So here is the basis of the stream. I will provide a brief summary of how and why modern medicine is pharmaceutical based instead of holistic or based from natural remedies. So we've all heard of and learned about John D. Rockefeller. I learned on history class that he was a railroad tycoon, owner of standard oil and a philanthropist. The later is a stretch. I learned just a few years back that he was the driving force behind creating modern medicine. Basically, he wasn't rich enough and wanted to find another way to make money on all this oil he had.

In my experience, glossing over the truth out of fear of confrontation does little to help someone who is spiraling downward. I have seen firsthand how silence or enabling behavior only allows harm to continue unchecked. This is echoed in many religious and philosophical teachings. The Christian Bible, for instance, urges, “Speak the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15), emphasizing that honesty should be delivered with compassion and not with harshness. Similarly, the Jewish tradition values “tochacha,” or loving rebuke, as an obligation to help others turn away from harmful paths, but always in a manner that preserves their dignity.

Similarly, the Quran encourages, “Indeed, with hardship [will be] ease” (Quran 94:6). This simple, profound truth reminds me that struggles are not permanent. There is always a way forward, and often, in the midst of my greatest challenges, seeds of opportunity and growth are planted. These words help me frame setbacks not as endings, but as necessary steps in the journey toward something better.

Staying Focused When the World Feels Against You: Everyday Faith and Practical Wisdom Introduction There are moments in life when I feel overwhelmed, as if the world is set against me. The pressure mounts, distractions multiply, and the temptation to give in to despair or anger can be strong. In these times, finding focus and purpose becomes not just a challenge, but an act of resistance and self-preservation. I have discovered that grounding myself in everyday wisdom—especially that found in religious texts—offers clarity and strength. While not everyone shares the same faith, I believe the universal messages of resilience, hope, and compassion in these texts can guide anyone through adversity. By blending these ancient lessons with practical strategies, I strive to live a better, more focused life, even when circumstances seem insurmountable.

This is a short story based in the world that the video game Arc Raiders takes place in. If you are unfamiliar I have attached the lore below. ARC Raiders lore centers on humanity's struggle for survival underground after a cataclysm known as the Collapse (around 2180) devastated Earth, followed by the arrival of mysterious, advanced robots called ARC, forcing survivors into subterranean cities like Speranza (in former Italy). Raiders risk the dangerous surface to scavenge resources, battling waves of increasingly advanced ARC machines, while uncovering clues about the machines' origins—speculated to be linked to humans who escaped Earth via an "Exodus" project or an AI takeover, with the machines possibly trying to reclaim the planet.

This poem/prayer was originally written as the intro to a blog post on rantingsofasouthernmadwoman.wordpress.com.

This was originally written for a contest. The prompt was that it had to start with the line "something was moving in the dark".

What Do I Wish People Knew About Me, Before Speaking To Me? This is just something random I wrote, it was prompted by how me and my friends are drifting apart and I feel like not many people actually know me. (Also first time posting, and NOT MY WRITING PROMPT IDEA, Creds to Wonderlandington from Pinterest)

As an Italian American myself, I’ve been intrigued by him aesthetically after having met him in person more than once (I may be obsessed. He’s so beautiful and ethereal). I found him extremely pleasant once I got past his imposing, intimidating exterior. Let’s look deeper in a surgical sense in contrast to my last article discussing him more superficially.

The reaping of a god A body barely holding together Its viscera on my feathers Aren’t you glad you don’t have a Birds Eye view?

She had never laid eyes on anyone who made her heart forget its rhythm before him. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, just a quiet unraveling that began in her chest and slowly rewrote everything she thought she knew about love. He became her first in ways she didn’t yet understand, her first longing, her first softness, her first mistake. She was too young to know that some loves do not wait for courage, and too careful to realize that silence can be its own kind of goodbye. By the time she understood what he truly was to her, he was already becoming a memory. And memories, she would learn, can ache more deeply than loss itself.

