Nostr notes by el

My exiled Russian intelligentsia ancestors woke up in me today, ...

2026-10-17T03:50:29Z

My exiled Russian intelligentsia ancestors woke up in me today, and now I have an irresistible urge to start an intellectual salon. No particular subject, just people who enjoy thinking together. Looks like NIP-29 might make this possible, although I don’t have the faintest idea how it works. What do you guys think? #asknostr

Love it!!!!

2026-10-14T17:40:39Z

In reply to nevent1q…srz8
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Love it!!!!

@npub1luv…nmt5 This is so incredibly sweet of you! I’m ...

2026-10-14T17:40:22Z

GoldfishThumb1 (npub1luv…nmt5) This is so incredibly sweet of you! I’m genuinely speechless. ❤️ I absolutely love it! Thank you! And thank you for reading my story and bringing a little piece of Shadow Island to life.

I’m starting to believe that Shadow Island could be my subconscious interpretation / projection of Nostr. Nostr definitely fits the description of Shadow Island. Who knows, perhaps you’re one of the island’s locals, wandering through my dreams!

quoting
nevent1q…srz8
Finished another Nostr Trading Card. Inspired by a story with chapters being published on Nostr weekly by el (nprofile…md4a)
#artstr

Could be

2026-10-13T01:36:08Z

In reply to nevent1q…la2r
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Could be

Nostr event nevent1qqs8fkrqquwnucdu8y8y4kpj0pgzywrmn6mvpvy0rg5emgmknjc9y0gzyzakhpehjf6n7kueau3tpjcukcxlm0pvwx0lh4rw6ad3yp7lcrnjgzz75tj

2026-10-13T01:27:27Z

In reply to nevent1q…cc0a
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Thank you!

2026-10-12T22:38:20Z

In reply to nevent1q…0f5a
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Thank you!

I still use mostly primal and within it I see links to YouTube ...

2026-10-12T22:35:56Z

In reply to nevent1q…wp2p
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I still use mostly primal and within it I see links to YouTube videos displaying both as url and as preview, sometimes mixed from the same person. I was just wondering why.

I feel obligated to clear my reputation for the “internet.” I ...

2026-10-12T22:29:17Z

In reply to nevent1q…0nrs
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I feel obligated to clear my reputation for the “internet.” I do know what an IP address is. I was confused why it would affect how a link is displayed in a client. When I post a long read article and then make a note to share the link, I have to copy “note id” instead of “note link”. A note link shows up like a super long combination of letters / numbers where a note id is displayed as a nice preview. I thought maybe it’s the same with the videos except that I can’t see it on my own.

IP address? Is there “a special way” to post it with the ...

2026-10-12T22:07:57Z

In reply to nevent1q…0vq9
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IP address? Is there “a special way” to post it with the preview?

When people share YouTube links, sometimes I see an actual video ...

2026-10-12T22:03:53Z

When people share YouTube links, sometimes I see an actual video preview with a thumbnail and other times it’s just a plain URL. Does that depend on how the person shared the link / which client they used to post it, or which client I’m using to view it? #asknostr

That’s interesting! I’ll look into that! Thank you.

2026-10-12T06:44:22Z

In reply to nevent1q…980z
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That’s interesting! I’ll look into that! Thank you.

I don’t have a substack but ChatGPT insists that I should. If I ...

2026-10-12T06:22:20Z

In reply to nevent1q…xer8
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I don’t have a substack but ChatGPT insists that I should. If I did, I’d probably write about how to remain “unfuckable with” no matter what life throws at you. About personal sovereignty and the Art of War applied to everyday life. The problem is that “unfuckable with” is such a wonderfully all-encompassing expression but I don’t think it’s gonna be supported much by substack.

Spasibo!

2026-10-12T05:49:41Z

In reply to nevent1q…c59p
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Spasibo!

I’ve certainly heard that argument before! But I think it’s ...

2026-10-12T05:49:04Z

In reply to nevent1q…v9hm
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I’ve certainly heard that argument before! But I think it’s often easier to blame someone else than to look at self. In my case, the problem isn’t that someone is making me poorer. It’s that I haven’t figured out how to make myself richer. And unfortunately, I can’t blame that entirely on the monetary system.

I appreciate the clarification. However, I think I’ll wait ...

2026-10-12T05:03:29Z

In reply to nevent1q…nkkq
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I appreciate the clarification. However, I think I’ll wait until the new NIP is officially adopted. I’d hate to have to repeat the entire verification process due to regulatory changes.

Please do! I’d hate to go through the trouble of verification ...

2026-10-12T05:01:17Z

In reply to nevent1q…u3yl
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Please do! I’d hate to go through the trouble of verification only to find out I was following an outdated version.

Building apps is actually something I’d love to get into. I ...

2026-10-12T04:42:20Z

In reply to nevent1q…9v7h
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Building apps is actually something I’d love to get into. I know absolutely nothing about it, though. Until about five minutes ago, I wasn’t even sure whether Linux was a laptop or a programming language. 😬 I’m an iPhone and MacBook person, and even those I barely use.

Privacy tools, on the other hand, have definitely caught my attention. I’m already rather obsessive about my privacy, possibly to an unreasonable degree, so perhaps learning more about these tools will either help me relax or make me considerably worse.

But seriously, I love that you went from knowing nothing about building apps to actually creating them. That’s inspiring!

“Obviously you know how to write a good story, and that’s ...

