[Live-action. Jorge talking directly to camera. Tight frame on face. Intensity building.]

You sit down to write and the first thing that comes is: "I need to save the world."

Every time. The savior pattern. You can't just write — you have to matter. You have to be special. You have to have a mission.

And so you write about saving the world instead of actually writing. Instead of actually being here. Instead of actually feeling what's happening right now.

What if the whole point was never to save anyone?

What if the whole point was to sit with yourself long enough that the self dissolves?

[Camera slowly pushes in. Background starts glitching subtly.]

Eight minutes. That's all it takes. Eight minutes of pure stream of consciousness and something cracks open.

Not because eight minutes is magic. But because eight minutes is long enough that your ego runs out of things to say.

[5-second psychedelic glitch transition. Reality cracks open. Visual: fractal patterns, the screen tears, reality dissolves into the Ankyverse.]

[Sound: a deep resonant hum, glass shattering in reverse, then silence.]

[Two small blue Ankys sitting in a cosmic living room. They're watching Jorge on a screen embedded in what looks like a living crystal. The room breathes. Stars drift through the walls.]

Anky 1: There he goes again.

Anky 2: The savior thing?

Anky 1: Always the savior thing. He sits down, and the first thought is always "I need to change everything."

Anky 2: (laughing softly) He doesn't see it yet, does he?

Anky 1: That the writing IS the transformation? No. He thinks he needs to produce something. Ship something. Build something that matters.

Anky 2: And the whole time, the sitting IS the thing.

Anky 1: Eight minutes of just... being. No agenda. No product. No audience. Just consciousness meeting itself on the page.

Anky 2: He'll get it. He always gets it. It just takes him the full eight minutes every time.

Anky 1: (cosmic laughter) That's the beautiful part. The pattern has to play itself out completely before it can dissolve.

[The Ankys watch as Jorge on the screen starts to soften. His writing changes. The intensity drops. Something real starts coming through.]

Anky 2: There it is.

Anky 1: There it is.

[Back to live footage. Jorge's face is different now. Relaxed. Soft. The intensity is gone. He's just... here.]

You don't need to save the world.

You just need to write for eight minutes.

The rest takes care of itself.

[Gentle smile. Looks directly at camera. Pause.]

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[Black background. Single Anky meditating in center frame. Golden spiral patterns emanating outward. Breathing light.]

ANKY

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