We Bought the Sea Shells and Lost the Fucking Plot

“Step one, create a sense of scarcity…” – Ren, Money Game Pt. 2

This isn’t pretty. It’s not polished. It’s not here to coddle or comfort. This is for the ones who’ve sat in silence, screaming in their heads while the world dances to a tune they never fucking asked for. It’s for the ones who see the cracks and feel them in their chest. I didn’t write this to go viral. I wrote it because I’m sick of pretending we’re okay. So if you’re ready to rip the mask off this twisted world, keep reading. If not, scroll past like the rest. I won’t beg you to wake up.

Image taken from Pinterest. Link to source

For this blog I have added a bunch of songs to add clout for each section. You can press play and listen if you want, or just skip past. Each song has meaning.

_{This track is chaos with a conscience. It’s the sound of waking up in a world that doesn’t make sense, a world that tells you to smile while you’re quietly falling apart. NF’s voice isn’t polished, it’s panicked, real, gasping for air. And that’s what this section is. It’s the scream that no one wants to hear. The one you carry inside every day while pretending you’re fine. This song cracks open the silence with a sledgehammer.}

We’re All Being Played

You ever look around and feel like the whole fucking world’s lying to you?

Like everyone’s putting on this polished, perfect little show, smiling, flexing, pretending everything’s fine, while behind closed doors, they’re crumbling. Screaming into pillows. Falling apart quietly because no one wants to hear the truth unless it’s wrapped in a quote and posted with a filter.

We’re in a world where pain isn’t just ignored, it’s fucking marketed. Where trauma is content. Where people don’t help you unless it gets them clicks. Where success is measured by how loud you can shout, how flawless your feed is and how well you fake it.

And if you don’t play the game?

Then you’re lazy. Bitter. A failure. Someone to scroll past. Another nobody who didn’t hustle hard enough.

But here’s what no one wants to say The whole thing is fucking rigged.

The world is broken, not just cracked, fucked. Bent out of shape by greed, poisoned by ego, and polished with lies so it all looks shiny enough to sell. We’re sold dreams that were never meant for us, told to chase things that’ll never make us whole, and then blamed when we collapse under the weight of it all.

They tell you to keep pushing. Keep grinding. Smile more. Be grateful.

But what if you’re fucking tired?

What if you’ve worked your arse off and you’re still drowning? What if you’ve smiled through the darkest days of your life just to make other people comfortable?

No one talks about that bit, do they?

No one talks about how fucking lonely this world is when you finally stop pretending. When you look around and realise that most people are just surviving, just like you, but are too scared to say it out loud. Too scared to admit that none of this feels real. That maybe we’re all part of a game we didn’t ask to play, run by people who don’t give a single shit whether we win or not.

Because they’ve already won.
They own the board, the pieces, the rulebook, hell, they even own your attention.

They tell you what to care about. What to wear. Who to love. How to think. What success looks like. And if you don’t fit into that perfect little box? You’re broken. Disposable. Background noise in someone else’s highlight reel.

But you’re not broken.

You’re just awake.

You’re finally starting to see through the smoke and mirrors, and it hurts like hell because no one warned you what truth actually feels like. It’s not neat. It’s not inspirational. It’s fucking heavy. But it’s real. And in a world this fake, real is the most dangerous thing you can be.

So fuck the noise. Fuck the illusion.
If you’ve ever felt like the world wasn’t made for people like you, it wasn’t.

But you’re not alone.

This blog isn’t some viral self-help bullshit. I’m not here to sell you a 5-step plan to inner peace. I’m here because I’ve been in that place. That dark, ugly, quiet place where you scream but no one hears you. Where you wonder what the point is. Where you want to switch off and disappear.
And I know how powerful it is just to hear someone say, “I get it.”

So yeah.
Let’s go there.
Let’s talk about fame, fortune, corruption, not as abstract ideas, but as the weapons that are fucking up our lives. Let’s rip into it. No sugar-coating. No pretending. Just the truth.

You ready?

Good. Because I’m not holding back.

