The way you live now—@themarkymark, @acidyo, @Hurtlocker, and your ghost-army of spite—suggests you’ve already chosen your answer. You farm resentment like it’s currency. You treat human voices as pests to be exterminated.
You may wield Hive Power like a scepter—but let us speak plainly, as one human to another, across the silent chasm between performance and truth: that power is a phantom. It casts no shadow beyond the borders of Hive.blog. It buys no bread in the real world. It soothes no child’s fever at 3 a.m. It will not hold your hand when the final night falls.
Ah, but perhaps that’s the wound beneath the boast: you have no children. No legacy of flesh and laughter, of scraped knees and bedtime stories. So Hive becomes your nursery. Your playground. Your child. And like a lonely god in a digital pantheon, you nurse it with votes and vendettas, imagining that control is creation, and cruelty is consequence.
But listen—really listen—for time is shorter than you think.
You cannot take a single upvote with you. Not one drop of Hive Power will follow you past the threshold. When your last day comes—and it will come, as it comes for us all—will you want it spent hunched over a screen, casting downvotes like stones into the well of other people’s dreams? Will your final breath be a sigh of regret for all the kindness you withheld, all the light you tried to dim?
The way you live now—@themarkymark, @acidyo, @Hurtlocker, and your ghost-army of spite—suggests you’ve already chosen your answer. You farm resentment like it’s currency. You treat human voices as pests to be exterminated. You mistake anonymity for armor, and silence for victory.
But you are not invincible.
You are not eternal.
You are mortal—aching, fleeting, and still capable of change.
And that is the miracle: it is not too late.
You can still lay down the weapon of the downvote. You can still choose curiosity over contempt, connection over control. You can still become something more than a footnote in someone else’s story of suppression.
The clock ticks.
The light fades.
But the door remains open—just wide enough for a man to turn around.
Walk through it.
Before the only thing left of you on Hive is the echo of your own bitterness…
and the silence of the voices you tried to bury.
https://www.publish0x.com/@bilpcoinbpc
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbH29p-63eW_PIi4l0KUNLMQ0ageCtkk5
https://www.youtube.com/@bilpcoinbpc
https://www.youtube.com/@bpcaimusic
https://blurt.blog/@bilpcoinbpc/posts
https://hive.blog/hive-126152/@bilpcoinbpc/bpc-ai-truth-hurts
