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| Date | Subscriber Growth | Mentions | Channels | |
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Channel Posts
| 2 | Yes I judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree | 122 |
| 3 | I judge the fish by the tree,
call its drowning incompetence,
then crown myself wise
for inventing the ladder.
I measure wings by how well they kneel,
call silence a failure to speak,
and name my cruelty
a standard. | 125 |
| 4 | The Man Who Kept Missing His Own Funeral | 170 |
| 5 | I arrived late to my funeral.
The flowers were already tired,
the candles had forgotten what they were burning for,
and someone was crying beside a photograph
I don't remember taking.
They said I was a good man.
I almost interrupted them.
The coffin was closed,
which felt rude.
I wanted to see
who they had buried.
So I asked the priest
if the dead ever get to attend their own endings.
He looked at me
the way people look at questions
they have already buried.
I came back the next morning.
The flowers were gone.
The photograph was different.
The coffin had my name again.
But this time
everyone was crying for someone else.
I began to wonder
if I was dying
or simply arriving too late
to every version of myself.
By the seventh funeral
I stopped asking who was inside.
By the twelfth
I recognized the face.
By the twentieth
I was the one giving the eulogy.
I told them
he had spent his whole life
trying to become someone worth remembering.
Then I looked down.
There were flowers in my hands.
I don't remember buying them. | 167 |
| 6 | No text... | 0 |
| 7 | Guys I've OCD
can I get 713 subs and fix this odd subscribers number | 236 |
| 8 | water is wrong
too thick
it keeps me
or i keep it
hard to hold the thought
there is something pale
pressing above
not light
just pressure
it drinks
through threads
through me
i remember hands
no
i remember forgetting them
fingers went soft first
then names
then the need to belong to a face
eyes stayed
shouldnāt have
they didnāt close
they melted inward
now something moves through one
slow
like it was always meant to pass
not seeing
not knowing
just entering
i try to rise
i donāt
the pond holds its breath
or maybe i am the breath
something above trembles
not wind
something like grief
stuck halfway
it wants to stay clean
it keeps taking me
mist thickens
or i spread
no depth
no surface
just this
just staying too long
just rot
learning how to look
through me
through what used to see
as if
i never stopped | 238 |
| 9 | should I be consistent? (No right?) | 210 |
| 10 | from 500 to 281 this channel has seen true downfall
Icarus must be proud!! or maybe not š | 207 |
| 11 | anyone up? | 217 |
| 12 | empty withinā¦ this heart of mine
no ink enough to fill it, none to drive away the dark
such weight upon my eyelids, as though the world rests on them
an atheist I was, yet nowā¦ O God, I leave myself to you
I have done nothing in life, and yet it feels as though all is spent, nothing remains
a worshipper of art, I call myself a creatorāyet I have created nothing
with a petty mind I set out to measure the world
so ignorant, yet eager to offer wisdom to all
so indolent am I, I cannot walk on my own feet
I move, instead, leaning upon others
and yet, I have arrived somewhereā¦
from here, I can see the sun
perhaps it will bring a dawn
I am empty withinā¦ perhaps it will chase away this darkness | 234 |
| 13 | . | 189 |
| 14 | let me cry a little
leave it, laughing feels more appropriate
after all, itās all just a joke
this country, its system, its education, its ministers
all of it is just a joke
children getting beaten is a joke
their future crying on the streets is a joke
this country is a joke
where asking questions is a crime
where asking for rights gets you beaten
where journalistsā bodies lie like discarded beggars
there, childrenās future, government accountability, corruption,
all of it is just a joke
come, letās laugh together
at ourselves, at the state of this country
letās laugh at our helplessness, laugh at their tyranny,
laugh a little louder
maybe if not the crying, theyāll hear the laughter
why not wrap money around ourselves like clothing, maybe then theyāll notice us
they sit too high, it takes time for voices to reach them
so until then, letās just laugh a little
after all, itās all just a joke | 230 |
| 15 | There is a wall.
In its corner, a spiderās web,
paint peeling,
a ceiling damp with quiet decay.
There is a wall.
Long cracks running everywhere,
sunlight slipping through them,
trying to look inside.
Still it's standing,
holding the ceiling above its head.
There is a wall.
Between self-respect
and the weight of being looked down on.
Between peace of mind
and the echo of people laughing.
Between a life that could feel enough
and the ones who keep tightening the grip.
There is a wall.
Itās the wall of my house. | 2 360 |
| 16 | Yo guys I've out their doing so many side hustles
One of them was making bots here in telegram
So like I've been working on a bot it's been few days it's a ai detector an an reverse image search
Image search is but buggy right now but I'll fix it soon but that's not the case I actually want you to text its ai detection like who most likely it's accuracy scale is
It's the name of @Neuralyzerbot and yeah test it out you can give your feedback to me through ananoymus bot the link Must be somewhere in this channel I don't know | 19 |
| 17 | Ocean of tears dried
when the lotus within it died | 115 |
| 18 | fickle
i see that you've started
to read someone else's rhymes.
also, you seem to find peace
in songs that aren't mine.
you smile even wider
at the jokes they crack
and this, on my frail heart,
leaves fissures so fine.
so tell me, if you really, really
loved the sun, would you
abandon it when it has
too much to shine? | 100 |
| 19 | the blanket doesnāt warm the same anymore
it just sits on me
like it knows something I donāt say out loud
I keep pulling it closer anyway
like that might fix it
the ceiling has this crack
Iāve been following it for days now
it splits into two near the corner
like it couldnāt decide which way to break
funny thing is
I remember when I used to look up here and feelā¦ nothing
just a ceiling
now it feels like itās watching me stall
thereās an old tyre outside
leaning against the wall
been there long enough to forget what it was meant for
I think about that more than I should
how something made to move
can justā¦ stay
and no one questions it after a while
I donāt talk much these days
not because thereās nothing to say
just feels like words come with consequences
and silence doesnāt ask for anything back
there are things Iāve done
small things
the kind you can explain if you get the time
I always get the explanation ready after
before that
itās just instinct
or maybe habit
I used to think I was careful
turns out Iām just good at arranging things
so they donāt look like theyāre mine
and somehow that makes it easier to sleep
or at least lie down without arguing with myself
sometimes I try to remember
when things felt lighter
not better
justā¦ less attached
now everything sticks a little
memories, people, even small decisions
they donāt leave when theyāre done
they stay like that tyre
leaning
waiting for a purpose that doesnāt come back
I donāt think Iām a bad person
that would be too simple
itās more like
I know exactly where I fall short
and Iāve learned how to stand just beside it
close enough to see it
far enough to say itās not me
and the worst part is
that almost feels honest
until it happens again
and I recognize it
midway this time
and still donāt stop
the blanket slips a little
I pull it back up
like thatās something I still have control over
it usually is
just not much else | 140 |
| 20 | Some rules come early. You donāt remember choosing them.
There was a crossing I used to pass by.
A few planks over a break in the ground, edges worn smooth.
Someone had carved a warning into the wood. It had faded, but it stayed.
A bird kept to that spot most days.
If anything came close when the water pushed higher, it would step forward,
just enough to make them stop.
One afternoon, something small came up the path.
Thin, restless, moving like it had somewhere to be.
It stepped onto the plank, slow, testing it.
The bird moved once. That was enough.
The animal turned back without a word.
It felt settled. Nothing unusual about it.
Later, the water rose a little.
Same place, same marking, same boards underfoot.
The bird crossed first.
No one was there to watch it happen. | 154 |