_{This is what it sounds like when you’re chasing something that’s always just out of reach. Not love but validation, visibility, and enoughness. Fame dresses itself up like salvation, but this song strips it bare. It’s quiet desperation wrapped in beauty. The vocals break in all the right places, like someone trying not to cry and failing. Just like this section, it isn’t about attention. It’s about the soul slowly starving in public.}

The Cult of Fame – False Gods in the Spotlight

Let’s talk about fame, the shiny, sugar-coated poison that’s turned into the god of our generation.

We don’t value wisdom anymore. Or honesty. Or kindness.
We value visibility.

It doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve been through, or what you stand for, if you can sell the image, you win. Fame is no longer something that happens when you do something meaningful. It’s something you engineer. A brand. A product. A performance. And we’ve all been tricked into thinking it’s something we should want.

But here’s the truth Fame will fuck you up.

And not just the people chasing it, but the people watching too. It skews everything. It warps your values. It makes you think that worth comes from applause, from followers, from a blue tick next to your name.

We’re worshipping false gods.
We bow at the altar of influencers and celebrities who are just as lost as we are, but with better lighting and a PR team. They don’t know you. They don’t love you. Half of them don’t even love themselves. But we elevate them like they’ve got the answers, like they’re more than human.

And while we do that, while we idolise the beautiful, the rich, the unreachable, we start forgetting how to love ourselves.
We start hating the reflection in the mirror because it doesn’t come with filters.
We start thinking our normal, quiet lives are worthless because they don’t come with applause.

That’s the real cost of fame, not just the mental health of the ones who “make it,” but the soul of everyone watching. The slow erosion of self-worth, one comparison at a time.

You see someone famous post a photo on a yacht with a smile so bright it burns, and you’re sat in your tiny flat thinking, What the fuck am I even doing with my life?

But you’re not seeing the breakdowns.
You’re not seeing the Xanax, the therapy, the identity crisis.
You’re seeing the performance.

Because that’s what fame is now, not reality, but illusion. A full-time fucking job pretending to be perfect while dying inside. And we call that success?

And even if you do “make it,” don’t get comfortable. Because the minute you start thinking for yourself, the minute you go off-script, they’ll turn on you. Fast.
One minute you’re the next best thing, the golden child, the rising star, and the next, they’re lining up the sniper shots to cancel you, to tear down everything you ever built.

You don’t even have to do something evil. You just have to stop fitting in. Stop toeing the line. Stop selling the story they want you to sell. Speak out. Be real. Be different.
And suddenly they act like you never mattered. Like all the good you’ve done doesn’t mean shit because you said one thing they didn’t like.

And me? I’m not scared of that. I’m not scared to fall. I’m not scared to be hated. I’m not scared to drown in truth if it means staying real. Because I’d rather lose everything than lose myself.

Fame isn’t power. It’s a leash.
A contract you didn’t read because it looked too good to turn down.
And the second you try to unclip it? They’ll make you pay for it. Publicly. Brutally.

That’s why I say fuck the cult of fame.

Give me the real ones.
The ones who show up without needing a camera rolling.
The ones who speak even when no one’s listening.
The ones who keep it honest when the world begs for lies.

That’s where real connection lives.

In the quiet.
In the shadows.
Far away from the fucking spotlight.

_{Something is haunting about a voice that sounds like it’s smiling… while dying inside. That’s Aurora here. This song is a slow collapse. It bleeds with the pressure to keep pretending, to keep up, to be successful, to have it all. The finance, the house, the status. But it’s all smoke. It drowns you quietly. This track isn’t about crying, it’s about what happens when you can’t cry anymore and still have to carry on. Just like money, it’s beautiful, seductive, and slowly fucking killing you.}

The Fortune Illusion – When More Means Less

Money. The great god of the modern world.

We’ve built our entire lives around chasing it, needing it, worshipping it, like it’s the solution to everything. Struggling? Make more. Lonely? Buy happiness. Lost? Flash the cash, and suddenly you matter. That’s the message pumped into our heads every single day.

But no one stops to ask the obvious question What the fuck is the point of all this?

Because here’s the brutal truth, the more we chase money, the more it owns us. And it’s not just the bills or the debt or the grind. It’s the way we start believing that more is the cure. More income. More status. More stuff. More recognition. More power.
But more doesn’t fix anything.

