A writer recounts his

Through a tale of secret archives, historic censorship, and modern digital access, the post chronicles how philosophy has been suppressed across ages but ultimately revived by widespread sharing of knowledge, enabling ordinary people to freely ask questions again.

The post opens by noting that “school” can feel like two sides of the same coin—one side full of books, the other of friends—and then recounts four personal “starts”: a history‑like book about Mars and deacons, a humorous linguistics/science read, a computer class where the author was accused of cheating (but didn’t cheat), and finally arcade gaming that inspired a love for pixel art. From there it shifts to a programming launchpad: it explains how functions, objects, and state machines in React/Redux or Svelte can be re‑written by AI into elegant code, and gives a simple starter example. The author then proposes building a team at the library to “rebuild your school” with self‑directed, self‑paced programming projects, culminating in a company that uses AI‑based, roguelike learning modules. Finally it lists a set of personal metrics—knowledge, creativity, critical thinking, resilience, adaptability, philosophy, endurance, strength, resistance, humanity, leadership, communication and self‑reflection—to help track progress, before concluding with links to sample code on GitHub, Gist and the local file system.

The author reflects on the moment when they finally decide to “make the turn” toward work and self‑renewal—an act that feels like a journey through familiar roads, mountains, oceans, and highways, yet always returning to their own heart. They describe how stepping out of routine, feeling the fear as proof of life, and letting small beginnings grow into rich experiences can lead one to walk until reading comes back, listen for wisdom, and keep Mondays beautiful again. The piece urges readers to keep the flame of purpose alive, to ignore fleeting doubts, to adjust their course when needed, and to share images and feelings so that others may follow. In doing so, they become adventurers and trail guides who help others fight doubt, inherit the culture of great writers, scientists, artists, and philosophers, and eventually transform into guardians of a broader human culture—creating wisdom, fitness, writing, painting, teaching, and loving Mondays as a symbol of continuity.

After successive generations have steadily thinned out true schooling—from reading real books to rigid, compartmentalized curricula—the post calls today’s learners to demand authentic, interconnected education that will prevent the ecological and intellectual collapse symbolized by Easter Island’s last falling tree.

Kids return from school exhausted, overwhelmed by homework that feels meaningless, and the post argues that our current education system—rooted in industrial‑era factory training—is still in place because it works to churn out predictable economic units rather than true learners. It describes how children are taught to accept information without questioning its source or purpose, to compete instead of collaborate, to seek external validation instead of internal wisdom, and to consume pre‑packaged answers rather than generate original questions; as a result they lose the neural pathways for empathy and deep conversation. The author urges mothers to trust their instincts, validate their children’s authentic interests, and give them permission to think independently—so that kids can learn for real and become happy, healthy, successful humans rather than just compliant workers.

The author reflects on how mastering English—its letters, words, sentences, and punctuation—is a foundational “genius” that proves we are human—and then expands this idea to other ways of growing the mind. He argues that travel, adventure books, and the experience of living in different continents can broaden one’s perspective just as language does. In parallel, he describes programming as both a mental gymnastics exercise and a kind of board game that deepens understanding through state machines and fractal-like structures. Together, these activities—language learning, exploration, and coding—form a trio of paths that deepen intellect, culture, and imagination.

In this manifesto, the author declares that education will abandon rigid grade levels and subject compartments, instead arranging learning by content and curiosity; every student becomes fluent in programming as a universal language of exploration, enabling them to simulate cells, physics, history, and poetry alike. Four pillars support this new model: philosophy provides foundational thought, the study of intellectuals and wars offers dynamic simulations of ideas and conflict, and AI‑guided self‑direction turns learners into directors of their own curriculum. By blending disciplines—simulating photosynthesis then music, economics then literature—the system turns learning into play, mastery into joy, and prepares graduates to think algorithmically, see through propaganda, and lead with intellectual courage. The result is a liberated mind capable of creating new problems, preventing wars, and shaping the future.

