🔥The 9th Round of Easy Loan, Earn $40 Reward is in progress❗️ ⏰ Promotion Period: January 15th - Feburary 15th, 2025 👉 Register now and check more details at gate.io/campaigns/358

Why Cyborgs / Whales / Whaleborgs? Each part of our name means something. It's not random, or purely for aesthetics. (though, it is nice, isn't it?) It's a fusion of instinct and intention. Evolution is no longer survival of the fittest. It's survival of the most energized.

The struggle.

Ħedera is Ħome.

Let’s go. 📈 GM <hbarbarians>.

GM. ☀️☕️

WHY? Why bother? Why create? Why try to change anything? Why not just coast? Stay comfortable? Remain stagnant? The reality is… life is tough no matter what. We either: Grapple with mediocrity… ... or strive for growth. Pain is inevitable either way. The question now is:

We don’t want to build Whaleborg Club just to say “we launched something!” We want to look back and say: “Damn. ... that actually made us better. Stronger. Sharper. More ourselves.” And we want that for all of us. 🐳🤖

This isn’t just about launching a project. This is about who we become through it. If we focus only on what we can get (money, followers, hype), we’ll keep chasing shadows. But if we focus on how we’re evolving (as creators; as humans), we start attracting what matters.

... before the neon went black... No one expected Zahmyn to vanish. Not the devs. Not the pod. Not the founders watching from lifelocked vaults. One moment... he was there, tending the Lifeforge Wells, promising eternal flow. The next? Gone. With every drip of ether and

Happy to be advising on the rebirth of one of my fav projects on Hedera with ENTĦEOS leading the vision and effort. Check out the dope website whaleborg.club

gosh.

“Made in God’s image” doesn’t mean we look like God. It means we create like God. God is not a man in the sky. God is not a statue, or a body, or a book. God is Consciousness. The Original Frequency. The Master Creator. The energy within everything. And what did (does) this

A message from Jetborg. 🐳

The Pulse Beneath the Ash In the undercity, beneath broken skyways and rotting neon, a pod stirred. They didn’t yet have names. Only scars. The one with fire-singed arms remembered a whisper from a dead comms thread: “We were always sovereign. We just forgot.” The one with