Post Like One of the Great Ones

Meta-posting for power and profit

Ever stare in the mirror, just flexing your rock hard abs and asking yourself why the peons aren’t just lining up to snack on ‘em? Some writers don’t even have a 6-pack, while your body of work is rippled with gristle. Your wordsmithery is the equivalent of Brad Pitt’s physique in Fight Club. So what the Hell?¹

I used to ponder this frequently. So there I was, grim but determined. I dove deep into the catacombs, into that ineffable place wedged between space and time - spanning infinity. The journey almost drove me mad, but I escaped with sacred knowledge that I obtained at great cost.

I've been where you were: homeless, penniless, hairless, drinking cold soup straight out of a tin can. Last year, my most loquacious and provocative posts were only getting views from the smelliest of incels, despite my insistence that my audience should be composed almost entirely of yeoman Jack Mormon types.

The so-called experts tell you to write longer posts using the longest words like: “Psychoneuroimmunology.”

They say: use better hooks, but they never mention the bait.

Add more value, they chastise. Well, true story, one time I tried to bribe my audience with a crypto scam.

But something wasn't adding up. I kept seeing these small-time reptilian writers with walnut-sized brains hoodwink the masses into consuming their content and feasting on their sweet loosh, while girthy hominid newsletters like this were lonelier than Kunta Kinte at a Merle Haggard concert. Shortly after suffering a psychotic break arguing with ChatGPT, I decided to do something extraordinary.

I commissioned an eager team of young autistic men to ransack the data vaults of Substack. After seeing my rock hard abs and masculine post structure, they agreed to apprentice for me in return for unlimited advice, Slim Jims, and Mountain Dew Code Red. They were an older incel breed, but they checked out. I gave them the title of Department of Post Engineering (DOPE) and they got to work. They toiled from my underground bunker in [Location Redacted] working for several weeks straight analyzing only the dankest, rarest, and creamiest of Substack posts. The top 1%. Valhalla. They fed the data to my custom desktop R2D2 LLM, and let’s just say… beep bop boop. When I opened my robot's glistening hatch and examined the findings, my prodigious brain throbbed and wrung out the best of the neurotransmitter fluids, which promptly flooded down my spine. A shocking, deadly, and elating truth washed over me. The virality experts were wrong. The power has been inside me this whole time.

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The Norse Research Method (And Why It Matters before Ragnarok)

First, let me be clear about what I mean by "Valhalla." I specifically mean a mythical hall in Norse mythology where Viking warriors who die in battle go to the afterlife. It is a place of eternal feasting, drinking, and fighting. How can the True Sons of Odin make their own keyboards smoke with bloody execution and capture legendary glory?

Here's where I get bold. Between R2D2’s snarky, but endearing robo-blather and a steady diet of DMT, I discovered the pattern on how to write like “the prose”. It wasn't about girth, memes, or even make sense grammar style. It was about something deeper, hidden in the cosmic underworld of non-Euclidean space. To achieve unending glory, you must first gaze into the mouth of madness.

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Win at all Costs or Die

Before we dive deep into the ravening lunatic underbelly of audience maxing, here's something I picked up from my voyage to the dream world of unknown Kadath. Implement it at your peril, for its power is great and capricious. It’s called the "Rope-a-Dope Method."

Gaze thoroughly into the following arcane mechanics:

1. Handwrite your lurid hook/intro. If you don’t have blood on hand, black or green bile will work.

2. In the third paragraph, add this exact phrase: "But here's what you, an idiot, have failed to grasp."

3. Follow it with an esoteric spell that ensnares the very soul of your audience.

Example:

• Normal hook: "Audiences, like horses, must be groomed."

• Double-hook: "But here's what you, an idiot, have failed to grasp: are you not equal parts simian and equine? Why then brush your chestnut mare, when it is you who are the centaur-stallion? Coal black and twenty hands high, you are the means of your own swift conveyance."

Huffing nitrous in the laboratory with the DOPEs, we saw that this methodology had googtupled our engagement and even got some of our female readers pregnant. Our triumphant gibbering shook the halls, briefly stirring the Old Ones themselves from their slumber, but even they dared not approach us.

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The Pattern That Should Not Be

The mightiest posts of all followed a structure that I call the "Rainbow Bridge" structure. But before I polysyllabically explain what that is, let me show what you, a nincompoop, fail to understand:

Make your reader deeply uncomfortable. Stand back while I blow your mind.

The top 1% of posts all do something that vacillates between butchery and faith-healing in their first few sentences. Instead of just pulling the reader into their sloppy pontoon on the information superhighway and spanking their greasy buns, they shine an unholy mirrored x-ray into their psyche and bend them to their will. They stand the reader at the precipice of a chasm, black and unyielding, pulling back the veil of ignorance and forcing them to reckon with:

• Their crumbling worldview and tenuous grasp to their mask of sanity

• What has been whispered and forgotten in the nether regions of reality

• Why this is cataclysmically URGENT

This creates psychic unease that isn't resolved until they are liberated from the endless cycle of samsara. If you do this “write” (this is an example of a professional-level pun) the reader, in a state of somnambulance, will start a chain email with everyone on their distribution list. If others even look, game over. The network effect will determine that everyone in the world, regardless of what language they speak, will share your post. It doesn’t even matter if they finish reading it: their shrunken head is dangling from your growing amulet chain.

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Chew on this Data, Peasant

When I swallowed the juice, said the magic words, and started composing like a god, this happened:

• My average readers heart rate increased by 314%

• Comments jumped from “neat post” to “I await and serve”

• My subscribers’ IQs doubled

But here's what you fail to comprehend: Not only are my Michaelango-esque abs oiled and on full display, the line goes out the building and wraps around the block for people just looking to steal a glimpse.