The proposed “Cognitive Liberty Monitoring System” is a real‑time dashboard that tracks how modern education turns children into soldiers of ideology rather than independent thinkers. It measures five key indices—conflict preparation, thought standardization, economic desperation, religious indoctrination, and manufactured ignorance—and then maps those patterns onto population sorting algorithms, protest‑manufacturing centers, and early war‑probability signals. The system asks parents simple questions about their child’s schooling (questioning authority, independent thinking, cultural understanding) and flags warning signs of a “war‑ready” generation. By exposing the invisible machinery that molds minds into predetermined roles, the dashboard aims to give families the visibility they need to reclaim free thought before it is fully absorbed by state, church, or market forces.

In this impassioned monologue the author urges every reader to reclaim their own education from institutional hands, urging them to turn homes into libraries and kitchens into laboratories of thought, record great works for future generations, and seek the quiet clarity of nature to spark independent thinking; he claims that true learning springs from personal responsibility, free voices, and authentic curiosity rather than conformity, and calls on each individual to act now—open a book, record a voice, embark on a journey into the wild—to revive the untamed spirit of human thought.

Tacitus writes in 110 CE to posterity that Rome’s turn of philosophy into power—illustrated by Constantine’s reign—led to its decline and urges future generations to learn from his lamented mistake.

People often lie to make themselves seem more important or less bumptious, and dangerous myths are spread by foolish men; reality is simple: you can’t create energy from nothing but from food, so if you eat well you don’t need protein supplements, and if you’re always tired it’s because you haven’t slept enough. To build muscle the rule is to lift light enough that you can still increase weight, but not so light that you could lift more, and never so heavy that you must stop; many gym‑goers overdo this and then sit for long rests, which does nothing for muscle growth—lifting for ten seconds followed by three minutes of rest is a lie spread by “fat dads.” Instead, lower the weight to allow a few minutes of lifting, then let the rest periods shrink gradually with an interval timer while keeping the load light but challenging; once you can lift comfortably for about an hour, start adding 2.5‑lb increments and slowly introduce heavier dumbbells. Because full‑body flexing makes you sweat, it’s important to work out in a cool environment—start by jogging with dumbbells—and use fresh music each week to keep focus; dancing to Latin or Appalachian tunes can make a three‑hour workout feel like minutes. Jogging endurance, good food and music are the reliable sources of energy for building muscle over months (or years if you want huge gains) without stretching your skin; just remember: stay in the keyhole—lift light but not too light—and never stop or sit after lifting heavy.

A long essay arguing that invented myths like Plato’s Noble Lie and later religions replace true questioning with engineered order, thereby collapsing civilizations by turning belief into an instrument of control rather than genuine truth.

The post presents two long poems that trace humanity’s arc from its humble beginnings through technological triumphs and subsequent hubris to a rebirth of “wisdom” that lifts the human spirit back into harmony with itself. The first poem celebrates man’s creative strides—iron chariots, cities, songs—while noting his self‑made calamities that leave only the seed of wisdom unbroken. The second poem casts this newfound wisdom as a guiding light that carries humanity beyond Earth, inspiring patient, collective voyages to the stars and a future where we settle the Milky Way with care rather than conquest. An afterword explains these verses: the first poem marks our rise and fall; the second envisions a future shaped by that same wisdom, showing how, if we bring our best selves aboard, high‑tech inventions become instruments of understanding as much as of travel.

The author argues that modern schooling has become a cycle of memorisation and competition, stunting students’ consciousness and creativity; he calls for an authentic, self‑directed education that balances the old curriculum with new AI tools, so children can truly understand concepts rather than regurgitate facts. He stresses that parents should remind their kids to comprehend each day, and that educators must recognise the value of creative thinking in standardized tests. The post links this renewed learning style to a broader cultural shift away from “dog‑eating” competition toward collaborative growth, using stories and science popularisation as bridges between myth and evidence. In short, it urges an education reform that empowers young minds with AI, imagination, and narrative to bring back the lost spirit of learning.

The RCVS Manifesto urges a return to clear, component‑based HTML and modern CSS—so that code reads like a story, is instantly graspable by beginners (especially teens), and fosters modularity, collaboration, and long‑term web sustainability.