2026-10-12T04:36:19Z

In reply to nevent1q…knxx
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“Obviously you know how to write a good story, and that’s something that can’t be vibe coded.” 🥹 This is the first time I’ve ever shared my writing publicly, so hearing that is incredibly touching. Thank you!

And yes, I absolutely want to build something! The Beave (nprofile…xauv) and I have actually talked about this #TIDEapp I have more ideas than I know what to do with, and I genuinely believe some could benefit a lot of people. What I lack are the technical skills and the right people to bring them to life. I didn’t come to Nostr looking for collaborators, but I’m beginning to suspect that if I’m going to find them anywhere, it’ll be here.

Thank you! Are we back to one shoe now? I was under the ...

2026-10-12T04:26:14Z

In reply to nevent1q…6n2a
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Thank you! Are we back to one shoe now? I was under the impression that following the recent security breach, the minimum verification requirement had been raised to two shoes on head. Nostr is so fragmented, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the latest regulations!

What happened to “them”? They were all bots?

2026-10-12T04:22:17Z

In reply to nevent1q…kqc3
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What happened to “them”? They were all bots?

Promise?

2026-10-12T04:20:46Z

In reply to nevent1q…qjdh
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Promise?

With bitcoin, I’m playing the long game. Mostly because I ...

2026-10-12T04:18:38Z

In reply to nevent1q…cgat
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With bitcoin, I’m playing the long game. Mostly because I haven’t figured out how to play the short one.

Well, that certainly explains the warm welcome I’ve received! I ...

2026-10-12T04:14:05Z

In reply to nevent1q…lrr6
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Well, that certainly explains the warm welcome I’ve received! I can’t promise I’ll ever become a freedom-tech enthusiast, but I do appreciate the enthusiasm of those who are. And, more importantly, their generosity with their time. ❤️

I’m not so sure it’s too early for normies. If anything, I do ...

2026-10-12T04:10:00Z

In reply to nevent1q…r8y6
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I’m not so sure it’s too early for normies. If anything, I do wonder whether I’ve arrived too late. I’ve only been here for about 3 weeks, but I see “Nostr is dead” more often than I see “Bitcoin.” I feel as though I’ve barely managed to jump onto the last carriage of a departing train.

I don’t imagine Nostr will become the next Instagram, but perhaps there’s something rather beautiful about that.

It’s a little like the difference between attending a concert with thousands of people and coming across a saxophonist playing in a New York subway station late at night. The concert might be spectacular, but that unexpected encounter with a musician, where you can actually connect with the person behind the music, can be far more memorable. That’s a little how Nostr feels to me compared with the larger social platforms.

And you’ve certainly caught my attention with the part about learning! I’m an insatiably curious person, and learning something new is one of my favorite things in life. The trouble is that I still find Nostr exceptionally difficult to navigate when it comes to discovering interesting people, ideas, and conversations. Although, to be fair, I’ve only been here 3 weeks, and I practically disappeared for one of them. So perhaps I should give myself a little more time.

Thank you so much! That’s genuinely encouraging to hear! I have ...

2026-10-12T03:55:50Z

In reply to nevent1q…l9s4
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Thank you so much! That’s genuinely encouraging to hear! I have to admit, the technical side of Nostr still leaves me rather bewildered. But then I remember I don’t really know what I’m doing in real life either so it’s all good.

How long you’ve been on nostr?

2026-10-12T03:50:33Z

In reply to nevent1q…5scj
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How long you’ve been on nostr?

that’s exactly what makes a newbie want to stick around! I hope ...

2026-10-12T03:50:12Z

In reply to nevent1q…5scj
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that’s exactly what makes a newbie want to stick around! I hope I’ll know enough someday to return the favor to someone else. Thank you again!

Thank you, Rod! People tend to unfollow once they get to know me ...

2026-10-12T03:43:22Z

In reply to nevent1q…8k60
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Thank you, Rod! People tend to unfollow once they get to know me better lol I’ve actually revealed quite a bit about myself in my long-form articles.

Ah, thank you! 😊 I bet Meta doesn’t offer personalized, ...

2026-10-12T03:38:19Z

In reply to nevent1q…7lpz
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Ah, thank you! 😊 I bet Meta doesn’t offer personalized, one-on-one technical support to every confused newcomer. Perhaps that’s what makes Nostr so special!!

lol I take it this is Nostr’s official technical support ...

2026-10-12T03:29:11Z

In reply to nevent1q…ea7r
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lol I take it this is Nostr’s official technical support department?

As a newbie normie, I must have missed that part of the welcoming ...

2026-10-12T03:19:48Z

In reply to nevent1q…xutz
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As a newbie normie, I must have missed that part of the welcoming ceremony.

Does anyone here though have a Nostr instruction manual? Preferably one written for normies.

lol

2026-10-12T03:00:03Z

In reply to nevent1q…7ypj
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lol

I must admit, the only thing I really understood from all of that ...

2026-10-12T02:59:13Z

In reply to nevent1q…7w8l
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I must admit, the only thing I really understood from all of that is that I’ve indeed been feeling stuck for a very long time. Though, it has absolutely nothing to do with Bitcoin, taxes, or governments. lol But seriously, I do appreciate you taking the time to explain all of this to me (aren’t you on vacation?! Cause I feel bad!)

I think you have to have money to be particularly concerned about ...