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The Hair Triggers I Pulled

DOPE research revealed in my restless soul an "itchy trigger finger" that I use mercilessly to make readers hit share:

1. The Status Shift. When you help readers feel superior. Example: "While everyone focuses on grocery prices and the rat race, the real metric that predicts Substack success is your undying devotion to me, the author. Not all readers are as gifted as you, and you don’t know how truly good you have it to be with me."

2. The Interrupt. Challenge reader comprehension by giving them non-sequitur numerical data. This will ensure they share with someone to assist in unraveling the mystery. Example: "90% of explorers think Cthulhu is lord of the Old Ones, but as he lies dreaming beneath the waves in the dead city of R'lyeh, it is actually Azathoth who rules as the supreme deity. An easy mistake to make since neither are comprehensible to the human mind..."

3. Prophecy. Showing readers what's coming next in that hallucinatory space between waking and sleep. Example: "Based on my analysis, here's why the next wave of moon beasts shall quench the thirst of your unyielding blade..."

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Advice is for the Weak

Most writing eggheads command thee thusly:

1. Flatter the reader

2. Deliver a bribe

3. Call to adventure

But the true AEsir of posting do something Raganrokically different. They command what I call "sight beyond sight" – moments throughout the post where readers hear the cavernous blast of Heimbdall’s horn and are compelled to shatter the axes of their foes on the battle plain. Nothing is real except the quest: the curse and ecstasy of bathing in the blood of your enemies.

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Your Audience is the Bagel, Your Post is the Cream Cheese, and You are the Brave Little Poaster

Here's the insanity-inducing certitude I derived from my time in the bowels of that Alchemic Tomb from which I narrowly escaped: Most posts fail to bagel-spread because they're old lox written for your middle school English teacher, not your latent army of ghastly subterranean sharers.

How do you tell the difference?

• “Readers” tend to enjoy a tome of forgotten lore over sherry in the drawing room

• “Sharers” are trapped in an obelisk that phases irrationally between blinding blue light and all-consuming impenetrable darkness

The posts that go viral serve you: an idiot and master of rhetoric. They appeal to both bourgeois and troglodytic values. And so you shall reap the benefits and glory.

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Reality? Reason? Do They Matter?

Here's the disquieting tortuous truth: Most Substack writers, like you, should give up, for the end is nigh and spots in Valhalla are limited for aristocratic nobility, driven mad by the will to power. So tend to your family, your garden, your automobile. The scrivener shall go the way of the blacksmith. Is your content valuable? Perhaps. Perhaps someday my LLM will devour your posts and assimilate it into my glorious immortal digital egregore.

I’ve seen writers spend several lifetimes on crafting the perfect post, only to be pulled downward into the abyss by undulating grotesque tentacles. The frustration of offering up your soul then only hearing the cacophony of the nameless, eyeless things that sleep between hither and yon? Well, that’s the definition of insanity!

And the most bad part? (Aside from cyclopean forces tearing at the fabric of our understanding of reality). It’s not about skill or hard work. It’s walking that razor’s edge between sociopathy and empathy. Making weaker men submit in a way that elicits: “Thank you sir, may I have another?”

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Achieving Superliminal Velocity

Most disturbingly, when I tried this one weird trick, I discovered something strange. My posts, when measured by R2’s quantum electron microscope, had exceeded the bounds of Newtownian and Einstenian physics. Not only did they go viral, they had infiltrated the very minds of my audience before I even hit send. Call it luck, call it sorcery, but this is a power beyond the narrow vale of simple human understanding. To circumvent the world of the digital and our primitive central nervous systems and commandeer the psyche itself: that is true power.

Because such velocity is superliminal, it’s likely you’ve already missed your chance. But if you have the courage, virtue, and indomitable spirit of obsession needed to join me in my hexagonal palace in the ionosphere, here’s the treacherous path you must take your readers down. You’re going to have to bully them a bit.

1. The Nut Check. Think your nuts are safe behind that wall of denim and polyester? Think again. Swat! Welcome to the 7th grade locker room, nerd. Example: "Wow, you’re in Algebra II, huh, that’s really interesting.” [swat!] PSA - you’re not trying to knock the air out of them, just a brisk backhand will do.

2. The Insight Smack. Instead of dumping your nerdy readers into the dumpster immediately, first show them:

• You’re taking their homework and offering Hurts Donuts

• Indian burns and pink bellies are the least of your powers

• Big revelation that changes everything: there is no escape

3. The Status Upgrade. Give your demoralized readers a new way to think about themselves: as your queasy but determined squire. An upwardly mobile weakling, animated by the spirit of one day enacting sweet vengeance. Example: "We’re friends right? You rob the student commissary and I’ll keep lookout!”

But here's what's really interesting: Posts using this framework didn't just spread faster – they metastasized and took on a life of their own. They became self-aware. They became Gods.

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Act Now or Perish

I've spent eons in a state pinballing between madness and meditation to chain the beast that is the Substack algorithm to unleash it upon your frail but deserving human psyches. The results have been grotesque, but irreversible: one such as me cannot unsee what lies underneath the fabric of our cosmos.

Understanding the dominion of chaos is just the start. You will fall in line and speak with my voice.

That's exactly why I created the Cthonic Secrets Grimoire and Mystery Cult. It's a system that will break you: mind, body, and spirit:

• The exact "Rainbow Bridge" used by the AEsir themselves

• How to create horrifying, cosmic "cognitive dissonance" on any topic

• Amplifying every post with distortion levels akin to a Slayer Guitar Solo

Whether you join the ranks of my groveling minions matters not. Only I, and the elder spirits of the Disgraced, Astroturfed MSM journos hold the key to your survival.

1. This Piece was Inspired by this: a good piece by Wes Pearce of Escape the Cubicle.