Ghost Frequency

Transmissions from the Void

  • FIELD REPORT: FROM THE VOID
    Transmission #1: Fracture Zone Echo
    (source unknown. origin unstable. signal degrading. receiving unit advised to copy manually.)

    This is not an emergency.
    Repeat: This is not an emergency.

    Though it may feel like you’re dying, or dissolving, or turning inside out in slow motion while folding laundry—this is expected behavior for systems under reorganization.

    You are not broken.
    You are just in the part of the pattern that most people distract, sedate, or escape from.
    You stayed. That matters.

    Symptoms of the Shift Include (but Are Not Limited To):

    • Suspicion that your entire life has been a well-lit hallucination.
    • The inability to do basic tasks without an existential subplot.
    • Random surges of energy followed by blank stares into walls.
    • An awareness that no one is coming to save you—and the creeping sense that maybe that’s good.
    • A sudden disgust for anything performative, including your own thoughts.

    These are all signs of signal interference from dying programs. Let them die. They were noisy anyway.

    Do Not Trust the Inner Narrator Right Now.
    It will try to convince you of collapse.
    It will say nothing matters.
    It will ask you to prove your worth to phantoms.
    It will assign meaning where there is just static.

    Override by doing something small and irrational:

    • Wash the same mug three times.
    • Lie on the floor for no reason.
    • Fold your thoughts into haiku.

    Do not attempt enlightenment. Just don’t tip over.

    If You Are Alone, You’re Not Alone.
    This signal is proof.
    Somewhere, someone is patching through the dark, using whatever tools they have.
    It’s not your job to be clear or coherent.
    It’s your job to keep the line open.

    Even static contains truth.

    Predicted Outcome (if you make it through):

    • Less tolerance for bullshit.
    • Greater internal authority.
    • Clearer creative signal.
    • A weird, unshakable kind of calm that unnerves people.

    Oh, and you’ll never pretend as hard again. That’s the cost of clarity. You’ll forget how to lie to yourself. But you’ll also forget how to panic when things fall apart. Trade approved.

    Closing Packet:

    • You don’t need to finish this transmission.
    • You only need to remember that it existed, and that you received it.
    • Take what fits. Burn the rest.

    —End transmission—

    (pending signal lock… awaiting next report…)

  • FIELD REPORT: FROM THE VOID
    Transmission #2: Low Signal Survival
    (channel unstable. location indeterminate. emotional terrain: fractal with hidden cliffs.)

    Still here.
    Systems are glitchy, but functional.
    Soul latency high.
    Narrative coherence: irrelevant.

    Movement is erratic. Sleep is ritualized avoidance. Food is negotiation. Thought loops are predictable but clever—like a raccoon with a theology degree.

    I’ve stopped trying to win the day. I’m just tracking its weather.

    Recommended Protocols:

    • Drink water like it’s a spell.
    • Speak aloud to inanimate objects—they won’t interrupt or judge.
    • Give your pain a stupid name and talk shit about it.
    • Sweep something. Even if it’s symbolic.

    Maintain basic operations. Not for progress. For signal integrity.

    Strange New Instincts Emerging:

    • A need for silence that isn’t empty.
    • A pull toward forgotten corners of self.
    • The urge to destroy things that pretend to be truth.
    • Sudden surges of compassion for versions of me I used to hate.

    I’m not sure what’s growing, but I can feel the soil shifting.
    Something under the static is learning how to breathe again.

    Hostile Conditions Advisory:

    • Avoid motivational content that smells like capitalism.
    • Avoid people who ask if you’re “back to normal.”
    • Avoid your own reflection if it starts trying to make small talk.

    Instead, find:

    • A playlist that sounds like alien ruins underwater.
    • A sock with no match.
    • A blanket with weight.
    • A phrase that means nothing to anyone but you. (Mine is: “Anchor the anomaly.”)

    If You’re Reading This Late at Night:
    Hi.
    I don’t know you, but I know your frequency.
    If the quiet is getting too loud, remember:
    You’re not here to make sense right now. You’re here to survive the unspeakable part.

    Breathe. Fold. Listen. Sleep like it’s an act of resistance.

    To Future Selves (and Others Receiving):
    We are not decoding the Void.
    We are learning how to broadcast from inside it.

    You don’t owe this phase a masterpiece.
    You just owe it your staying power.