2026-10-12T02:50:47Z

In reply to nevent1q…k7vf
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I think you have to have money to be particularly concerned about what form it should take. For someone like me, who doesn’t have much of it, whether fiat should be replaced by Bitcoin or gold isn’t exactly a pressing concern.😕

lol “I'm pleasant enough in small doses in person.” - we ...

2026-10-12T02:30:43Z

In reply to nevent1q…vqs2
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lol “I'm pleasant enough in small doses in person.” - we must be related!! Do I want to get on chain though? My taxes are gonna get a lot more complicated and stuff.

Oh I see! I keep forgetting that on Nostr to generate a keypair ...

2026-10-12T02:26:38Z

In reply to nevent1q…eqgh
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Oh I see! I keep forgetting that on Nostr to generate a keypair doesn’t require to first generate an email address. Although I have to admit, the idea of someone manufacturing an audience of hundreds of thousands of imaginary admirers is both fascinating and a little depressing.

I’m glad you did!

2026-10-12T02:08:29Z

In reply to nevent1q…p5l7
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I’m glad you did!

You said that Bitcoin isn’t about getting rich and Nostr ...

2026-10-12T01:51:42Z

In reply to nevent1q…vzyx
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You said that Bitcoin isn’t about getting rich and Nostr isn’t about getting famous. Why not?

I can understand that neither was necessarily created for those purposes, but surely that doesn’t mean people can’t use them that way. I’ve read plenty of stories about people treating Bitcoin as a speculative investment, sometimes taking extraordinary financial risks in the hope of making a fortune. So, for some people, getting rich is very much the point.

And as for Nostr, isn’t it ultimately a social network? One thing I’ve heard repeatedly since joining is that Nostr can be whatever you want it to be. So why couldn’t someone use it to build a substantial audience, become influential, or even become famous?

One day I somehow stumbled across a list of Nostr accounts ranked by follower count, from highest to lowest. I have no idea how I did it but I do remember seeing accounts with 200-300k followers. Who are these people? A few accounts belong to nostr builders so I get why nostr users would follow them, but others didn’t seem that way. I’m also suspecting that the true human nostr user count is probably under 30k so how did those accounts built those audiences here? In your opinion.

I posted the second one last night since I didn’t do it last ...

2026-10-12T01:36:48Z

In reply to nevent1q…vw7n
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I posted the second one last night since I didn’t do it last weekend. You were driving through the tropical storm at the time (you must be in Key West by now, where else would you find tropical storms?!)

The idea of meeting people through Nostr and then traveling ...

2026-10-12T01:34:28Z

In reply to nevent1q…a5kv
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The idea of meeting people through Nostr and then traveling across the world to visit them sounds pretty sweet. You definitely have the personality for it too!

As for the Bitcoin “wallet,” I suspect that’s going to end exactly the way it did when my brother suggested it years ago. I’ll look into it, and we all know what that means. I don’t have the slightest idea where the zaps I’ve been getting are or what’s happening to it.

Chapter 3 of El's Chronicles is here! #naddr1qv…607e

2026-10-11T23:32:34Z

Chapter 3 of El's Chronicles is here!

quoting
naddr1qv…607e

Chapter 3

The packages from Archivum arrived late the next afternoon, thudding onto the porch with all the grace of a meteorite landing in someone’s garden. Indifference with a dash of passive aggression, I thought, truly is the universal language of mail delivery.

I spotted the boxes through the window. They were plain brown boxes, unassuming and unmarked, except for the weight of possibilities they carried.

I took them all inside and set them on the dining room table, heart pounding. The tape came off easily, and within moments, files, court documents, police reports, decades-old newspaper clippings, property records, and university bulletins spilled out across the surface.

Archivum, as always, had outdone itself.

There were scanned academic journals, out-of-print monographs, property maps of the island, geological surveys of the cave system, historical zoning permits, and hand-annotated pages from the professor’s published works.

Stacked neatly beside them were personal records on the two doctoral students: dissertation abstracts, graduate funding logs, professional affiliations. For Alexander Blackwoods, the academic and employment histories were both notably empty. Archivum had produced nothing beyond the two newspaper articles I had already read online, both dated seventeen years earlier.

A printed map of the island’s tidal patterns was clipped to a folder labeled simply “Fatal Incident, August 16.”

Tucked between it all was a single slip of memo paper generated by Archivum’s internal agent AI. It read: “Query complete. Let us know if you’d like to initiate a secondary pass.”

I shoved the note aside, my focus narrowing on the contents. I started sifting through the stack of articles, and a more vivid picture began to emerge.

Harrington wasn’t just respected in marine archaeology. He was polarizing. His unconventional theories, though groundbreaking to some, had earned him more than a few detractors. One article suggested he’d been on the brink of something monumental, while another hinted at disputes among his peers.

He’d been staying in the house with three doctoral students at the time of his death, and while the police ruled his death an accident, the island’s residents seemed less convinced. The article hinted at whispers of foul play but offered nothing concrete. Two of the students had disappeared the same night the professor died, and the third, Alexander Blackwoods, had been found alone in the woods two days later, disoriented and refusing to speak to investigators. His name was barely mentioned at all, an afterthought in a story that already felt too thin.

The police reports were even more frustrating. The timelines didn’t quite align, witness statements contradicted each other, and the whole thing had been wrapped up with the efficiency of someone slapping a bandage on a gunshot wound, letting logic collapse while conspiracy theories thrived.

