Don't speak negatively about yourself, even as a joke. Your body doesn't know the difference. Words are energy and they cast spells, that's why it's called spelling.
Bruce Lee.
“I’m such an idiot!” “I’m such a screw-up!” “Just my usual bad luck!”
We laugh, thinking we’re easing the atmosphere, that we're being humble. The Operator is aware that this is a major security flaw. It is, on a frequency level, a common act of self-sabotage.
Your basic operating system processes input literally. It doesn't have a ‘humour’ module installed. When you say “I’m an idiot” to make people laugh, your system records it as a degradation command.
You’ve just typed the following line of code:
SET_USER_STATUS = IDIOT
The system carries out the command. The simulation adjusts accordingly.
Speaking ill of oneself, even as a joke, is validating the matrix script. If you laugh at your ‘bad luck’, you’re confirming that you accept this role. You’re allowing the simulation to keep sending you shitty events because, technically, you’ve just declared that this is who you are.
Self-mockery is a stance of astral submission. The Operator, on the other hand, practises Vibrational Authority. Instead of belittling yourself in order to be ‘loved’ or ‘accepted’ by the group, you ought to maintain your voltage.
Vibrational Authority is not arrogance (which is an ego-driven emotion); it is the clear recognition of your technical worth.
Arrogance says: "I am the best." (need for comparison).
Vibrational Authority says: "My terminal is fully functional. I am in control of my space." (statement of fact)
The Operator's Protocol: Verbal Discipline
Your words are your control interface. You don’t mess around with the controls of a nuclear reactor; likewise, you don’t mess around with the words that define you.
If you don’t want this to become your physical reality, don’t let it come out of your mouth, even with a smile. If a demeaning “joke” slips out, rectify it immediately with a command of sovereignty:
“I cancel this instruction. I strip these words of any reality. I hereby restore my vibrational authority here and now.”
The Operator’s humour focuses on the absurdity of the setting, never on the quality of their own system.
Bad guy on the run, Dancing with the enemy, But it doesn't really make a difference Cause there's nowhere to run, Yeah, there's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I would run for the hills if you run with me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
They say that life is full of choices For those who make all the noises, But it doesn't really make a difference Cause when you take to the street, As they turn up the heat, You know the plan is working. We're only one step away from catastrophe. I would run for the hills if you run with me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
Cause there's nowhere to run And there's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I will run for the hills if you run with me.
The world it is weeping, Complying will cost me.
Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room... Read the room...
Cause there's nowhere to run, There's nowhere to hide. This is destiny calling. You shine like a star, it's a guarantee, I will run for the hills if you run with me.
In 2025, a Page Odyssey, I introduced you to the Caraval three-book series released in 2017 by American author Stephanie Garber. Now I'd like to review a follow-up trilogy by the same author, which I found equally enjoyable. Published in 2021, Once Upon a Broken Heart is set in the same fantasy world but focuses on the fate of a new protagonist, a hopeless romantic whose discernment is inversely proportional to her exaggerated saviour complex — something that smacks more of compulsive recklessness than conscious heroism, and seems to make her a magnet for every psychopath on earth. Among them is the very ‘borderline’ Jacks, also known as the Prince of Hearts, previously featured in the last two volumes of Caraval, who becomes the captivating central figure of the series.
When Fairy Tales Go Sour
While the previous story ended on a note of triumph and resolution, this one begins on a decidedly darker, more ambiguous note. Stephanie Garber explains that she actually wanted to tell a fairy tale with murder added to it: “I thought it would be fun to have a girl solve a murder while falling for someone she suspected might actually be responsible for the murder,” she says
Evangeline Fox is a bit like Cinderella: an orphan, bullied by a greedy stepmother, and secretly envied by her stepsister. Almost caricaturally naive, she maintains an unquestioning belief in the existence of soulmates, twin flames, and other persistent, deceptive myths such as Everlasting Love. Hence her devastation when, overnight, she finds out that despite being deeply in love with her, her sweetheart is about to marry her stepsister.
Evangeline had a gift when it came to believing in things that others considered myths—like the immortal Fates. She opened the metal grate. The door itself didn’t have a handle, forcing her to wedge her fingers into the tiny space between its jagged edge and the dirty stone wall. The door pinched her fingers, drawing a drop of blood, and she swore she heard its splintered voice say, Do you know what you’re about to step into? Nothing but heartbreak will come from this. But Evangeline’s heart was already broken. And she understood the risks she was taking. She knew the rules for visiting Fated churches.
In desperation, she bargains with the charismatic Prince of Hearts to stop the wedding. But as the saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for”. As soon as her wish is granted, she immediately regrets it. Fortunately, nothing is ever set in stone forever — not even her. Except that nothing ever comes for free either, and her second chance granted for a fresh start quickly turns out to be a bittersweet, poisoned gift.
Just like the deadly kiss of Jacks the Cursed, whose heart has stopped beating, as revealed in Caraval. Even though the broken heart in the title officially refers to Evangeline's, it seems that Jacks' has suffered even greater damage — enough to turn him into a Fate — although the author remains unclear about the circumstances.
