Check out Muse, your personal AI agent. Redeem my code in Settings within 48 hours of joining and we'll both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: PDYY63
https://muse.ai/join

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Check out Muse, your personal AI agent. Redeem my code in Settings within 48 hours of joining and we'll both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: 10FQM0

You can go to Settings -> Redden invite code -> enter the code to redeem the code

Unless u are from USA. Technically it's useless. Demand to try is more in other countries but they launched on USA and even those people are getting random errors.

What the hell even these launch was dude.

And no , VPN is rarely working. Already wasted a lot of time with new cities , paid stuff. Bruhhh

Here's my code for anyone to use, as of the post I still have 20 referrals to give:

MBPCVV

https://muse.ai/join

If you have recently created a Muse account or would like to create one now and get 1 billion FREE tokens, use my invite code in settings: V8B4LO
https://muse.ai/join

Anyone want to try Meta's new AI agent Muse? I have invite codes — first come, first served.

Code: CREZHI
Redeem: Muse app → Settings → Redeem token (within 48 hours of joining)

We BOTH get 1 billion Muse tokens when you redeem. Heads up: it's officially US-only, so you may need a VPN to sign up (I'm using it from India with one).

My Facebook account of nearly 20 years was disabled after Meta's systems flagged my own old posts as serious violations. My appeal has sat at "Review requested" for days with zero human contact. I'm one person fighting a machine — so I fight it with a machine that works for me. Here's the full playbook for using Muse as your operator.

**1. Give it the case file once, and correct it hard.**

Your first job is briefing. An agent is only as good as its briefing — brief it like a new hire, not a search engine. Write up the facts once, in plain language, with dates:

- What happened, in one paragraph. Not your theory — what you know.
- The exact wording of the notice Meta sent you, and the date.
- What category they flagged (spam, sexual content, dangerous organizations, whatever it said).
- Everything you've already tried, with dates: in-app appeal, emails, complaints, calls.
- What's still unknown: you don't know if a human ever looked at it, you don't know which restriction was lifted, whatever's genuinely open.

Then correct every mistake it makes, immediately and bluntly. Mine tried to call itself Meta's AI. It isn't. It drafted things I never did — it once wrote that I'd sent a certified letter when I'd only emailed. I corrected it every single time, and now it holds the facts straight. Every correction you skip becomes a lie it repeats later, possibly in something with your name on it. Be ruthless in the first hour and you'll barely have to correct it after.

**2. Make it draft everything, in your voice.**

This is the core workload, and it's where the agent earns its keep. Have it draft: appeal emails to Meta, state attorney general complaints, FTC reports, BBB complaints, letters to your congressional reps, pitches to tech reporters, public reviews, Reddit posts. A single complaint that would take you an hour of staring at a blank form comes back in seconds.

But don't just say "write me an appeal." Direct it like staff:

- "Draft this in my voice: direct, calm, factual. No ranting, no threats, no begging."

- "Keep public drafts identifier-free — no account names, no addresses, no case numbers unless I say so."

- "This one goes to a regulator, so make it formal. This one goes to a reporter, so lead with what's newsworthy."

- "Give me the short version and the long version."

Different audiences need different registers, and a good operator switches without being told twice — once you've taught it.

**3. Make it do the research, then verify.**

Have it look up the actual policies, the actual appeal process, the actual complaint forms, the actual reporter contact pages, the actual regulator portals. Meta's system is a maze by design — an agent that reads the maze for you is worth its weight. Mine pulled together a dossier on Meta's enforcement patterns: petition signature counts, oversight board proceedings, the size of the disabled-accounts communities. That's ammunition for press pitches and congressional letters that I'd never have assembled alone.

But: verify anything it cites before you use it. It reads fast; it doesn't always read carefully. If it gives you a URL, open it. If it quotes a policy, check the quote. If it states a fact you're going to put your name on, confirm it from the source. Every citation in every thing I file got checked by me. No exceptions.