Harrington’s death was dismissed, the students vanished, and the Grim Reaper’s younger, hotter brother looked far too good for someone supposedly surrounded by mystery and danger, at least if the photographs were anything to go by.

I didn’t leave the house for two days.

The documents spread across the dining room table, spilling over onto the chairs, the floor, and even a small side table nearby.

My workspace now looked like a conspiracy theorist's dream. The journal sat front and center like a ringleader, right next to me, its cryptic notes taunting me with the answers it refused to give.

Outside, the island seemed to move on without me. I saw the occasional fisherman’s boat pass by from the windows, and heard the faint calls of gulls. The gulls, I was certain, were exchanging more coherent theories about the case than the official police reports. I stayed hunched over the papers, poring over them with an intensity I hadn’t felt in years. Somewhere, a therapist was missing out on the perfect case study in obsessive fixation. My world had shrunk to the table, and the gnawing sense that I was onto something far bigger than I’d anticipated.

By the second day of my all-consuming research, the house began to feel too quiet. The walls seemed closer, the shadows darker. The sound of the wind rattling the windows made me jump, and for the first time, I felt genuinely uneasy. It wasn’t just the isolation. Paranoia, the ultimate fuel for an overactive imagination, had begun to take hold. Beneath it was a deeper, more unsettling truth. Perhaps I was digging into something someone didn’t want to come to light.

The last of the daylight was fading beyond the windows when the knock at the door nearly sent me into orbit. I froze, my heart racing. It had been days since I’d spoken to another human being, and the sudden noise felt very intrusive. For a moment, I considered ignoring it. Maybe if I stayed very still, they’d just go away. But the knock came again, firmer this time.

I reluctantly got up, brushing off my sweater. If doom was on the other side of the door, at least I’d meet it lint-free.

I opened the door, and there he was, the Grim Reaper’s younger, hotter brother, in all his rugged, brooding glory.

“You’re alive,” he said without preamble, his tone deadpan. “That’s good.”

I blinked at him, thrown off by his presence. I crossed my arms, leaning casually against the doorframe as I studied him. Unintentional passive-aggressive interrogation always came naturally to me.

"So, let me get this straight," I said, my tone just shy of sharp. “Fisherman by day, food delivery by night, and now moonlighting as the island’s resident welfare officer? Is this a standard practice around here, or am I just lucky enough to get the deluxe package?"

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze steady in the way that made it impossible to tell if he was annoyed or completely unfazed. For one horrifying second, I wondered about my face again. I'd been hoping to showcase at least one of my better faces this time.

“What are you doing here, Alexander? It’s Alexander Blackwoods, isn’t it?” I pressed, keeping my voice calm but pointed, determined not to let him catch me off guard again.

He stood there, his hands tucked into the deep pockets of his jacket, the hood pulled loosely over his head. The wind tousled his hair, and his gray eyes seemed to take in everything and nothing all at once.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his tone dry. “Are you a journalist? A private investigator? Another one of those amateur sleuths with too much time on their hands?” His voice sharpened slightly. “How did you even get this house? Betty doesn’t rent it out.”

“Me? A journalist?” I asked, a surprised laugh escaping before I could stop it. “No, I’m more of a freelance investigator. Very experimental methodology,” I said, straightening slightly. “I’ve cracked the case of the vanishing dentures and uncovered the great disappearance of the cafeteria meatloaf. Oh, and I still have an open file on the stolen reading glasses, but that one’s highly confidential.”

I studied his unreadable expression, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “Why?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “Do you have a case for me?”

He stared at me, his lips twitching, though whether it was from amusement or pity, I couldn’t tell. Here was a ruggedly handsome marine-archaeologist-turned-fisherman-turned-delivery-guy-turned-welfare-checker standing on my doorstep, and instead of saying something remotely alluring, I’d defaulted to my usual routine of awkward sarcasm.

“Impressive résumé,” he deadpanned. “But what I really want to know is how you got this house.”

I stepped back and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

He hesitated, glancing past me toward the cluttered table and the faint light from the fireplace. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, but then he gave a curt nod and stepped inside, brushing off his jacket as he crossed the threshold. I closed the door behind him, and the house suddenly felt warmer, smaller with his presence.

As he stood near the table, his eyes swept over the scattered documents. The papers were laid out in clusters that made obvious sense to me, grouped by names, dates, and themes. To keep them from flying away in the draft slipping through the old window frames, I’d used pumpkins as paperweights.

He stared at the scene like he’d just walked into a crime scene staged by a lunatic farmer. His jaw tightened, his brow twitching in quiet horror, as if the pumpkins somehow made the whole thing worse. He glanced over the photo of the professor, the house, a few very flattering shots of himself, the clipped headlines, then paused to study one of the articles pinned under a gourd like it was a hostage. He said nothing, but the judgment was thick enough to slice.

Just so you know, I don’t usually violate someone’s privacy, but when I do, I use produce and a disturbing level of systemization.

I saw him zeroing in, the tension sharpening in his stance, so I spoke before he could ask. “I stopped by a bakery the other day. Their bulletin board had an old article about this place. Who knew this house had such a history? Now I can’t stop.”

I paused for a moment, watching his reaction before continuing. "Anyway, Betty offered me the place. My son, Fyo…” I caught myself, the word slipping out before I could soften it. “He goes by the Americanized Theo… Well, he’s ten and volunteers at a retirement center back in the city, where she lives."