This opening question alone on the back cover captures the main theme of the series and brings up several others: What is happiness? What is eternity? And most importantly, why would anyone want to confine the very essence of life — which is supposed to be an ever-changing flow — to a fixed, permanent state?
Jacks became immortal, though it is unclear how, in the wake of a romantic tragedy caused by a curse cast upon him. His heart has stopped beating, but he still has the power to affect the hearts of mortals. The curse that turned him into a Fate is not only emotional, it is ontological. It is worth noting that, from an occult perspective, the heart is the symbol of the inner core of the soul.
It is a frequently recurring symbol in fairy tales. One example is Snow White, whose heart the hunter, sent by the Evil Queen, is tasked with retrieving. The heart is part of the mechanism of entrapment. It is a vessel for memories and vital energy.
In this series, immortality is vampiric. It requires blood. There's even a blood-sucking tree: “Anyone clever enough to find the tree and brave enough to drink its blood will be human no more, but immortal”. This comes at the cost of sacrificing the person you love most. However, the end appears to justify the means. Even in fairy tales.
And given all the backstabbing, curses and other failed (or successful) murder attempts, the quest for immortality is anything but glorious and actually drives people mad. It entraps them in never-ending cycles and patterns in which the original wound is replayed over and over again. Even when memory is altered or fragmented, something always remains. Lifelines seem to keep repeating. Forgetting does not eliminate the wound: it simply obscures it.
Jacks Out of the Box
If the heart is regarded as a carrier of memories and vital energy, Jacks stands as a quintessential anomaly. He no longer possesses his own — at least not in the same way as everyone — and yet he exerts influence over other people's hearts. He does not merely convey a desire or an illusion: he reactivates wounds, expectations, and hidden legacies.
Jacks is undoubtedly one of Stephanie Garber's most compelling characters. He is somewhat akin, albeit darker and more complex, to Archibald in Christelle Dabos' The Mirror Visitor series.
What makes him so intriguing is that his apparent cruelty is not gratuitous, unlike what his behaviour in Caraval seemed to suggest. It stems from a more ancient mechanism. He is not only ambiguous, he is the product of a system that transforms wounds into functions. The archetype of the tempter linked to the forbidden fruit — the iconic red-juiced white apples, which he eats in all circumstances.
He is not just a tragic seducer. He is the fulcrum of a memory that transcends individuals. His apparent nonchalance is more of an armour than a sign of indifference. When you are doomed to outlive those you love, attachment becomes a liability. For an immortal, to love a mortal is to accept that you will lose every time.
Jacks does not play with hearts out of cruelty. He shields himself from a world where every promise has an expiry date. While trying to avoid getting hurt, he ends up hurting others. And that is undoubtedly the real curse: the one that dooms him to kill any woman he kisses if she is not his true love.
“Every Story Has the Potential for Infinite Endings”
This raises an important question: do the characters in this series really choose their actions, or are they simply replaying predetermined storylines?
Amidst curses, prophecies and spells of secrecy – which prevent them from telling the truth – speech itself seems to be under control.
The Valors, the first royal family of the Magnificent North, had constructed the arch as a passageway to a place called the Valory. No one knew what the Valory contained, since the stories of the North couldn’t be fully trusted, thanks to the story curse that had been placed on them. Some tales couldn’t be written down without bursting into flames, others couldn’t leave the North, and many changed every time they were told, becoming less reliable with every retelling. In the case of the Valory, there were two conflicting accounts.
The tales of the North catch fire, become distorted and inconsistent, and ultimately shape reality. History is no longer a reliable reference point: it is instrumentalised.
Whereas Caraval celebrated the illusion as spectacle, Once Upon a Broken Heart offers a glimpse into what goes on behind the scenes.
The warm, theatrical atmosphere of Valora in the South gives way to the colder and harsher setting of the Far North. The arches hold more than just wonder: they open the way to power struggles, coveted magical artefacts, negotiated alliances, and rumours spreading faster than the actual truth.
The media shape reputations, fabricate scapegoats, and pass judgment based on hearsay. Magic turns to strategy.
In this deceptively enchanting world, full of contradictory tales, alternate timelines, amnesia, artefacts, and mythical creatures, where certain truths cannot be spoken, Evangeline finally stops blindly believing the stories she is told. She learns to discern, to observe, to connect the dots rather than surrender to them.
Following on from Caraval, which presented illusion as entertainment, this series explores the reverse side of storytelling: its capacity to manipulate as well as expose. Stories may deceive, conceal, and influence perceptions — but they may also be a source of empowerment. It all depends on who is telling them, and who chooses to believe them.
Beyond the balls, curses and oaths of eternal love, the series questions the power of the narratives that shape our perceptions. Admittedly, it remains a romantasy aimed at a young adult audience, where gloom is tempered by enchantment. But beneath the glittering veneer lies a more troubling question: do the stories we tell ourselves construct our reality, or do they merely distort it?