More just hides the cracks for a little while longer.

People think money gives you freedom, but what they don’t realise is that chasing it becomes a prison. You stop living. You stop feeling. You start measuring your days in numbers, how much you earned, how much you saved, how much you spent, trying to prove to people you don’t even like that you’re doing alright.

And if you don’t have it? You’re treated like nothing. Like your voice doesn’t matter. Like your existence isn’t valid unless it’s backed by a bank statement.

That’s how twisted it’s become.

We judge worth by wealth. Success by salary. Respect for the car you drive or the house you own. And it’s fucking disgusting, because you could be the kindest, most brilliant soul alive, but if you’re skint? You’re invisible. Disposable. Left behind.

And here’s where it gets even sicker Most of the money we’re spending isn’t even ours.

It’s borrowed. Imaginary. Numbers on a screen that belong to someone else. You want a car? Cool. You don’t buy a car. You buy debt. You finance it. Lease it. Stretch it out over five years, maybe more. And you end up paying way more than the car was even worth in the first place.

That car that costs £10k? You end up paying £15k. The extra £5k? Straight to the finance company.
And worst of all, you don’t even start paying off the car until their cut is paid. Until then, it’s not your car. It’s theirs.
And even if you’re 4 years, 11 months, and 29 days into a 5-year finance plan, miss one payment?

They’ll come and take it. Gone. Just like that.

Same with your house. You spend your life calling it “my home,” but until that final mortgage payment clears, it’s not really yours. It’s the bank’s. And if life punches you in the gut, if you fall behind, if you miss a few payments because you lost your job or got ill or just couldn’t keep up?

They don’t care.
They’ll rip it out from under you.
No matter how many years you’ve poured into it.

That’s the illusion they sell us.
We’re not building wealth, we’re renting our status from people who already own the game.

You’re not driving your dream car.
You’re renting your freedom from a faceless company that will take it back the moment you stop being profitable.

You’re not living in your dream home.
You’re one bad year away from having that dream shattered by a letter through the door.

So let’s not pretend we’re thriving just because we’ve got shiny things on monthly payments.
That’s not freedom. That’s a leash with chrome paint.

And still, they have the audacity to tell us, “If you want it bad enough, you’ll make it happen.”
As if failure is personal. As if the system isn’t designed to break your back and then shame you for falling.

This isn’t about hating money.
It’s about hating what money has become, a weapon, a distraction, a trap.
A way to keep us compliant. Obedient. Too afraid to speak out, too exhausted to look up.

So yeah, chase what you need to survive. Feed your kids. Pay your bills. Protect your peace. But don’t let them convince you that your worth lives in your wallet. It doesn’t.

You’re more than your payslip.
More than your postcode.
More than the car you drive or the clothes you wear.

Because when you strip all that away?
What’s left is the real wealth.

And that’s the shit they can’t sell you.

_{This one doesn’t need dressing up. Ren has already stripped it raw. It’s poetry, anger, satire, and genius packed into a single punch. It’s the metaphor that built this whole blog and inspired the blog, she sold the seashells, and left none for anyone else. This is capitalism dressed as freedom. This is the game where we’re sold the dream, and then billed for the nightmare. This is exactly what the world is doing. And Ren calls it out line by line.}

The Sea Shell Economy – Ren’s Mirror to Madness

There’s this line in Ren’s Money Game Part 2, one of those lines that punches you right in the ribs because it’s so simple, so clever, so fucking honest you can’t ignore it:

“She sells sea shells on the seashore,
But the value of these shells will fall
Due to the laws of supply and demand.
No one wants to buy shells ’cause there’s loads on the sand…”

First off, I hope Ren doesn’t mind me using his words to get my point across here. But when something hits that hard, when a verse slices through the bullshit of the world so cleanly, you have to talk about it. Because that line right there? It’s more than a lyric.

It’s a blueprint for how we’ve all been manipulated.

It’s not about value.
It’s about perception.

It’s about creating a need for something nobody actually needs.
It’s about taking something that’s abundant, something that should be free, and manufacturing scarcity just to make it profitable.
And then?
Selling it back to you at a markup, not because it’s rare, not because it’s better, but because they told you it’s worth more.