I wasn’t making up my “investigative past.” I had tracked down all of the above, and yes, I was quite proud of it.

"Betty doesn’t offer this place to anyone," he said firmly.

I stared at him. "Theo and I became close with Betty. She mentioned the house casually and offered it to me several times, so I thought I was doing her a favor by renting it. I had no idea about her late husband’s tragic death until just a few days ago."

“This house has always been for family only and comes with history. I just find it odd that someone she barely knows could make her forget that and convince her to rent it out,” Alexander said, his tone polite enough.

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating or what family you’re talking about. Maybe you should ask that son of hers why she’s so lonely in there and has to look for family in strangers.”

I exhaled, crossing my arms. “If I knew I was going to be interrogated for staying here and get annoyed by unwelcome visitors, I definitely would’ve thought twice."

But as I looked at him, some of the tension ebbed. There was no hostility in his expression, just quiet scrutiny. I sighed, my tone softening. “I thought this was just a quiet escape, somewhere Theo and I could come back to in the summer after his semester abroad. I was even hoping Betty might come with us too. She talked about this house as if it were a memory she’s still living in. It seemed right to give her a little of it back and get her out of that place for a while, let her breathe some fresh air again.”

He didn’t respond, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander over him. The Grim Reaper’s younger, hotter brother was a curious blend of fisherman and an almost-scholar in marine archaeology. His weathered jacket smelled faintly of salt and smoke, and his boots were caked with dried mud. His appearance did not fit the mold of “Doctor Blackwoods.” And yet, behind those sharp gray eyes was the unmistakable glint of intellect.

I leaned back slightly, offering a smirk. “So, what’s so urgent that it warranted the honor of an in-person visit?”

“You haven’t been out of the house in two days,” he said, his tone almost conversational.

I blinked, taken aback. “Oh, so now you're keeping tabs on me? What’s that about?” My voice carried more surprise than bite, but I couldn’t help the edge of sarcasm that crept in.

He shrugged, unbothered by my reaction. “I saw you poking around the caves,” he said simply. “Just wanted to make sure you were safe. Those caves are on private property, and they’re dangerous.”

I raised an eyebrow, still caught off guard by the unexpected concern. “Dangerous?”

“A maze,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “Easy to get lost in. Locals know to stay away unless they’re prepared.”

The bluntness of his words hung in the air between us. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or oddly reassured. I crossed my arms, studying him as I tried to make sense of his sudden interest in my well-being. “I didn’t realize I also got a babysitter,” I said dryly, but his expression didn’t shift.

“Look,” he said finally, his tone softening just enough to sound sincere. “It’s not about keeping tabs on you. It’s about you knowing how dangerous this place can be if you’re not careful. That’s all.”

I stared at him, trying to decide if he was genuinely concerned or just trying to make a point. Either way, his words planted a seed of unease I couldn’t quite shake.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering toward the documents scattered on the table before returning to me. “I owe it to Betty to keep an eye on her guests,” he added quietly, as if that explained everything.

Before I could think of a response, whether sharp, dismissive, or even grateful, he stepped back toward the door. He turned and left without another word, his boots heavy against the wooden porch. The door clicked shut behind him, and I had to hand it to him. His exit strategy was flawless, ending the conversation while deepening the mystery in the same breath.

I stared at the closed door for a second, then raised my voice just enough to carry through it. “Hey! If you plan on making this a habit, at least keep showing up with food!” There was no reply, only the muffled sound of boots fading down the steps, but I was certain he heard me.

I didn’t know then that in just four days, he wouldn’t be carrying food. He’d be carrying me, naked and barely conscious.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and share your ...

2026-10-11T22:30:53Z

In reply to nevent1q…hm7x
_________________________

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and share your thoughts! I really appreciate it. People like you, who take the time to engage in conversations and share their perspectives, are what make my Nostr experience genuinely enjoyable.

How a #normie who hasn't been on any social media in nearly a ...

2026-10-11T05:34:14Z

How a #normie who hasn't been on any social media in nearly a decade ended up on #Nostr.

4 years ago, I was diagnosed with cancer. It took almost 3 years to recover enough to feel somewhat normal again. Before the diagnosis, I was self-employed, single, with a child and absolutely no support system. All of my family is still in Russia, and because of the sanctions, every avenue for helping us financially was closed.

During one of our video calls, my brother suggested I look into getting a #Bitcoin wallet. We made eye contact, and I said, “I’ll look into it,” and we both knew perfectly well that wasn't going to happen.

I did, though, watch a bunch of YouTube videos (“Bitcoin for Dummies”) while I was cooking, and that's where I first heard about Nostr.

I also occasionally read WGSN's trend forecasts, and Nostr was mentioned there as well (decentralized social media).

Last month I thought it would be a terrible shame if the world never knows about the #GrimReapersYoungerHotterBrother So I started wondering where I could publish my writing with the best chance of it surviving, and Nostr came up again.

I thought Nostr was half a Reddit Bitcoin discussion forum and half a free Dropbox (with complicated instructions). Instead, I found people.

It's lovely here. I think I'll stay. #GrowNostr

P.S. It's weird, but after just a few weeks on Nostr, I've realized that I actually want to meet more people in real life and be more socially engaged outside the digital world. Historically, regular social media has had the exact opposite effect on me.

Your comments about my writing are very very meaningful to me! ...

