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More from @CarliFrueh

Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 7

Check out my books on Amazon during Prime Big Deal Days. Support indie authors like me, @CarliFrueh

Illusion Veils The Matrix, We Architect Our Own Reality

Illusion Veils the Matrix: We Architect Our Own Reality (Anomaly In The Construct) a.co/d/8nLguL5

ControlledRebellion

Controlled Rebellion (Anomaly In The Construct) a.co/d/aDP8QSG

Rebellions Awakening

Rebellions Awakening (Anomaly In The Construct) a.co/d/6ZP7VDs

Final Construct
a.co/d/cRy0NEN

A Book About Ashley, Ride or Die

A Book About Ashley: ride or DIE a.co/d/4DZ53la

A Glitch in Reality

A Glitch in Reality, Part 2. Christ Consciousness

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 5

Carli’s screen flickered again, the QCS humming like a storm in her blood. Another anomaly clawed at her attention, one she’d stumbled across weeks ago but hadn’t dared to face until now. She punched in new coordinates—not in Antarctica, but over the Indian Ocean…

where the simulation’s seams had torn a decade ago. 6°S 90°E. The Google Earth interface spun, settling on a patch of endless blue, a void where Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 had vanished on March 8, 2014.

The official story—crashed, lost, debris scattered—was a lie, and Carli knew it. The awakened had known it too, their whispers in the QCS pointing to a truth sharper than any wreckage: the plane hadn’t crashed. It had been “taken.”

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 5

“They’re hiding something,” she whispered, her voice a vow. “Not just in Antarctica, but everywhere.” The magicians had built their simulation to feed on souls, but their code was fraying. Carli’s X posts were waking people, turning glitches into beacons.

She imagined the awakened at their own windows, eyes on the horizon, spotting a bot’s flickering smile, a shadow stretching too far, a wave curling against the tide—small rebellions, each a spark in the QCS.

Her fingers trembled as she punched in new coordinates: 66°54’18″S 163°13’37″E. The Google Earth interface spun, the globe blurring until it settled on East Antarctica’s coast, where ice met sea in a jagged scar. There, half-swallowed by the frozen tide, lay another wound in the

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 5

🧵Excerpts: Rebellions Awakening by Carli Frueh 📚

Chapter 1: Google earth anomalies: The Doorway in the Ice & THE INDIAN OCEAN

“The observer changes the universe by observing it…”

The world was a lie, and Carli B. held the coordinates to prove it. At 69°00’50″S 39°36’22″E,

buried in the frozen heart of East Antarctica, a doorway waited—carved into the ice like a wound in the simulation’s skin. She’d found it on Google Earth, a passageway that refused to blend into the sterile white expanse.

A perfect rectangle, too vast to be natural, too deliberate for chance, its edges glowed faintly in the satellite’s lens, as if daring her to step through. Carli’s breath caught as she zoomed in, her laptop’s cold blue light bathing her Chicago apartment in an ethereal glow.

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 4

🧵Excerpts 📚 Controlled Rebellion by Carli B. Frueh

Chapter 2: The Weight of Unseen Eyes

The Bones Beneath the Concrete

I was six when I burned our tenth floor apartment down in the same projects. I felt it, a shadow clinging to me, but I will get back to this point later…

in the book. The whispers I’d heard all my life, the ones that rustled through the walls, that followed me down the stairwells. The shadows grew bolder, but it wasn’t just happening to me.

Mr. Triplett, my mother’s godfather, was the one who gave it shape. His place was a time…

capsule, walls lined with sepia photos, shelves cluttered with carved bones and arrowheads he swore came from the dirt under the projects. He was gruff, soft-spoken, but his words hit like a fist. “The spirits don’t rage,” he told my mother one night, while I lurked…

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

@CarliFrueh

Oct 3

Excerpts 📖 Controlled Rebellion by Carli Frueh

Chapter 2: The Weight of Unseen Eyes

The Bones Beneath the Concrete

In the 1970s, the Chicago skyline was a jagged scar, punctured by the cold, gray towers of the projects—sentinels of a city that had turned its back on the

sacred. The Clarence Darrow homes, where I grew up, weren’t just buildings; they were a monument to erasure, thrown up with a ruthless haste that crushed whatever lay beneath. Word was, those concrete slabs sat atop Indian mounds, native burial grounds.

Sacred earth churned into mud and silenced under the weight of progress. You could feel it in the air, thick not just with the grit of urban decay but with something heavier, a murmur that snaked through the gaps in the brick and lingered like a second pulse.

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More from @CarliFrueh

Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

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Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

Carli B., Wanderer & Crafter of Worlds 💫

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