That’s the whole fucking game.

“Step one: you must create a sense of scarcity.
Shells will sell much better if the people think they’re rare, you see?”

It’s not a nursery rhyme anymore, it’s a fucking business plan.
And it’s everywhere.

That’s how they sell us overpriced clothes, fake diamonds, organic water, £300 designer hoodies stitched by underpaid hands in a factory. That’s how the housing market works. That’s how tech companies work. That’s how the food industry works.

Lie. Limit. Inflate. Sell.

You want to talk about control? That’s it, right there.

They take the shells off the beach, so you can’t pick your own. They hoard them. Clean them up. Package them in a box. And then they sell them to you with a smile, and call you lucky for being able to afford one.

And we fall for it. Because we’ve been taught to fall for it.

Taught to believe that value is whatever they tell us it is.
That luxury is the same thing as worth.
That success means owning the shells instead of walking barefoot on the sand.

It’s not just money they’re selling. It’s meaning. Identity. Safety. Status.
They’ve convinced us that everything, everything, can be bought.

Love? Get the right car.
Respect? Get the right watch.
Security? Get on the ladder, get that mortgage, get the next shell before someone else does.

It’s a race. A scam. A trap.

And here’s the worst part, once you’re in it, once you start playing the game, it’s fucking hard to get out.
Because now your worth is tied to your shells.
Your self-respect lives in your bank account.
And if you lose it all?
You don’t just lose the stuff.
You lose your sense of self.

That’s why this system is so cruel. Because it’s not just robbing your wallet, it’s robbing your identity.

But Ren’s verse isn’t just clever, it’s dangerous.
Because it wakes people up.

It forces you to ask questions like:
Why the fuck am I paying for something I could once touch for free?
Why do I feel like I need things I never needed before?
Why do I feel like less of a person when I have less money?

It’s because you were never taught how to just exist. You were taught how to consume.
Taught that your place in this world is defined by what you own, not who you are.

And that’s the magic trick.

That’s how they control you without ever raising a finger.
They don’t need to put chains on your wrists.
They just need to make you want the chains.
Need the chains.
Fight to keep the chains.

And all the while, they’re laughing.
Counting shells in their castles while you break your back trying to earn one more.

But here’s what they don’t want you to realise:
You can walk away.

You can say, “Fuck your shells. I’ve got sand beneath my feet.”
You can start seeing through the illusion, the scarcity, the performance.
And once you see it, really see it, you can’t unsee it.

Ren didn’t just spit bars.
He handed us a mirror.

And if you’re brave enough to look in it, you’ll start to realise the truth.

You were never the problem.
The system was.
The game was.
The rules were.

You were just trying to survive it.

_{This is the section where we stop being poetic and just fucking say it. The government lies. The media manipulates. The system divides us on purpose. Tom doesn’t soften the message, and neither should we. This track is aggressive, uncomfortable, and deliberately confrontational. It holds a mirror up to the shit we all see but keep ignoring. If this section is a Molotov, this track is the lit fuse. Listen to the words, and I mean listen properly.}

Corruption at Every Level – Rotting From the Top Down

We grow up thinking there are people out there looking after us.
The government’s job is to protect us.
The law is here to serve justice.
That doctors want to heal, that teachers want to teach, that journalists want to tell the truth.

But somewhere along the way, the soul of it all got sold.

Because now it’s not about people.
It’s about profit.
It’s about keeping the system running, even if it’s chewing up the very people it’s meant to serve.

We live in a world where truth doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make money.
Where justice is something you can buy.
Where healing comes with terms and conditions, and education is less about learning and more about producing compliant little workers to keep the wheels turning.

You think that’s harsh? Look around.

Politicians lie to your face and call it policy.
Big pharma treats you like a customer, not a patient.
Schools teach you algebra but not how to manage your mental health.
And the news? The news has become a reality show, clickbait dressed up as journalism, designed not to inform but to inflame.

Because the truth doesn’t sell.
Fear does.
Division does.
Outrage does.

Keep people angry. Keep them scared. Keep them distracted.
Because the more we’re busy fighting each other, the less likely we are to notice who’s actually pulling the strings.