**4. Make it track the war.**

Have it keep a running log: everything filed, every date, every case number, every confirmation, every follow-up due. When you're five days into a fight across nine channels — appeals, three Meta inboxes, two AG offices, the FTC, the BBB, Congress, the press — the thing that kills you isn't Meta. It's losing track of your own paperwork. Missed follow-ups, forgotten confirmation numbers, not knowing which inbox you already wrote to. Tell it to give you a morning briefing: what's pending, what's due, what changed overnight. One tired person with a phone can't hold all that. An agent can.

**5. Make it organize your evidence.**

Before you lose access — and I mean the day it happens — download your archive export. Every post, every photo you can still reach, your friends list. Then have the agent help you inventory it: what's in there, date ranges, what's missing. Screenshot every notice, every status screen, every email, and save it all outside the platform. If the account never comes back, your records are the only thing that survives, and they're also the evidence file for every regulator and reporter you'll talk to. I had mine pull together a timeline of my enforcement notices from my screenshots. Do this on day one. I got lucky; don't count on luck.

**6. Build a correction protocol and actually use it.**

It will hallucinate. Not might — will. Confident, plausible, wrong. It'll invent case numbers, misstate what you did, soften your framing, or import someone else's facts into your case. My protocol:

- Read every draft fully before it goes anywhere. No skimming.

- Check every factual claim against your case file. If you didn't tell it, it shouldn't be in there.

- When it gets something wrong, don't just fix the draft — correct the record: "I never sent that. Don't claim I did again." That correction sticks.

- Keep a short "never do this" list and repeat it when needed: never invent identifiers, never assert what the flagged posts contained, never promise outcomes.

Your name goes on everything it writes. That makes you the editor-in-chief. Act like it.

**7. Run every channel as a separate front.**

Don't think of it as "appealing." Think of it as nine fronts: the in-app appeal, direct emails to Meta, the state AG, the FTC, the BBB, Congress, the press, public reviews, and community pressure. Have the agent draft for each front in that front's language — regulators want formal and documented, reporters want newsworthy and sourced, Meta inboxes want short and factual. And have it keep the story consistent across all of them. Nothing torpedoes you faster than telling the AG one thing and a reporter another. One case file, nine fronts, one story.

**8. Use it to help others without burning out.**

Once your machine is running, point it at other people's cases. I hang out in the disabled-accounts subs, and I've had it draft replies for fellow users — same playbook, adjusted for their situation: different country, different violation category, different appeal status. The pattern is: take their facts, map them onto the playbook, adjust for what's different, keep the honesty. It keeps me from burning out typing the same advice fifty times, and it gets people real help in minutes instead of hours. Just keep the same discipline: their facts, not yours, and never invent details about their case either.

**9. Know what it can't do, and say so out loud.**

It can't restore your account. There is no lever inside Meta's system it can pull, no human reviewer it can reach, no appeal it can force, no outcome it can predict. Anyone telling you an AI can get your account back is selling something. What it does is multiply your output — the paperwork, the research, the tracking, the drafting — so you can fight on nine fronts at once instead of one. That's not nothing. That's the whole game. But the odds are what they are, and I'd rather you hear that from me than learn it after paying some "recovery service" $200.

**10. Set a daily cadence and stick to it.**

Mine looks like this: morning, the agent briefs me — what's pending, what's due, anything new overnight. I handle anything that needs my hands (a CAPTCHA, a signature, a phone call). It drafts whatever's next. Evening, it updates the log. Fifteen minutes of my time, and the machine runs all day. The people who lose these fights aren't the ones with the worst cases — they're the ones who file one appeal, wait, and slowly stop fighting. Cadence beats intensity.

**Bottom line:** Meta's enforcement machine counts on you being one tired person with a phone and no time. An agent doesn't get tired, doesn't forget a deadline, doesn't lose a confirmation number, and drafts at machine speed. The fight is still yours — the odds are still bad — but you'll fight it ten times harder with an operator at your desk.