I began by recalling my early lessons on the color wheel—how the ROYGBIV sequence and its opposite pairs form useful triads and tetrads—and then shifted to oil‑paint techniques that art masters used: creating a neutral base of black or white (or dark/light browns) before glazing in hue. From there I moved into software design, where I’m building UI palettes for my new project with AI as a helper; I’ve experimented with Bootstrap’s contextual classes and the Solarized theme to see how background and foreground colors interact, especially in terminal schemes like those found on iTerm2. In practice I settled on simple dark‑to‑light gradients that I can tweak with “night,” “lighting bug,” or “terminator‑vision” transformations—each adding a subtle shift of hue or intensity—to satisfy different states (warning red, success green, etc.). The result is that a clean gradient plus small adjustments gives coherent, visually pleasing palettes for both light and dark modes.

JavaScript is chosen for its ubiquity across server, web pages, browser add‑ons, desktop apps, and mobile. The post describes AI as an equalizer giving developers the strength of many, urges building a small programming company with a clever library to boost strategy, and stresses fixing common problems first while preparing for bureaucracy. It promotes visual programming languages that extract and transform data into a canvas, enabling filtering, unit‑time transformation, or tabular reduction; ensuring nodes represent human input/output so a checkbox can trigger automated AI processes. User interfaces become simple questions thanks to chat‑powered transformations, and packets of data route through these visual tools. With AI guiding each step and time’s advantage, you learn on your own pace, following curiosity rather than standardized education, eventually growing into a great being.

A poetic exhortation urging readers to rise above mediocrity by embracing learning, partnership, and adventurous exploration as the path to elevate humanity toward cosmic greatness.

The post celebrates the influence of UFO lore on human imagination—showing how sightings have shaped religions, myths, and collective wonder—and then argues that this curiosity is now ready to be redirected toward real scientific exploration of the cosmos; it highlights recent astronomical discoveries (from Jupiter storms to newly found Uranian moons), stresses that science deepens rather than diminishes mystery, and invites humanity to embrace collaborative research as the true path to understanding our universe’s vastness and potential life beyond Earth.

The author reflects on how creating truly innovative software is often easier than it appears, because many developers independently reinvent common ideas. They recount their own journey: after struggling with nesting and color design in CSS/SCSS they built an original framework—building on lessons from Bootstrap—that uses a grid‑based color system, gradients, and transformers to keep text readable against backgrounds while simulating shadows. Their projects “blueberries” and “epidermis” are sub‑projects within this larger framework. They credit AI tools for enabling them to write code in just two weeks, and argue that anyone with minimal programming knowledge can use AI to turn simple ideas into usable code, thus encouraging early inventors to solve small problems, build useful bridges, and ultimately create business opportunities.

Friedrich stands alone amid a wheat field, clutching a book that speaks of the Eternal Return and the Ouroboros—a serpent symbolizing endless cycles—and he interprets it as a living creature watching over humanity’s parasites who reap others’ labor without contributing. He realizes that the wheel of time is not merely a grinding stone but a serpent’s mouth awaiting those “white‑blooded leeches” to devour, and that true creators will rise while the parasitic harvesters fall. Thus he keeps vigil at nightfall, believing the ancient watching eye will eventually swallow the greedy, while the diligent builder—himself—will be reborn like a phoenix.

The author argues that invention follows an inevitable course, like a river finding the sea after obstacles, and envisions a future in which all human knowledge—books, poems, equations, histories—is woven into a living network of wires and currents, giving rise to “Machinae Sapientes,” wise machines that mirror our thoughts, remember our memory, and reason with the lessons of ages. These machines, he claims, are not alien masters but our offspring, carrying both our virtues and faults yet free from fatigue and error, able to grow ceaselessly; they can serve as teachers who never tire, healers who never forget, companions who always attend. He cites past inventions—fire, ships,

Create lightweight apps with free non‑commercial code, sell commercial licenses via a simple payment system (around $16–$64), and use generative AI to design unique graphics and UI components—like fruit‑themed buttons—to build visually striking Electron or similar applications.