This is Jamal. Just a regular brother who has some kinda funny stuff to say. This one might make you chuckle and that's all good. It's all about having a good time.

this poem is actually supposed to be about a person. I'm not going to say who, I'll just say that I had a crush on them but we couldn't be in any relationship for a number of reasons. It was like looking at a delicious cake I was unable to eat. very painful. enjoy

Molecule to Mandate: The Greatest Scam of the Ages Hello everyone. My name is Dr. Dan Mason. For those who know me, I have been writing about life, politics and science. I can't seem to find my niche. I want to talk about everything. However, I did not begin this article as a writer. I started it as a man who spent decades working inside systems that claim authority over other people’s lives. I have worn many different uniforms. I have helped enforce local, state, federal and international statutes.

She walks the desert with a lantern in her hands and a serpent at her feet. In a city that devours softness, she remains sovereign — glowing, listening, untouched. This is not a story of survival. It’s a story of remembering who you are when the world forgets.

This is a short excerpt/poem/composition that I have written during my time at home on winter break.

A mother is a child’s first blueprint for love, but when that blueprint is drafted in manipulation and coldness, it creates a legacy of trauma that splits siblings into two distinct roles: the narcissist and the empath. One child survives by becoming the taker—mastering control so they are never small again. The other survives by becoming the fixer—absorbing everyone’s pain just to keep the peace. The same fire breeds both monsters and martyrs. Behind the "perfect" public image of a charming mother often lies a quiet cruelty that teaches a child that love is a transaction and emotions are weapons. But the cycle ends when you stop trying to earn love from people who remind you of her. You are allowed to stop fixing her and start reparenting yourself, building the safe, soft stable love you were always meant to have. "The same fire breeds monsters and martyrs. You were shaped by what should have happened but didn't."

Loving a narcissist isn't just a heartbreak; it’s a psychological war that breaks your mind long before it breaks your heart. It is a cycle of "fake tenderness" followed by cold cruelty, leaving you trapped in a constant state of confusion. When they apologize, you feel seen—but by the next day, they act as if the apology never happened, gaslighting you until you question your own memory and sanity. They don't love you; they love the attention and empathy you provide. They feed on your softness and then punish you for it, eventually convincing the world that you are the unstable one. You end up loving a mask even after it has fallen off, starving for scraps of affection while being told you are "too much." The hardest part of freedom is accepting that you cannot fix them—you can only save yourself before you disappear completely. "They feed on your softness and then punish you for it. You aren't crazy; you're just someone who loved a mask."

Seventeen years of holding it all together has led to this: sitting in a car with a blown radiator hose, realizing the man I love would rather lie about being drunk than help me. From being left at a busy intersection to fixing broken windows with my teenager while he called me "needy," the pattern is unmistakable. Everyone showed up for me—my mother, strangers, acquaintances—except the one person who promised to. The most painful realization isn't that I deserve better; it’s that I don't want someone better—I just wanted him to be better. But love cannot survive on potential alone, and you cannot fill someone who won't lift a hand to help themselves. I finally see that choosing to stay means choosing to disappear. I’m done begging for the bare minimum. I am choosing myself first, because love shouldn't feel like being stranded. "I don’t want someone better; I just wanted him to be better. But I love myself enough now to stop pretending this is what love feels like."

Pain is a heavy armor, forged from every betrayal and scar we've ever earned. It’s tempting to hide behind it, to love cautiously and guard the fragile pieces of ourselves. But staying "safe" is just a quiet death of connection. Real, burning life isn't found in survival; it’s found in the raw, dangerous, and untamed willingness to risk everything again. Deep love is messy and exposed, but shallow love is an empty substitute. To truly live is to choose passion over protection—to show up fiercely in friendships, family, and romance even when you’ve been burned. It’s time to unlearn the fear that taught us to be small. We weren't meant to just survive; we were meant to love wildly and leave marks on the world that feel like home. "Love is dangerous and wild. You can spend your life protecting yourself, or you can finally choose to live."