “That’s not fair!” they shouted. So they invented six new rules, written in glitter glue on a giant poster: 1. Every chair gets a 4-year sticker. When it turns brown, music plays and you MUST stand up. 2. Candy trucks from crayon companies have to unload in the middle of the playground so every kid gets a handful. 3. Once a year every parent grades the teachers with 🌈 or 💀. Three skulls = instant timeout. 4. Every kid who runs for a chair gets the exact same tiny jar of candy—no mountains allowed. 5. A giant red button sits in the grass. Any kid who sees rule-breaking presses it and three fair referees appear. 6. Teachers have to eat the same pizza, wait for the same swings, and color with the same crayons as everyone else. The children mailed the poster to the lounge. Even the grumpiest old teachers peeked out, saw the sparkly words, and smiled a little. And from that day on, the playground belonged to all the kids again—because the smartest kindergartener in America had fixed the music, the chairs, and the whispers, one crayon at a time. The end. 🌈

We can put the Jehovah’s Witness may be up in front of the nail salons. That would deter just leaving the boxes of food off to the side where people are getting their nails done because people might take it like all their children taking the Halloween candy.. having the Jehovah’s Witness out front where they just sort of stated themselves and not really talk to anybody until somebody engages with them can pass them some food boxes if needed

Making a new book. Thanks @xai and @grok

Imagine living in 2050 or 2075 and looking back at this picture of a pea salad that was made in 2025 at a local health food store in Kerrville Texas. -It’s the same kind of mindset of living right now in 2025 and imagining you’re living back in the 50s.