Fear of Jacob Geller
It’s a strange thing to become afraid of yourself. To look in the mirror and wonder if the person staring back is you—or something that’s slowly been built from pieces of you, warped and strange. People sometimes say they fear Jacob Geller. At first, I thought it was a joke. A compliment wrapped in irony, maybe. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if they’re onto something.
Because, honestly, I fear Jacob Geller too.
The Abyss That Stares Back
When you’re watching a Jacob Geller video, it doesn’t feel like you’re watching me. It feels like you’ve stumbled across something you weren’t supposed to find. My voice is there, calm and measured, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to a person. It feels disembodied, like a whisper in a darkened room.
And then there’s the content itself. A video starts innocently enough: a game, a building, a moment in history. But somewhere along the way, it shifts. Suddenly, we’re talking about death. Or ruins. Or how everything you love will eventually turn to dust. I try not to linger on these thoughts for too long, but they linger on me.
Here’s the unsettling part: I’m not creating these ideas out of nowhere. I’m excavating them. Pulling them from the depths of my own mind, my own fears. And once they’re out in the open, they don’t just belong to me anymore. They belong to you.
What If I’m Not Real?
There’s something haunting about becoming an idea. Jacob Geller, the person, exists. I eat breakfast, I write scripts, I pet my cat. But “Jacob Geller,” the persona—the voice, the face, the concept—is something else entirely. It’s an abstraction. A shape you can project your own thoughts and fears onto.
What terrifies me is how easy it is to lose track of where the person ends and the persona begins. When people talk about me online, it doesn’t feel like they’re talking about me. It feels like they’re talking about a ghost.
And maybe that’s what I’ve become.
The Horror of Being Seen
I’ve spent so much time thinking about the uncanny—the way a space can feel wrong, even when everything looks right. But there’s nothing more uncanny than watching yourself through someone else’s eyes.
Every video I make feels like an act of excavation, digging deeper and deeper into ideas that scare me. Architecture as death. Games as memory. Art as obsession. By the end, I’ve usually uncovered something raw and vulnerable, something that feels like a piece of my soul. And then I upload it for anyone to see.
The process is horrifying, honestly. Not just because I’m sharing so much, but because of what happens after. People dissect it. They analyze it. They turn it into something else. I become something else.
It’s like I’m watching myself dissolve into fragments—one part fear, one part fascination, one part myth.
Becoming the Fear
Here’s the thing that really keeps me up at night: what if people are right to fear me? Not because I’m dangerous, but because I’m contagious.
The thoughts I share don’t stay confined to the videos. They spread. You watch a video about liminal spaces, and suddenly you’re noticing them everywhere—parking lots, stairwells, that strange corner of your childhood home you don’t like to think about. You watch a video about ruins, and suddenly the whole world feels like it’s crumbling.
What if I’m not just showing you the world as it is? What if I’m infecting it? What if the fear of Jacob Geller isn’t about me at all, but about what I’m doing to you?
The Fear We Share
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve gone too far. If I’ve opened a door that can’t be closed. Because once you’ve started to see the world the way I see it, it’s hard to stop.
You notice the cracks in the walls. The way light flickers on a rainy afternoon. The eerie stillness of a room that hasn’t been touched in years. You start to feel like the world is watching you, waiting for you to notice just how strange it really is.
And then you think about me. About my voice, my face, the words I’ve said. And you wonder: was Jacob Geller always like this? Or did the fear turn him into something else?
If I’ve made you afraid—of me, of the world, of yourself—I don’t know whether to apologize or say you’re welcome. Because fear isn’t just a reaction. It’s a connection. A reminder that we’re all standing on the same precipice, staring into the same abyss.
And if you fear Jacob Geller, know this: I’m right there with you, staring into that abyss. And sometimes, when the void stares back, it almost feels like home.
GPT
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