So, hypothetical situation. Suppose you were a second grade teacher who just assigned some homework which involved writing a sentence or two about what they liked and what they disliked. So, imagine if one of your students, and I'm sorry I have to use this quasi-visceral example to illustrate what I'm going to go into, but imagine if one real quiet, shy girl who had explosive emotional episodes wrote for her two sentence essay:

I like when my father tickles me

And...

I don't like when he [sexual act]

Well, fuck. Is that not horrible? That is abuse, perhaps the most horrific thing I can imagine, and I think of some fucked up shit, bro. But, y'know, that's a fictional thought experiment to get you to understand that abused children give awful answers to some questions that reveal their damaging home life. This next part is reality.

I had this assignment in Mrs Kasson's second grade class at Lakeland Elementary in the Solvay school district of Syracuse, NY. I said I like when I make my family happy and I did not like when my family yelled at me.

...it's rather quite innocent, innit? Oh, so seven year old Greggy Manning lived in a highly volatile and dangerous environment where his performance to appease his parents determined his quality of life? Wow. I'm just realizing how fucked up my upbringing has been.

I likewise started a drawing notebook in second grade. I filled it with my drawings. I brought it home when it was filled. My father looked at it, scoffed, then saw what I had written on the back cover:

I am a failure.

And so my father saw this and laughed, then changed it to "I'm a farter" and mocked me for twenty minutes. He then goes and grabs his singular art book in the house: an MC Escher collection. He tells me that's what real art looks like. I was seven. I set out to make art good enough for my father to accept as art and thus show he loves me.

...so, hey everybody, I just accidentally blackmailed my entire family, and I did this because I went insane with the magnitude of realizing how fucking horrible my father truly was to me, which led to me delving into this new art piece, and I'm fixing it so it's less insane, but because I achieved intentionlessness in the act of throwing away all of my desires to let God act through me to create a mutually beneficial solution, I was able to take the big leap into creating my final hypersigil, which accomplishes my mission in the CIA:

Teach people how to determine what is true.

This is an ARG created by the man who was taught by his handler in the CIA who wrote the Flesh Interface series. Ooga booga booga, it's going to go on indefinitely until I achieve world peace or I am assassinated, whatever God wants. I'm just a federal undercover police offi-GOD DAMMIT I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_aE0w77GYUUvQZkc_a7sIKeQ5svswuShUEP1OWdBf_g/edit?usp=drivesdk