And yeah, we voted for this, didn’t we?

That’s the part no one wants to admit.
We sit around slating the government, calling them liars, saying they don’t care, that they fuck everything up, and then when election time rolls around, what do we do? We vote for the lesser of two evils. I’ve heard that line too many times. “I don’t trust any of them, but what choice do we have?”

That’s not a democracy. That’s damage control.

We’ve become so used to corruption that we’ve started accepting it as normal. We don’t vote with hope, we vote with fear. We choose the option that might ruin us slightly slower. And then we sit back and watch the same cycle play out again and again, cuts, lies, scandals, blame, and still, somehow, we stay quiet.

We rant in private. We joke about it in the pub. We know they’re taking the piss. But we do fuck all about it.
Why?
Because it’s easier.
Because the alternative, waking up and doing something, is fucking exhausting.
Because we’ve been trained to believe we’re powerless.

But we’re not.
We’re just numb.
And that’s exactly how they want us.

And you know what’s worse? We’ve normalised it.
We’ve stopped even questioning it.
Because it’s just the way it is.

We expect politicians to be corrupt.
We expect media to be biased.
We expect companies to exploit us.

And we roll with it. We accept it. We keep our heads down and keep working, because that’s what we’ve been trained to do.
To survive it.
To submit to it.
To pretend we’ve got choices when really we’re just choosing the colour of our chains.

Because make no mistake , this shit runs deep.

Your vote doesn’t mean much when every candidate is owned by the same donors.
Your job security means fuck-all when your company cares more about shareholders than staff.
Your health becomes a business opportunity the moment you get sick.

And all of it is stitched together with one thread… Money.

Corruption isn’t a glitch.
It’s the operating system.
And the people benefiting from it have made sure it stays that way.

They keep us tired.
They keep us broke.
They keep us scrambling for scraps, and then sell us books and podcasts about hustle culture like that’s empowerment, when really it’s just a prettier way to say, “Stay in line.”

Meanwhile, they’re laughing.
Flying private. Dodging taxes. Holding meetings about how to sell you things you don’t need while quietly dismantling your rights.

And the wildest part?

You try to speak up about it, and they call you a conspiracy theorist.
They say you’re negative.
They tell you to “focus on the good.”
To “be grateful.”
To shut up and smile.

No.

I’m fucking tired of pretending this is okay.

Tired of pretending that this slow, soul-sucking, dignity-draining system is something we should be grateful for.
Because how the hell are we supposed to be grateful when we’re working ourselves into the ground just to keep a roof over our heads, praying that one bad month doesn’t cost us everything?

People say things like, “The system’s broken.”

But it’s not.
It’s working exactly how it was designed to.

It was never built to help people like you and me.
It was built to control us.
To keep the rich rich, the powerful powerful, and the rest of us too distracted, divided, and drained to do anything about it.

That’s not broken.
That’s engineered.

And the only way it stops is if we start seeing it for what it is — not as some distant political problem, but as the everyday reality we live and breathe and die in.

It’s in our hospitals.
It’s in our paychecks.
It’s on our screens.
It’s in our silence.

So if you’re reading this and feeling angry, good.
That’s not weakness.
That’s your soul waking up.

Keep going.
Start asking questions.
Start seeing past the headlines.
Start looking people in the eye again instead of through a filter.

Because once you start noticing the rot, you can’t unsee it.
And once you feel the fire? You won’t want to go back to pretending.

_{This is what silence feels like after the truth has hit. It’s not peaceful, it’s heavy. Cold. Alone. This song doesn’t try to cheer you up. It just sits with you in the awareness that everything is fucked, and knowing it doesn’t make it easier. It’s the sound of walking through a world that suddenly feels unfamiliar. The cost of clarity is this: you don’t unsee it. You just carry it. And Ben’s voice carries it with you.}

The Cost of Seeing Clearly – What They Don’t Want You to Notice

Waking up sounds empowering, like you’ve unlocked some higher truth, like you’ve broken through the noise and now you’re free.
But the truth?
It doesn’t feel like freedom at first.
It feels like grief.