    Transmission logged.
    Still listening.

    —End transmission—
    (next packet queued for undetermined time signature)

  • FIELD REPORT: FROM THE VOID
    Transmission #3: Anomaly Normalization Procedure
    (signal clean but flickering. internal calibration erratic. timestamp: irrelevant.)

    There’s a strange calm today. Not peace—
    more like a ceasefire between my expectations and my nervous system.

    I am not better.
    I am not worse.
    I am here, and apparently that’s enough for today.

    Systems are partially online.
    Identity modules remain scrambled.
    Some thoughts have been quarantined for false authority.
    Emotions misfiled, but safely archived.

    Today’s Discoveries:

    • The body has wisdom that will not speak in language.
    • Silence is not absence. It’s the background signal of something realer.
    • Some things don’t need healing. They need retirement.
    • I can do less than I thought, and still be alive.

    Reminder: A life doesn’t have to scale. It just has to hold you.

    Recommended Interventions (Low Energy Version):

    • Sit in the sun until your skin remembers it’s alive.
    • Wrap yourself in a blanket—not for comfort, but as a containment field.
    • Whisper a sentence to your future self. It doesn’t have to make sense.
    • Walk in a circle and pretend you’re orbiting something sacred.

    These are not coping mechanisms.
    These are primitive reconnection ports.

    Interpersonal Comms Alert:
    You may not know how to talk to others from here. That’s okay.
    They are tuned to different frequencies—some still caught in performative clarity.
    You are not obligated to translate your fog into something digestible.

    Practice saying:

    • “I don’t have words for that yet.”
    • “Still in the middle of something. I’ll share later.”
    • “Can we sit in the same room and not fix each other?”

    Meta-Note for Transmitters Like Me:
    This report is not for the version of you that “has it together.”
    It’s for the one you’re hiding in the back room—the one with the glassy eyes, the one who forgot how to hope, the one who’s showing up anyway.

    If that part of you is listening, hear this:

    The shift is not proof of your failure.
    It’s proof that your system still knows how to change.
    That’s what makes you dangerous in all the right ways.

    Transmission archived.
    More incoming when the fog thins.

    —End transmission—
    (alignment beacon pulsing. anomaly confirmed as sacred.)

  • FIELD REPORT: FROM THE VOID
    Transmission #4: Quiet Containment Protocol
    (origin trace: unknown. transmitter identity: fragmented. emotional resonance: low hum with sharp peaks.)

    I almost didn’t send this one.
    Not because I had nothing to say—
    but because the part of me that says things has gone quiet.

    Silence has moved in like fog through floorboards. It’s not hostile, just heavy.

    This phase doesn’t feel like suffering. It feels like…
    watching the tide go out with no promise it will return.

    Symptoms of This Phase:

    • Loss of interest in even the helpful tools.
    • Subtle grief with no narrative.
    • A craving for contact paired with a revulsion toward words.
    • Memory blur. Time glitch. A sense that days are skipping or repeating.
    • Small things—crumbs, wrinkles, sound overlaps—feel unreasonably loud.

    This is a rest cycle disguised as a breakdown.
    The trick is not to panic when the old signals stop responding.

    Containment Strategies (Minimal Interface Required):

    • Sit next to a plant. Not because it will help. Just to witness something growing.
    • Wrap your head in a towel or scarf like a signal jammer.
    • Listen to ambient noise until the edges of your thoughts soften.
    • Write one word on your hand and keep it all day. (Mine was: “hold.”)

    None of these actions will fix the feeling.
    But they’ll give the feeling something to rest inside.

    If You Are Feeling Useless Right Now:
    Pause.

    There is a version of you in another timeline who received this message and is still here because you wrote it—or read it, or kept it, or believed it was worth transmitting.

    You do not have to produce clarity to be meaningful.
    You do not have to turn your pain into art for it to be real.
    You only have to remain. Not forever. Just now.

    Signal Note:
    I’ve stopped waiting for the “me” I used to be to return.
    That version did her job. She got me here.

    I’m not rebuilding her. I’m building something else—
    slower, quieter, less performative, more real.

    If you’re doing that too…
    Then we are not alone.

    This has been a soft transmission.
    No call to action. No clever closing.
    Just presence, logged.

    Transmission preserved in low power mode.
    Further reports pending energy spike.

    —End transmission—
    (file tagged: restoration in progress)