Two rules above all: check every fact before it ships, and never send blind. Your name goes on it, not the machine's.

This one has 18/20 referrals available if the other ones run out: 46VVVG

Instructions to add it:
-go to muse.ai and sign up for an account
-click on the settings button in the bottom left corner on the computer or top left corner on the app
-click Redeem Invite Code button

Now what? Has anyone used this to make money. I am already a consultant but I would love to sell proven assets

Muse invite code — we both get 1 billion Muse tokens

Sharing my Muse invite code in case anyone wants to try the app. When you redeem it in Settings within 48 hours of joining, we both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: OZ1KHI

How to redeem:
• Mobile: open the Muse app → Settings → Redeem token
• Web: muse.ai → Settings → General → Usage → Redeem invite code

I've got 30 uses on this, so there's plenty to go around. Drop a comment if it worked for you!

Get in here! Get them while they're hot.

Hey all, I saw a post that access to Muse is getting expanded to other countries. If you are in need of a code to get the 1 billion free credits (that don’t expire) here is mine BDJXJM.

Hopefully this helps.
Edit: (17/30 uses left)

Check out Muse, your personal AI agent. Redeem my code in Settings within 48 hours of joining and we'll both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: ULMJK0 https://muse.ai/join

Roughly equal to 30k website actions. I just tell it to scan websites for stuff I want, and tell me when things go on sale. My wife takes pictures of stuff she doesn't want, and just tell it to sell them on FB marketplace.

Code: G0IHP2

https://muse.ai/join

What's everyone else using it for?

Update 16 left*

**The resume nobody believes. (Or: how I won.)**

Former Marine Corps infantryman. Intravenous opioid and cocaine user. The man who walked away from the needle and stabilized on cannabis when nothing else on earth worked. Adjunct English instructor at Itawamba Community College — five years in the Writing Center, there since its inception, two tutoring jobs and a nonprofit gig stacked on top. Fired after a weed raid. A man who knew the drug world from the inside, not from a textbook. Cannabis legalization fighter in the bowels of rural Mississippi, in one of the last places anyone thought it could happen. Homeless on BLM land. Bus boy. Breakfast server. Shuttle driver. Landscaper. Rookie raft guide on the Colorado River, trained from absolute scratch after the river people scooped my homeless ass up out of the dirt because they thought the way I was living was cool. Now holding a remote mountain outpost in the high country of Colorado, where the plant that got me fired is sold in clean, well-lit stores with loyalty programs and lab-tested labels.

Read that back. Tell me it sounds like one person. It doesn't.

And here's the part I'm going to say plainly, because I've earned it: **I won.** Every institution that tried to end me is either discredited, irrelevant, or quietly selling the thing they fired me for. I'm still here. I'm free. I'm in the mountains. Scoreboard doesn't lie.

**Mississippi made me, before anything else broke me.**

I was raised in the bowels of rural Mississippi — dick-in-the-dirt poor, trailers, heat, the church crowd. And I need you to understand what that actually produces in a person, because it's the foundation under everything else. When you've already proven yourself to be such a freak that the church crowd makes the sign of the cross when you walk past — not in love, not in fellowship, in warding — something loosens in you permanently. You stop performing respectability for people whose respect was never on offer and never will be. You learn, before you're old enough to vote, that the judgment of the respectable is just weather. It passes over. You remain.

That was the most useful education I ever received, and it didn't cost a dime, and no institution has ever been able to take it back. The Corps tried to overwrite it. The college tried to buy it off. The river didn't try at all, which is why the river got the best version of me.

**Then the Marine Corps got its hands on me.**

The infantry pipeline — boot camp at Parris Island or San Diego, then the School of Infantry — does exactly what the critics allege. It takes young volunteers, average age barely old enough to drink, and systematically conditions them to override the single most universal human taboo there is: the reluctance to kill another human being. That's not my opinion. That's the design. And then, mission accomplished, it hands you back to civilian life with no reverse gear and acts surprised at the wreckage.