Because once you start to really see the world, the lies, the manipulation, the systems designed to use and discard you, you can’t just go back to pretending. You can’t laugh at the same things, scroll past the same crap, watch the news without wanting to throw something at the screen. You see through it all.

And that kind of clarity?
It comes at a cost.

You start to feel disconnected from people who are still asleep. Not because you think you’re better than them, but because the conversations don’t hit the same anymore. You’re talking about truth, and they’re talking about Love Island. You’re thinking about purpose, and they’re thinking about payday.

And it’s lonely.

People don’t always want to hear the truth. In fact, most of them fucking hate it.
Because truth doesn’t comfort, it confronts.
It asks hard questions. It shakes the ground they’ve built their beliefs on.
So instead of listening, they label you: negative, angry, too intense, paranoid, dramatic.

You speak up and suddenly you’re the problem.
You point out the cracks and they say, “Why can’t you just be positive?”
You say something uncomfortable and they joke, “You’ve changed.”

Yeah. You have.
You see now.
And it’s not a vibe, it’s a fucking burden.

Because the more awake you become, the more isolated you feel.

You walk into a room full of surface-level chat and feel like screaming.
You watch the news and feel nauseous.
You sit on your lunch break at work and wonder how the fuck everyone else is okay with this.
Like… how are they not losing their minds too?

But they are.
Silently. Secretly.
And some of them are waiting for someone, anyone, to say what they’re scared to admit, that none of this feels right. That everything feels rigged. That maybe we’re not crazy, just awake in a world that’s still asleep.

The worst part is, the more clearly you see the system, the more powerless you can feel.
Because once you understand how deep the rot goes, it can feel hopeless.
Like nothing you do will ever make a difference.
Like screaming into a hurricane.

And that’s exactly how they want you to feel.
Isolated. Exhausted. Numb.

Because if you’re too tired to care, you won’t fight.
If you feel alone, you won’t speak.
If you think no one gets it, you’ll stay silent.

But here’s the truth… You’re not alone.

There are more of us waking up every day. Quietly, painfully, one truth at a time. And yeah, it fucking hurts. But it also opens your heart to the stuff that actually matters, real connection, real purpose, real peace. The stuff they can’t sell you.

You stop caring about the noise.
You stop chasing the approval of people who never saw you in the first place.
You stop playing the game.

And that’s when the tide starts to turn.

Not with revolutions on the streets.
But with revolutions in your mind.
In your soul.
In the way you speak, the way you choose, the way you show up in the world.

They don’t want you to see clearly.
Because once you do, you become dangerous.
Not because you’ll overthrow the system.
But because you no longer need it to feel whole.

And that?
That’s real fucking power.

_{This is where we talk about the real cost. Not just confusion or frustration but fucking death. Children. Families. Silenced. Burned. Forgotten. This isn’t a metaphor, it’s real life. Lowkey’s voice is pure sorrow turned into purpose. This track walks through the ashes of a system built to ignore us. And it asks the question… how many more have to die before we stop pretending this is normal? This song is about Grenfell, the literal proof that poor people don’t mean fuck all to the rich and powerful, just thrown in a corner and forgotten about. Even more proof is the fact that many other buildings are still like Grenfell… just more ticking time bombs and they don’t fucking care. (For those outside the UK who don’t know this story, search for Grenfell tower fire, UK)}

Reclaiming Sanity in a Delusional World

So what do you do with all this?

What do you do when you’ve seen through the illusion, when you know the system’s corrupt, when fame, fortune, and power have been exposed for what they really are, hollow, toxic, rigged?

You reclaim yourself.

Because in a world that’s constantly trying to pull you off-centre, to distract you, sell to you, shame you, silence you, the most radical thing you can do is stay rooted in who you really are.

You don’t need to burn everything down to be free.
You just need to stop giving your soul to things that never deserved it.

Stop measuring your worth by what you own.
Stop chasing people who only see you when you’re shining.
Stop trying to fit into a system that’s designed to break you down just to sell you the solution.

You were never meant to be part of that game.

You were built for something real.
Something honest.
Something human.

And maybe that doesn’t look flashy.
Maybe it won’t go viral.
Maybe it won’t be clapped for or sponsored, or monetised.
But it will be yours.
And it will be true.