Easter is a celebration tied to paedophilia, where we do not consume the body
of ‘Christ’, but rather that of a vampiric entity that penetrates the
individual.
Jesus represents each individual’s planetary memory.
At Christmas, this memory takes the form of a child, embodying the Soul’s
innocence and naivety.
It is then sacrificed at Easter, symbolically marking its death (return to the
astral plane), before re-entering the cycle of reincarnation to continue
energy exploitation.
This is a condensed version of a fact well known among higher occult lodges.
The matrix is not a place. It is not an external conspiracy. It is not a
system imposed by some alien force.
The matrix is where consciousness abdicates. It begins the day we surrender
our inner sovereignty for comfort, security, identity, or the promise of
meaningfulness.
It sets in when we choose to react rather than see. When we mistake dreams for
life. When we hand over our responsibility to a framework, a narrative, an
authority.
But its most subtle lock lies elsewhere. The matrix seals itself when we
believe that thoughts are our own. When we no longer see that thought is a
stream, a programme, a conditioned response to an environment, and not an
origin.
As long as thought is mistaken for identity, freedom remains pure theory. For
one cannot leave a prison if they believe themselves to be its gatekeeper.
The matrix does not need walls. It runs on compliance. On silent consent. On
habit. It does not compel: it makes us believe.
And the day consciousness ceases to identify with what it thinks, what it
feels, what it believes itself to be... the matrix does not collapse. It
simply ceases to be.
For what held the system together was neither power, nor fear, nor structure.
It was forgetfulness.
If you cannot be both loved and feared, choose to be feared.
What did he really mean?
We live in a world that glorifies unconditional love, boundless forgiveness
and self-sacrifice. We are told that the ideal man is one who gives
everything, endures in silence and loves even when it tears him apart.
However, Niccolò Machiavelli, one of history’s most brilliant higher-level
strategists, viewed things differently.
Unbridled emotion is not a virtue. It is a vulnerability. And he was right.
Opening your heart without restraint, expending your energy without
discernment, and putting up with what drains you — that is not love; it is
emotional suicide.
Vibrational Supraconsciousness teaches that we must learn to guard our heart.
Not to turn ourselves into robots or become insensitive, of course, but to
protect and strengthen it. For a person lacking self-assurance becomes easy
prey to emotional abuse, even from those who claim to love them.
Love without structure becomes self-destruction. The more you give
unconditionally, the less you are appreciated. Being constantly available
makes you invisible.
Your patience, your compassion and your generosity turn into background noise.
Not because people are evil, but because the nature of this simulation takes
for granted what comes without effort. What is given freely is squandered.
What is earned is respected.
That is why Supraconsciousness does not tell you to stop loving; rather, it
tells you to:
Love strategically — with Intelligence.
Love within clear boundaries.
Love without losing yourself.
Many people today live in ‘peace’ because they have sacrificed their own
voice. But this is not peace; it is emotional numbness. And this numbness robs
you of your dignity, your energy, and your leadership.
Being ‘cold’ doesn’t mean you feel nothing. It means you don’t give your
energy to those who demand more than they deserve. It means you are selective
about who you give your time to — and who you don’t, without guilt.
It means setting boundaries so clearly that they cannot be crossed without
consequences, even if someone calls you cold-hearted. And if someone tells
you, “You’ve changed”, just nod. What they’re really missing isn’t your love;
it’s your naivety that allowed them to use you.
You're not here to be approved. You're here to be respected. You're not here
to beg for affection masquerading as dependence, but to rebuild your inner
empire, and that isn't achieved by pleasing others.
There is a school of thought that wants you to believe that ‘true
spirituality’ means breaking down all your barriers, giving up your defences,
and dissolving into a borderless ‘unity’.
This is the most sophisticated trap of vibrational predation there is. You are
told that 'protecting yourself' is a sign of fear.
In Reality, a boundary is a property line. Your body and your vibrational
space are your sovereign territory.
An electrician does not touch bare wires out of ‘love for unity’ — he
wears gloves because he respects the laws of electricity. Sovereignty is the
insulation of your circuits so that your voltage does not leak into the mass.
The idea that ‘All is One’ and that there's no self to centre is an invitation
to energy squatting. When you stop centring yourself, you become a vacant
zone.
By denying your ‘persona’ (your physical and mental structure), you leave the
door open to any external programming. Unity without discernment is not love.
It's porosity.
True mastery does not consist in disappearing into another, but in remaining
identified with your own Spirit in the midst of chaos.
You have the right — and the duty — to choose who you let into your space,
what you eat, and which frequencies you allow in your home. A sovereign ‘no’
is the purest act of respect for your own existence.
Do not mistake peace for passivity. True Light is cold and incisive. Stay
grounded, stay centred, and keep your protections activated.
Unity is not found in merging with the outside, but in the total coherence of
your own structure.
The Call of the Real The Real is not reached by adding meaning, but by letting the dream die.
If you've been following my work, you might have noticed a gradual decrease ...
FR