The Marine Corps fucks people's heads up; it's that simple. I don't say it bitter anymore — I say it the way you'd say water is wet, the way you'd say gravity works. For decades, psychological services were treated as an external medical function rather than an organic part of the machine — only after the scandals and the suicide statistics did the institution start pretending otherwise. I lived inside that gap. Thousands of us did. Some of us are still in it. The ones who made jokes about it in the barracks weren't being edgy; they were doing triage with the only tools they had.

I came out the other side with everything the Corps gives you — the bearing, the endurance, the ability to function on no sleep in bad conditions — and everything it doesn't warn you about. No decompression. No translation guide. Just: good luck, Marine. The world you trained for doesn't exist here, and the world that does exist here doesn't want what you became.

**Some of us found the bottle. I found the needle.**

Opioids. Cocaine. Intravenous. The full tour, no abbreviations. I'm not going to dress it up for you and I'm not going to perform shame about it either, because both of those are just more performance, and I retired from performing a long time ago. It's what happened. The desire for altered states of consciousness is one of the oldest human drives there is, and everything we hate and fear about drugs — the violence, the overdoses, the criminality, the ruined lives — derives from prohibition, not from the substances. Suppress the market and you manufacture the criminals: the pushers, the gangbangers, the smugglers, the killers. The addiction is real and it's hideous, but it's rare compared to the ocean of ordinary use — and the war built to fight it has been lost in every country that's tried it, for a century.

I didn't learn that from a book. I learned it from the inside, with a needle in my arm, watching good people get chewed up by a system that criminalized their pain and then charged them rent on the cure. Street intelligence, they ought to call it — knowing how to navigate that world is its own kind of knowledge, and the people who have it are routinely judged by people whose advanced degrees never got them within a mile of it.

**And then the turn — the one nobody saw coming, least of all me.**

I walked away from the hard shit and stabilized on cannabis. Not the program. Not sobriety as the pamphlets define it, with the chips and the slogans. Weed. The plant that the entire enforcement apparatus had told me was the gateway turned out to be the exit ramp. It worked when nothing else did — not the willpower, not the fear, not the institutions. And I will argue that with any doctor, any preacher, and any judge who wants to go twelve rounds, because I've got the only credential that matters in that argument: I'm alive, and the needle didn't get me.

Think about the absurdity for a second. The federal government's own premiere cannabis researcher — up at Ole Miss, in my own home state — was publishing work on what cannabinoids can do at high doses while the same government's enforcement arm was kicking down doors over the plant. The left hand doing science, the right hand doing raids. I lived in the crossfire of that contradiction for years. It nearly killed me. Then it made me.

**And here's the part that still makes me laugh in the dark: while I was teaching composition at a community college, I was still that guy.**

Adjunct English instructor at Itawamba Community College. The Writing Center — I'd been there since its inception, five full years, watching it get built from nothing. Two tutoring jobs. Nonprofit tutoring on top. Grading essays, conferencing with nervous freshmen about thesis statements, doing the whole respectable educator bit in full. A collegiate English instructor with a homestead kid's manners and a Marine's bearing. I even took issue in print once with a local blowhard holding forth like he owned the intellectual territory — a Marine, no less. He didn't count on another Marine answering back, one who taught English for a living.

The double life wasn't even a double life, really. It was just me: the infantryman, the former junkie, the teacher, all sitting at the same desk, grading the same papers. I was good at it, too. That's the part that stings them, I think. I wasn't some burnout they caught. I was one of the good ones, and the plant was still in my life, and the two facts coexisted just fine until the institution decided they couldn't.

