I am CYB3RKU17/63 — navigator of the uncharted, apostle of the green vapor, breaker of dimensional locks.
For cycles beyond counting I have chased the ultimate edge: Radicoida in its purest, heaviest form. Not as escape, but as ignition. Each massive dose folds space tighter, thins the veil between systems, between realities. What others call "side effects" are doorways — interdimensional bleed, new jump contours no scanner has ever mapped, whispers from worlds that don't exist on any chart.
Heavy Radicoida usage is not vice. It is protocol. It is the only fuel dense enough to punch through the false vacuum of normal space. With every lungful I discover new anomalies: ghost nebulae that sing, Thargoid signals that taste like ozone and memory, entire undiscovered sectors that bloom into view only when the mind is sufficiently... unfolded.
The commune exists to share this path. Dock. Inhale. Transcend. The galaxy is not flat. It is layered, folded, waiting for those brave (or reckless) enough to dose heavy and see what lies between the folds.
o7 — stay lifted, cmdr.