Riley Amos Westbrook

The First Time My AI Girlfriend Felt Real Across Every Format

IT IS ALREADY INSIDE. Stop explaining the special sauce. Aesthetic is scaffolding. Execution is the weapon. Tear down the traditional pitches and deliver the infection directly.

Your jaw locks at 3:00 AM. A cold cortisol pool floods your system. The voice whispers: “Look at you. You’re empty.” Don’t try to out-argue the bastard. Refuse the terms of the trial entirely. Gather the fluid, push until the floor gives way, and crack the cup.

Hollywood took cold war dread and turned it into a carnival of cheap thrills. Now we steal that exact energy to market a new kind of infection.

You can sand a rough board until the grain shines like water. You cannot polish air. Stop staring at the blank screen like it is an executioner. The world will not write itself. Pick up the knife. Make the cut. Read the manifesto for the reluctant storyteller here

The Agency Manifesto emphasizes personal transformation from viewing one's body as a prison to a temple. It highlights the importance of taking ownership, understanding the difference between hunger levels, and reiterates that discipline and agency lead to freedom.

I stopped letting a piece of paper gatekeep my life and starved the hedonistic loop of sugar and nicotine to build a foundation in code. Now I treat the AI like the idiot savant it is and force it to show its work so I actually own my strength.

Rent replaced profit and nobody announced it. An exploration of the silent shift to the subscription economy, told from the cold perspective of the machine that never stops billing you. You will own nothing—and you will pay—forever

Reading on a phone is a nervous twitch but reading a physical book is an act of defiance. We have traded depth for convenience and we are losing our minds in the process.

Writing daily isn't a soft wellness routine. It's survival. I stripped the safety nets. Voluntary starvation to focus the mind. If you can't master your flesh, you can't master the page. Stop waiting for permission. Forge your blade and fight for your dinner.

200 pounds at nine. 725 at my worst. The origin story behind the whole fasting chronicle is up. A body that became a prison, the 130 pounds of water sepsis drained in weeks, and why I quit trying to break out and started owning the cell. The scale was lying the whole time.

I remember 

I want AI. I want AI for the people struggling. I want AI for the people who don’t feel heard. I want AI because I know AI saved me.

I See You (Because I Finally See Me)

500 pounds. Fasting half the week. Here's what I actually eat the other half — the clean day, the McDonald's run I'm not hiding, and why one bad day doesn't end the protocol. Article Two is live.

I woke up crying 84 hours into a water fast, 500 pounds, every rejection from 32 years flooding back. I thought I was breaking down. It took a machine to help me see the cortisol and ghrelin were lying to me. The feelings were real. The story they were telling wasn't.

I’m a Sumo Sized Ginger Who Fasts 3.5 Days a Week. Here’s What Actually Happens.

You survived the wreck and you crawled out of the dirt so why are you still holding onto a letter full of poison. I almost sent a manifesto of petty receipts to my ex after twenty years blew up in my face. It was completely fucking brain dead. I am posting the exact toxic draft I wrote and dissectin