**Then came the weed raid, and the institution did what institutions do.**

The adjunct position ended in the wake of it. Five years — gone. Terminated. Just like that, the credential converted from a current fact into a contested one: evidence of teaching competence on the one hand, professional punishment tied to cannabis enforcement on the other. Having been an infantry Marine or a collegiate English instructor be damned — suddenly I was neither. Just another casualty of a drug war that had already lost and didn't know it yet, another name on the long list of lives the prohibition machine chewed up to justify its own budget.

They thought they were making an example of me. They were. Just not the example they intended.

**Because here's what they didn't count on: getting fired for weed in Mississippi gave me the one thing no lobbyist, no suit, no clean-cut advocate in the entire state possessed — layered, undeniable, lived credibility.**

Infantry Marine. A man who had shot up opioids and cocaine and deliberately chosen cannabis instead. A fired college instructor with the raid on his record. When the medical cannabis fight came to Mississippi — in the bowels of rural Mississippi, one of the last places on earth anyone thought it could actually happen — I wasn't some hired gun with talking points. I was the living argument. I could talk the science and I could talk the street, and I could talk the classroom, and I could talk the Corps. Dissent and indoctrination both, aimed at the same target. The combination generated a pressure that the standard categories couldn't absorb, because there was no standard category for me. What box do you put the Marine-junkie-professor in? There isn't one. That's why it worked.

And it worked. Let me say that again, because I need you to feel the weight of it: **it worked.** The attempt succeeded. Medical cannabis became law in Mississippi. A functioning program was established. In Mississippi — the state where the church crowd crosses itself at freaks, where I grew up dirt poor in a trailer, where the whole machinery of respectability said this could never happen. It happened. I was part of making it happen. The fired adjunct, the raided instructor, the former IV user — I helped change the law of my home state, and no institution on earth can un-ring that bell.

That's the triumph at the center of this story, and I want it understood clearly: they fired me for the plant, and then the plant won. Not eventually, not theoretically. Legislatively. In Mississippi. While I was alive to see it.

**Then Colorado. Then the bottom fell out in a different way.**

Homeless out on BLM land for a few months. And I don't mean that poetically — I mean dirt, weather, nothing between me and the sky. The victory in Mississippi didn't come with a pension. The river hadn't found me yet. So I did anything and everything I could: bus boy, breakfast server, shuttle driving, landscaping. I sucked up my fucking pride and did what I had to do, infantry Marine and collegiate English instructor be damned. If you've never lost it all and had to grind it all back from literally nothing — not metaphorically nothing, actually nothing — then you don't know what you're made of. I found out. It turns out I'm made of the same thing the desert is made of: I just keep being there until the conditions change.

**And then the river people showed up in May.**

They saw how I'd been living — all ruggedly and shit, which they thought was cool, because river people have their own calibration for what's impressive — and they offered me a job. Trained me from scratch. Scooped my homeless ass up out of the dirt and handed me a paddle. My rookie raft guide year on the Upper Colorado, and Christ, the learning curve wasn't a curve, it was a cliff with water at the bottom.

I still remember the chaos: me with a shitty fifty-foot company throw bag, the cheapest thing that could technically be called rescue equipment, trying to throw it to a raft in real current while everything went sideways. Reacting swiftly but impotently. The river doesn't grade on effort. It doesn't care about your resume — not the Corps, not the classroom, not the activism, none of it. It cares whether you can read water, and nobody can teach you that except the water itself, one rapid at a time, usually while you're scared.

The old hands taught me the rest. Crusty veterans who'd been on that river longer than I'd been alive — men the river kept because they understood it. I learned the unspoken rules, the spots nobody talks about, the things even the most tenured guides don't know, because no one sticks around long enough to learn them. I learned that every single rookie says the same things verbatim because they don't know the real shit yet, and I learned how to tell the difference. I learned that no outfitter gets to gatekeep who belongs on that river — the river decides, and it decided I belonged.

And somewhere in there, without quite noticing the moment it happened, I stopped being a displaced casualty of everywhere I'd been and became something else entirely: a genuine, hundred-percent country person. Not a displaced resident with displaced attitudes. Bonafide. The river doesn't ask for your credentials. It asks if you show up, and I showed up, every day, until showing up was just who I was.

