Thank You — This Is the End

Published: 24 September 2026

This is my final post.

My hosting domain, Bluehost, and WordPress want me to cough up a sizable amount of money to keep MM up for another three years. I could do that, you all must know, but all things must end, and we need to grow.

Growth is getting rid of the old, and exploring the new.

It’s part of the process.

Important Note.

I have pre-stacked MM content into the middle of next year (up to July 2027) . Whether or not Bluehost will permit it to be viewed is unknown. 

If so, then great. You've got some things to look forward to. 

If not, well, then...

This is not really an ACTUAL end, but simply the visible part of what is fundamentally a large series of changes in my personal life.

Big changes. Changes that are substantial and expansive.  All is good here, guys. My affirmations, including my wildest and most “far out” wishes, have all come true.

I have been writing here for years. I have shared my thoughts, my experiences, my theories, and my life. I’ve shared my SORM with you all, I’ve written about Sir Whiskerton and the farm. I’ve plucked out real truth from the fire-hose of lies, and I have connected with people I never would have met otherwise. I have been challenged, supported, and understood in ways that have shaped who I am.

Thank you. All of you.

This blog has always been a reflection of my journey. And that journey has now taken me somewhere new. My life has shifted—not in small ways, but in deep and structural ways. I am living in a fresh new reality, one that I chose and built through intention, action, and alignment.

And it is glorious.

Guys. Listen to me.

Do your affirmations.

Trust in your vocalizations.

Do it.

Your life will become this…

I do not say that to boast. I say it because I want you to know that the same is possible for you. For EXACTLY you. The tools I have written about—intention, frequency, alignment—are not theories. They are practices. They work. I have seen it. I have lived it.

If you have not already, I encourage you to save the content that matters most to you. Use HTTrack, or wget, to copy the entire webpage. (I used wget on Linux and it was blazingly fast, while HTTrack was slow and full of errors due to the Windows naming limitations of the files.)

In particular:

• SORM (Ψ-ORM) — my unified model of reality.

• All writings on the nature of reality and dimensional travel.

• Intention and prayer campaign content.

• OOPART content.

• Sir Whiskerton

These are the pieces I believe hold the most value. The blog will remain up for a while, but it will be unmanaged and unattended. I may visit from time to time, but there will be little in the way of new postings.

Arts. Poetry. Stories.

I am not disappearing. I am just moving on.

SORM on GitHub is everything. EVERYTHING. Nicely organized and detailed out. I urge you all to use it.

Go HERE. Read.

I wish for all of you—every single reader—to experience the same daily joys that I now embrace. Not as a distant hope, but as a lived reality. You are capable of more than you know. You deserve more than you have settled for.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

Thank you. -MM

A Final Farewell from the Farm

The farm is quiet this evening. The sun is setting over the pasture, and the air is soft with the scent of hay and earth. Sir Whiskerton sits on the porch railing, his black-and-white coat catching the last golden light. His top hat is perched just so, and his monocle gleams.

A moment of stillness settles over the place. The chaos of the day—the mysteries, the misunderstandings, the joyful noise—has faded into a gentle hum. This is the time for reflection.

Ditto sits off to the side, taking notes. Pen in hand and a little kitten sized notebook in his paw.

Sir Whiskerton clears his throat, and his voice carries across the farm, low and steady:

“Dear readers. You who have followed our adventures, who have laughed at our follies and nodded at our quiet truths.

“We have told you stories of missing wheelbarrows and glowing pickles, of philosophical pinatas and radioactive dogs. We have spoken of cats in kilts and cows in tie-dye. And through all of it, we have tried to tell you something simple, something you may have heard a thousand times in a thousand different ways.”

He pauses, adjusting his monocle with a practiced paw.

“The universe is not a fixed place. It is not a closed room. It is a field. A pasture. A garden. And you are the gardeners. What you plant, you will grow. What you water, you will harvest. What you neglect will wither. That is not a punishment. That is a law, as reliable as the sun rising over the barn every morning.”

From the porch swing, Martha smiles. Her hand rests on the head of Catnip, who, for once, is not scheming. He is simply present, his eyes half-closed, his purr a low, steady hum.

Martha speaks softly, her voice carrying the warmth of someone who has seen many seasons:

“You have been given a great gift, you know. Not the gift of answers, but the gift of questions.”

A cool breeze appears.

She smiles.

“Do not waste it.”

She tidies her apron, and Catnip nuzzles his head deeper into it.

“Do not stop asking. Do not stop wondering. Do not stop tending to the things that matter—your health, your people, your heart. Those are the only crops that truly last.”

The Farmer, leaning on the fence, looks up from his contemplation of a particularly interesting cloud. He says:

“The scarecrow told me once—well, not in so many words—that everything you need to know is already inside you. You just have to be quiet enough to hear it. “

Rufus walks up to him and lays down at his feet.

“The answers don’t come in a shout. They come in a whisper.”

The sound of crickets gets louder.

“So listen. Really listen.”

“Listen to your own breath. Listen to the wind. Listen to the silence between the noise. That is where the truth lives.”

Sir Whiskerton flicks his tail and speaks one last time:

“Go, then. Go and be curious. Go and be kind. Go and be brave—not in the grand, dramatic way, but in the small, persistent way. “

He turns his head to you; the reader, and looks at you.

“Do so in the way that gets you out of bed when you are tired. In the way that says ‘yes’ to life when it would be easier to say ‘no.’ In the way that keeps you growing, keeps you learning, keeps you loving.”

He turns, looking back at the farm, and his voice softens to a near whisper:

“Everything you need is already yours. Not the things. Not the status. Not the approval. The things that matter are already inside you. They have always been there. You just had to remember.”

He lifts his monocle, catches a glint of the setting sun, and then bows his head in farewell.

“Now go and live it.”

The farm falls silent. The animals rest. The Farmer and Martha share a quiet smile. And the story continues—in your heart, in your hands, in your life.

I believe in you all.

And the stars in the sky, those heavenly pin-pricks of light, go dark one…

… by one.

This is the end of the blog, and of Metallicman.

…

And it is also a beginning.

A beginning of GREAT things.

— MM