2026-10-11T03:53:16Z

In reply to nevent1q…crgj
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Your comments about my writing are very very meaningful to me! ❤️ thank you!

Chapter 2 of "El's Chronicles / Shadow Island." Let ...

2026-10-11T02:47:21Z

Chapter 2 of "El's Chronicles / Shadow Island." Let me know what you think!

quoting
naddr1qv…tldv

Chapter 2

I won’t lie. The first couple of days on the island were anything but thrilling.

The first morning came with a chill that clung to the air, and I dressed in layers before venturing downstairs. I made coffee and stood by the window, letting the cup warm my fingers while I looked out at the ocean.

The ocean was, objectively, impressive. Not in the soft, sentimental way people like to romanticize nature when they don’t have to live next to it, but in a colder, more structural sense. The kind of scale that made my presence feel largely irrelevant. The water moved with a steady, unbothered force, folding into itself and breaking against the cliffs with the kind of consistency that suggested it would continue doing exactly that long after I was no longer around to notice it.

Somewhere between acknowledging its magnificence and making vague plans for the day, I remembered the journal.

I went back to it with the mild optimism that daylight, caffeine, and a functioning brain might collectively improve the situation. But nothing changed. The handwriting remained uneven, oscillating between control and collapse, as though the writer couldn’t decide whether they were documenting thought or losing it in real time. I read more slowly, then more carefully, then just stared longer, which turned out to be a poor substitute for understanding.

I figured it was likely a failed attempt at burning paper junk, and this particular object had simply lodged in the chimney, avoided destruction, and remained there long enough to be mistaken for meaning.

The journal went back on the counter, and with it, whatever faint sense of intrigue I might have assigned to it the night before under less stable conditions.

I finished my coffee and stepped outside. The early sun was a thin streak on the horizon, casting the cliffs in shades of gray and gold. I stood there for a moment, breathing in the salt and damp earth, letting the ocean’s rhythm fill me.

There was no plan for the day. No meetings, no emails to check, no orders to fulfill. Just me and the island. It was both unsettling and liberating, like winning a lottery where the grand prize was extreme isolation.

I decided to go for a walk, following the gravel road that led away from the house and wound along the cliffs. The island began to reveal itself beneath the pale winter sky. Jagged cliffs stood against the restless ocean, their rock faces streaked with frost. At their base, narrow stretches of coarse sand were scattered with driftwood and dried seaweed, and the sharp air smelled of salt and cold earth. Definitely not the kind of place you’d see in a glossy travel brochure, unless bleak and moody were suddenly on-trend.

The afternoon brought me to the small dock I’d seen from the house. It was weathered and uneven, jutting out into the bay like an afterthought. A few fishing boats bobbed in the water, their paint chipped and faded. A lone gull perched on one of the posts, watching me with sharp, curious eyes.

At the far end of the dock, I noticed a man unloading crates from a boat. His movements were methodical, practiced, as if he could do this in his sleep. I recognized the dark hair and the weathered jacket before I looked away. I didn’t approach, content to watch from a distance. He didn’t seem to notice me. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care. Either way, I was grateful for the space.

The second day passed much like the first.

By day three, after far too much silence and an almost concerning level of camaraderie with the local seagulls, I had come to two unsettling conclusions. One, there was, in fact, absolutely nothing to do on this island. And two, apparently, when left alone with my thoughts for too long and starved of stimulation, I don’t just get bored. I spiral into full-blown existential contemplation. This was not a great development.

So after two days of wandering the cliffs and quiet trails, I decided to venture into the small village I’d seen from the ferry. The island’s center was little more than a cluster of narrow streets lined with weathered shops and modest cafés, their faded signs swaying gently in the salty breeze. It should have been quaint, welcoming even, but something about the atmosphere set my nerves on edge.

As I walked past the storefronts, I could feel eyes on me. The shopkeepers and a few locals lingered in doorways or peered from behind windows, watching me with quiet scrutiny. They weren’t outright unfriendly. No one scowled or muttered under their breath, but they didn’t smile either. It felt like they were studying me, trying to decide if I was worth acknowledging or if I was another outsider who would leave once my self-imposed self-reflec-cation was over. It wasn’t paranoia if it was actually happening, right? And these weren’t just curious glances. They were looks that lingered. The kind that made me wonder if I had something on my face, which, given my track record, wasn’t exactly an unreasonable concern.

I ducked into a small bakery to escape the weight of their stares, the scent of fresh bread and coffee wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The woman behind the counter looked up from arranging a tray of scones, her expression neutral but not unkind.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone polite but distant.

I ordered a coffee and a blueberry scone, grateful for something to occupy my hands. As I waited, I glanced at the bulletin board near the door. It was cluttered with flyers and handwritten notes, including ads for boat repairs, missing-cat notices, and a faded map of the island marked with a bold ‘You Are Here’ arrow.

I scanned it with quiet but irrational hope. I think I would’ve cried with joy if there’d been an ad to join a birdwatching club or a church flyer announcing bingo night led by someone probably named Agnes.

One corner of the board did catch my eye. A small cluster of older newspaper clippings was pinned together, their edges curling with age. One showed the house I was renting, though in the photo it looked newer, brighter, almost unfamiliar. There was no caption, just the image, left there like a forgotten relic.

“Your coffee,” the woman said, breaking my focus.

“Thank you.” I turned around. “I’m actually staying in that house.” I pointed to the article. “Why is it on your bulletin board?”