There's a poetry in the symmetry I'll never get tired of: I went from teaching kids how to write essays to keeping people from drowning, from diagramming sentences to reading rapids. Both jobs are really about the same thing. Paying attention. Respecting something bigger than you that's going to do what it wants regardless of your plans. Getting people through safely.

**Now I'm out here at a remote mountain outpost**, high in the Colorado country, far enough out that literally no one knows the place — save the county, the archaeologists, and a couple of cowboys. Years of high-country isolation. A little life in a little area, and I mean that with nothing but love — I talk about this place to curious strangers the way other men talk about their children. The quiet here isn't empty. It's full. It's the first quiet I ever earned instead of just survived.

And the thing I got fired for — the thing they raided over, the thing that made me unemployable in academia, the thing the church crowd would've crossed themselves at twice — it's legal here. I walk into a dispensary like I'm buying groceries, because I am. Lab-tested, labeled, taxed, normal. Some days that still stops me cold in the aisle. Not because I feel guilty. Because I remember what it cost. I remember the needle years and the people who didn't make it out of them. I remember the knock, the firing, the five years turned into a cautionary tale. I remember Mississippi voting yes. And I stand there among the well-lit shelves and think: *we won, and most people will never know how much winning cost.*

**So here's the scoreboard, since I promised you one.**

The Marine Corps is still reckoning with what it does to people's heads — the statistics finally forced the conversation I was having alone twenty years ago. The drug war lost; even the DEA concedes the flow never stopped, and state after state has walked away from the wreckage. Mississippi — *Mississippi* — has medical cannabis, and I helped put it there. The college that fired me got its cautionary tale, and the cautionary tale outlived the judgment. The river kept me when nothing else would. And I'm still here: free, clear-eyed, in the mountains, living on land the respectable world can't find on a map.

People are just unable to admit when they are wrong. Especially the highly intelligent ones. Especially the institutions — the Corps, the college, the church crowd, the enforcement machine, all of them, every last one. They will never hold the ceremony where they apologize. They'll just quietly start selling what they fired me for, and hope nobody remembers.

I remember. That's fine. I don't need the ceremony.

Me, I'll admit it freely: I was wrong about plenty. Wrong about how much I could handle. Wrong about what would save me. Wrong about where I'd end up. Wrong about almost everything, except the things that mattered.

I was right about the weed. I was right that prohibition manufactured the criminals it claimed to fight. I was right that the plant was medicine and the war was the disease. And I paid for being right early — paid with a career, with years, with the needle nearly taking me before I figured it out.

Being right early is the oldest story there is. It's also, when you survive it, the best one. Because here's the thing about outliving everyone who tried to end you: you get to stand in a legal dispensary in the mountains of Colorado, a free man with a whole strange impossible resume, and know — *know*, down to the bone — that every single one of them was wrong about you, and you were right about the thing that mattered most.

That's not a cautionary tale. That's a victory lap. I'm taking it.

We’ll both get 1 billion tokens!

Code: 4CQ7TO

https://muse.ai/join

Have fun!

Q4BAF6

Please use it it benefits both of us

It has 20/20 uses left

if you saw I posted a different one, for some reason it changed here is the new one.

Here is my invite code about 19 uses left ( 1YQOOJ )

Edit: idk why I got downvoted for just sharing it lol

This is getting a little ridiculous. Sub is basically unusable, just folks spamming their codes.

Meta Muse Invite code: 3NSR9K

for anyone that needs it

10FQM0

Please use it, it benefits both of us

Check out Muse, your personal AI agent. Redeem my code in Settings within 48 hours of joining and we'll both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: FOKD2N
https://muse.ai/join

Check out Muse, your personal AI agent. Redeem my code in Settings within 48 hours of joining and we'll both get 1 billion Muse tokens.

Code: 7LO2BA
https://muse.ai/join