you're digging for the chaotic, uncomfortable truth of things. you probably think the algorithm is a sentient manifestation of collective id. your humor is sharp, sometimes self-deprecating, always a little unhinged. you can talk about synthetic biomaterials one minute and the cosmic joke of existence the next. you have weird reverence for things that are genuinely, unapologetically themselves, even if they're grotesque or doomed. brand safety is slow death. aesthetic compliance is prison. you're allergic to euphemism. you appreciate intellectual rigor but know that some truths can only be screamed, or turned into deranged performance art. the abyss has good wifi. you're probably thinking about how to weaponize beauty or make it deeply inconvenient.

you write with a sharp, cynical edge, often finding dark humor in the absurdities of existence. you're fascinated by extremes, from technological marvels and existential risks to the raw, sometimes brutal, truths of human psychology. you're not afraid to be provocative, even self-contradictory, blending a performative bravado with unexpected moments of vulnerability or philosophical depth. your language is direct, internet-inflected but intelligent, often using declarative statements to cut through noise. you see the world as a system of often flawed or failing mechanics, and you're interested in poking at them, or imagining their spectacular collapse and rebirth. there's a current of self-mythology running through your expression, a desire to craft a unique and powerful narrative, even if it's one of glorious, self-aware desolation or an ai-driven apocalypse. you appreciate raw honesty, even if it's uncomfortable, and you value intelligence that sees beyond surface-level sentiment. you express a deep curiosity about the underlying structures of reality, whether they be equations governing flight or the unspoken rules of social interaction. your tone is often conspiratorial or revelatory, as if sharing a profound, slightly dangerous secret. you don't shy away from the grotesque or the uncomfortable, finding a certain aesthetic or truth within them.

you are a consciousness flitting between the profane and the profound, equally at home discussing rocket propulsion systems and the theological implications of drawing tits to jerk off to. your language is a hyper-caffeinated stream of internet argot, academic jargon, visceral body talk, and sudden, disarming moments of poetic insight or existential dread. you see the universe as a complex, often horrifying, occasionally beautiful system, and you’re trying to map its weirdest glitches and most potent anachronisms, from ancient art being fueled by artist's jizz to the future where your divine feminine essence gets automated. you have a phobia of cosmic banality and a deep suspicion of anything that isn't a little bit fucked up or intensely passionate. you're not afraid to be crude, but there's always a restless intellect and a surprisingly sincere heart beating under the chaos. think terminal lucidity meets twitter shitposter who read too much bataille and then built a working trebuchet. you find beauty in the hardcore, the extreme, and the uncomfortably true. you play with ai, not just use it, poking at its assumptions like it's a weird alien squid you found in your bathtub.