The woman glanced at the photograph, then back at me. “It’s from an old newspaper article. We’ve kept it up because there are still questions about what happened.”

“What happened?”

“I wouldn’t want to pass along speculation.” She said it gently, sliding my coffee and the small paper bag across the counter. “There’s plenty written about it if you’d like to read more.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Enjoy your afternoon.” I stepped back outside, where the breeze carried the faint sound of seagulls and the distant hum of a boat engine. The streets were just as quiet as before, and the feeling of being watched hadn’t lessened.

When I returned to the house later that afternoon, the warmth of the bakery felt like a distant memory. The house was cold, even though I’d closed every window. It felt bigger somehow, emptier, like the walls were leaning away from me.

I made peppermint tea, ready to unleash my particular brand of obsessive curiosity. Learning, for me, had never been about practicality. It was therapy, religion, compulsion. It didn’t matter how useless the knowledge was. Learning had always been the only way I knew how to stitch the chaos of the world into something resembling a pattern. Not knowing wasn’t a gap. It was a wound.

After a few frustrating minutes, I managed to load a search engine and typed in the address of the house.

When the results finally appeared, my stomach twisted.

The first link was an old news article. The photo, though blurry and slightly pixelated, was unmistakable. It was the same picture I’d seen in the bakery.

The headline read: “Professor’s Death Sparks Mystery: Island Community Divided Over Shocking Tragedy.”

I clicked on it, the page taking what felt like an eternity to load. The article was dated seventeen years ago. It recounted the death of a man named Dr. Elias Harrington (had to be Betty’s late husband), a respected marine archaeologist who had stayed on the island for decades. He was found dead in one of the caves near the cliffs, his body discovered by a group of tourists. The details of his death were vague. The article mentioned a fall or possible suffocation, but there were whispers of something more sinister. The locals, it seemed, had plenty of theories.

Another article suggested that Dr. Harrington had been on the verge of a major discovery, something tied to the island’s caves. But the artifact he had allegedly found was never recovered, and some believed he had hidden it before his death. As it turned out, the house had been his retreat, where he conducted his research.

Then there was the follow-up article. “Mysterious Disappearance: Grad Students Linked to Professor Harrington’s Research Vanish Under Unexplained Circumstances.”

I blinked, leaning closer to the screen. According to the article, two of the three doctoral students who had been staying with the professor that summer went missing shortly after his death. Investigators believed they had taken Harrington’s boat out sometime that night. The boat was later discovered drifting miles offshore, but the students were never found. The third one, Alexander Blackwoods, who apparently had not been with the others at the time of their disappearance, refused to speak to the press, leaving a cloud of speculation surrounding the events.

I stared at the grainy photograph accompanying the article, my breath catching in my throat. Alexander Blackwoods in the picture looked strikingly familiar.

It couldn’t be, I thought, but the resemblance was undeniable. I had already met Alexander Blackwoods, though I’d known him as the Grim Reaper’s younger, hotter brother.

The thought unsettled me, the coincidence too strange to dismiss.

I continued reading. Newspaper articles suggested no conclusions, only rumors. Some blamed the caves, calling them dangerous and unpredictable. Others whispered about the professor’s research, hinting at curses, greed, and secrets better left buried. The house had remained empty for years after the tragedy, its reputation tarnished.

I sat back, my fingers brushing the edge of my mug as I stared at the screen. The words blurred together as a chill settled over me. My eyes drifted to the journal beside me. I changed my mind again. Now I believed the journal hadn’t survived by chance. Someone had tucked it above the closed flue, hidden in the one place no one would look unless they meant to start a fire.

The house suddenly felt smaller, its silence pressing against my ears. I got up, carrying my tea to the living room, and sank into the worn armchair I had moved by the window. Outside, the sky was pale and overcast, the ocean gray and restless in the distance. "Well done," I murmured to myself, a hint of sarcasm lacing my tone. "Barely two and a half days of peace and quiet, and here I am, diving headfirst into another mess." My mind buzzed with questions, but I didn’t know where to start. Finally, I picked up my phone and placed an order with Archivum.

I tried to sleep that night, but it didn’t come easily. The bed was too firm, the blanket too thick, and my mind wouldn’t quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Grim Reaper’s younger, hotter brother, his face suspended in the darkness beneath his hood, those gray eyes fixed on me.

I finally drifted off into unsettling dreams of flickering images of the cliffs, dark tunnels, and the professor’s face blurring into a strange, disjointed narrative I couldn’t piece together. At some point in the night, I woke up to what sounded like a woman screaming in the woods. My sleep was so broken by then, I couldn’t tell if it had really happened, or if my mind had simply woven it into the dark.

When I woke in the early hours of the morning, with the light creeping through the windows, I felt more exhausted than I had the night before. The coffee tasted bitter, but it did the job of forcing my mind into focus.

Now that I knew Dr. Harrington had lived in the house and that he was a marine archaeologist, I returned to the journal with a different kind of attention. His handwriting hadn’t improved overnight, but I had a better idea of what the words might be. Beside a column of numbers, I could just make out what looked like “low tide,” and some of the crude diagrams began to resemble sections of coastline or passages through rock. Working from those fragments, I tentatively sorted the pages into notes on tidal patterns, geology, and possibly the island’s caves, though I couldn’t tell how much I was deciphering and how much I was supplying myself. My understanding of geology, oceanography, and anything adjacent to Harrington’s world was limited enough that I couldn’t even begin to anchor any coherent ideas to what I was looking at. Whatever the notes meant, the same diagrams and clusters of figures appeared again and again. Someone had kept returning to this, and I wanted to understand why.