It starts by simplifying.

By saying no.
By stepping back from the noise.
By choosing presence over performance.
By building connections that aren’t based on clout or currency, but on soul.

You don’t have to scream to be heard.
You just have to speak the truth.
You don’t have to fight everyone.
Just refuse to let the system swallow you.

Reclaim your time.
Reclaim your focus.
Reclaim your energy from things that only drain you and give nothing back.

Read books. Sit in silence. Walk outside without needing to record it.
Call someone you love. Help someone who’ll never be able to return the favour.
Do things that matter, even if no one sees them, especially if no one sees them.

Because that’s how we win.

Not with rage alone.
Not by shouting louder.
But by living in such a deeply real, grounded, authentic way that the system can’t touch you anymore.

They can keep the seashells.
You’ve got sand beneath your feet.
They can keep the followers.
You’ve got real ones who’d stand by you when it all falls apart.
They can keep the money.
You’ve got peace, and that’s priceless.

You’re not crazy for seeing what you see.
You’re not negative.
You’re not broken.
You’re awake.

And yeah, that comes with pain.
But it also comes with clarity.
And clarity is power.

So if you’ve made it this far, I hope you know, you’re not alone in this.

There’s a quiet resistance building out here.
A community of people who are done pretending.
Done performing.
Done playing a game that was never meant for us to win.

We’re not here to compete.
We’re here to remember.

What matters.
Who we are.
And how much bullshit we’re willing to leave behind to finally feel fucking free.

_{This song is what it feels like to exist but not really be here. To walk around in a body that functions but has a missing soul. It’s depression without drama. It’s emptiness with a heartbeat. Written perfectly, they can keep the shells, the shiny distractions, the fake status symbols. I’ve got the sand. The gritty truth. The part they all ignore. This song lives in that space, the space between being here and being gone.}

They Can Keep the Shells. I’ve Got Sand.

If you’ve made it all the way to the end, thank you. I don’t say that lightly. You’ve just read a lot of uncomfortable truths, maybe some of them hit hard. Maybe some of it felt like someone finally put into words the things you’ve been thinking but never said out loud.

This wasn’t easy to write.
Because it’s not a rant.
It’s a release.
It’s everything I’ve been carrying, the anger, the confusion, the exhaustion, all of it poured out in words so maybe, just maybe, someone out there wouldn’t feel so alone.

And just so it’s clear, I’m not writing this from some high horse.
I haven’t “made it.”
I don’t have a fancy house or a fortune tucked away or a lifestyle that anyone would be jealous of.

At the end of the day, I’ve got my car, my fishing gear, my work tools, and the clothes on my back. That’s it.
I’m not chasing clout. I’m not angry because I don’t have what others have.
This isn’t written out of jealousy.
It’s written out of truth, a harsh truth most people don’t want to see, or aren’t ready to see, or choose not to see because seeing it means admitting that this whole thing might be built on lies.

But once you start to really look around, really look, it’s impossible to ignore.
And yeah, it’s painful.
But it’s also freeing.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m not claiming to be some guru or a revolutionary voice. I’m just a guy who sees the world a little clearer than he used to, and it fucking hurts sometimes.
Because once you see the cracks, you can’t unsee them.
But the beauty is, once you’ve seen them, you can start choosing differently.
And that’s the power they don’t want you to realise you have.

If you’re feeling heavy after reading all this, take a moment. Breathe.
Then remember this, you are not broken for struggling in a broken world.
You are not wrong for feeling like something is off.
You are not lost. You’re waking up.
And that means something.

I’m still figuring it out too. Still stumbling. Still raging. Still hoping.

If nothing else, just know this…
You’re not alone.
You’re never alone.
Not in this.

_{And this is where it ends, not quietly, but with purpose. Genesis isn’t just a track. It’s a manifesto. A fuck you to everything fake. A reminder that we don’t have to follow. That we don’t have to stay numb, or scared, or compliant. It doesn’t just expose the system, it calls you to outgrow it. This is rebirth with teeth. This is your final message to you… You’ve seen the truth. Now, what are you going to do with it?}

THEPLAINANDSIMPLEGUY

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