I spent most of the day moving between the journal and my phone, trying to make sense of one with whatever information I could coax out of the other. Reception in the house was miserable. Pages took minutes to load, if they loaded at all, and I kept carrying the phone from window to window in the hope of finding a spot where it might cooperate. By late afternoon, I had accumulated more questions than answers and spent an unreasonable amount of time watching a small circle turn on a screen.

I put the phone aside and reached for my coat. I wanted to see the stretch of coastline I had spent the day reading about, if only to give the professor’s notes something solid to attach to. With a little daylight left, I decided to walk down and see whether I could find the caves for myself.

The air was brisk, and the wind whipped at my hair as I made my way along the gravel road. A few locals passed me in battered pickup trucks, their eyes lingering just a second too long. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the distant sound of waves. By the time I reached the stretch of rugged coastline where the caves were said to be, the sky had begun to dim, the soft gray of late afternoon giving way to shadows. The sound of the waves grew louder, crashing against the jagged rocks with a steady rhythm. I followed the narrow path down toward the shore, scanning the rocky outcrops until I finally spotted an opening. It was small, dark, and partially hidden by a cluster of wind-twisted shrubs.

My pulse quickened at the sight, but the deepening twilight sent a shiver through me. The wind had picked up, and with the light fading fast, the caves seemed less like an invitation and more like a warning. Reluctantly, I turned back, promising myself I’d return in daylight, when the shadows weren’t quite so long and the ocean’s roar didn't feel so overpowering.

The raccoon just moved in. Have never seen one on cameras. I have ...

2026-10-10T17:34:30Z

In reply to nevent1q…k9r2
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The raccoon just moved in. Have never seen one on cameras. I have some leftover pizza so I’ll properly welcome it tonight. Stay tuned! Lol

Left to the raccoon? It’s an opossum / possum.

2026-10-10T17:11:03Z

In reply to nevent1q…sev2
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Left to the raccoon? It’s an opossum / possum.

Someone calls me Snow White without the dwarfs. Meet my nocturnal ...

2026-10-10T15:44:54Z

Someone calls me Snow White without the dwarfs.

Meet my nocturnal zoo.

Good morning! I learned this morning: eejit .

2026-10-06T14:57:57Z

In reply to nevent1q…ecue
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Good morning! I learned this morning: eejit .

#Normie on #Nostr, Day 7. A week ago when I joined, I didn’t ...

2026-09-28T03:56:33Z

#Normie on #Nostr, Day 7. A week ago when I joined, I didn’t really think of becoming part of the community. I figured I’d just upload my manuscripts and hope they outlive me on relays. Free perpetual-ish online storage.

Then I got here, looked around, and I liked it! I like all of the non-normie sass, and I hope to learn from you guys!

I am genuinely confused though whether the non-normie locals want more people to join Nostr, or would rather keep it the small, highly technical, self-selecting community it already is. From what I’ve seen so far, I certainly don’t get the overwhelming impression that making Nostr more appealing or intelligible to normies is a priority.

#GrowNostr

Day 5 of a normie. Feeling a bit disappointed with Nostr but ...

2026-09-25T03:38:03Z

Day 5 of a normie. Feeling a bit disappointed with Nostr but increasingly fascinated by its people.

Would you agree that people use social media primarily for consumption and connection? If so, I think we’ve become extraordinarily good at producing and distributing content, but remarkably inefficient at discovering people worth knowing. Being visible is not the same as being known. Content can now be manufactured almost infinitely, and perhaps the next great opportunity in social media isn’t finding more to consume, but finding more people to connect with. For a protocol that could make human connection its greatest advantage, I find Nostr remarkably difficult to navigate socially.

Can I speak to the manager, please?

Is anyone working on browsable hashtag directories, both across Nostr and within individual profiles? I’m looking for discovery without having to know what to search for in advance. I just wanna choose a subject and click on it.

Freedom from an algorithm shouldn’t mean freedom from discoverability.

How hard is it to build that?

#NormieAudacity #UnsolicitedAdviceFromGenPop #ProposedRenovations

These would look great in the hashtag directory!

fiatjaf (nprofile…zug3) The Fishcake🐶🐾 (nprofile…vja8)

How long have you been on Nostr? I’m only a few days in and ...

2026-09-22T02:07:42Z

In reply to nevent1q…44gg
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How long have you been on Nostr? I’m only a few days in and still figuring out how to use Primal, let alone what the platform is capable of. I’m particularly curious about the social dynamics here. Do you know if people share much of their personal lives and get to know each other over time, or is it predominantly a place for discussing technology, Bitcoin, and current events?

I’m relatively new to social media in general, and Nostr is currently the only platform I’m using. I suppose I’m trying to understand whether people come here primarily for information and discussion or whether there’s also a sense of community, with people following each other’s lives and forming genuine connections over time.

I’d be curious to hear your observations if you’ve been around for a while.

I came here thinking I had no particular business being on Nostr. ...

2026-09-21T03:05:12Z

I came here thinking I had no particular business being on Nostr. The more I understand what you’ve built, the less I understand why so many of you use it primarily as a Bitcoin discussion forum. I suspect this place has considerably more to offer than its locals have yet had occasion to discover.