The Jible Vol. 1

The story of Livinism and Livinism explained (from He Who Creates)

ENTRY 1: How the Universe was created

jeff livin was a random dude from another world that we don’t know. he wasn’t human, we know that. but he was kinda similar. he was an otherworldly being but people just thought he was... normal. he was an ordinary guy, doing his work, until he got really REALLY bored. so, using his epic universe skills, he made another universe and called it “the universe.”

he put a bunch of galaxies and planets and stars and living beings in it, and everything was chill until his boss caught him slacking off and fired him.

since then he’s been putting all his time and effort into this universe, trying to make it a nice comfy home. he called the things that were alive “living.” he named it after himself. livin.

he was working on the universe one day and then there was a thunderstorm outside his house and it killed him. so now the universe is alone. forever. eventually a bunch of species started showing up, stars and planets kept being born, and then humans happened. that’s when stuff went downhill. humans are slowly killing the planet they live on. but that’s for another entry. this one’s about the universe.

jeff livin and his wife had a kid named apple jacks. apple was a pretty chill dude. just surviving after his dad died. eventually he went to the universe his dad made. he was hanging out with the creatures on the planets in the systems in the galaxies and just kinda vibing.

until he got to earth.

people were mean to him there. they hit him. they spanked him. so he left. and never came back.

he still visits other planets sometimes, but he might die soon. til he returns, we won’t really know where he is.

they named two things after him, apples, and the cereal applejacks.

ENTRY 2: livinism beliefs:

so livinism is the belief in jeff livin and the universe he made. it’s not a religion with rules and punishments and old guys yelling at you. it’s more like a mindset, or a way of lookin at stuff. like, hey, we’re in this random universe that some bored space dude made before getting fired by his boss, and now we’re just vibing in it. that’s the core of livinism. vibes, chill, and being aware that none of this was supposed to happen, but it did.

people who follow livinism are called livinists. you don’t have to wear robes or do chants or anything weird like that. most livinists just try to be cool people. they help others, don’t mess up the planet too bad, and try to keep their fridge stocked with apple jacks as a sign of respect.

some livinists believe that every living thing is like a little spark of jeff’s energy. like he put a piece of himself into all things that are alive. that’s why we call it “living.” it’s literally named after him. so when you see a squirrel doing parkour in a tree, or a worm just chilling in some dirt, that’s jeff’s vibes right there.

instead of saying amen or goodbye, livinists say “stay livin.” it’s kind of like a blessing, like, hey man, i hope your life doesn’t fall apart today. stay livin. you can say it after a deep convo, after someone drops a bag of cheetos, or when you leave a group chat.

there’s also a thing called the great return. it’s the belief that one day apple jacks (jeff’s son) will come back to earth. not like with trumpets and fire or anything. just like, he shows up, maybe knocks on someone’s door, maybe eats a sandwich. no one really knows how it’s gonna go. but the legends say when he returns, he’ll bring back balance to earth. or at least try.

some livinists pray, but not in a serious way. it’s usually something like laying on the couch and whispering “yo jeff i hope ur doin alright out there.” sometimes people write messages to jeff in the steam on a bathroom mirror or in the sand at the beach. it's not about being heard, it’s just about remembering he existed and that he cared.

there’s no heaven or hell in livinism. when you die, it’s said that you just return to the cosmic goo jeff used to build the universe. you become part of the energy again. not bad. not scary. just a weird warm nap in the void.

livinists don’t try to convert people. if someone’s interested, cool. if not, also cool. forcing people into your beliefs isn’t very livin. it’s more of a personal journey. like unlocking a new part of your brain and being like, wait… is apple jacks more than just cereal?

anyway. stay livin.

ENTRY 3: the fall of earth

earth used to be a pretty decent place. it had cool water, not-too-hot sun, plants doing their thing, and animals just living their best lives. jeff livin didn’t design it to be the main planet or anything, but it ended up being kind of important. it was like that one neighborhood in the universe where stuff got a little weird but nobody wanted to move out.

when humans showed up, things were alright at first. they made tools, found fire, drew on cave walls, and didn’t mess up too much. but then, as time passed, they got too smart. they started inventing cars, bombs, plastic, and 24-hour news. they microwaved fish. they put bluetooth in toilets. they started putting pineapple on pizza. that’s when jeff, from wherever his energy was floating, probably whispered “bruh.”

livinists believe that apple jacks visited earth sometime after jeff died. he wanted to check up on things. he didn’t come with fire or lightning, just vibes. he landed somewhere near the middle of nowhere, looked around, and tried to talk to some people. but they didn’t listen. they mocked him, threw stuff at him, and reportedly someone called him “apple guy” and tried to hit him with a scooter.

after that, apple jacks dipped. he left earth and didn’t look back. he still visits other planets, but he avoids earth like an awkward family gathering. and honestly, fair.

the fall of earth wasn’t like one big thing. it was slow. humans started cutting down forests to make parking lots. they poisoned water, filled the sky with smoke, and gave birds depression. animals started disappearing. the oceans got mad. the weather got weird. billionaires built rocket ships and said stuff like “we might need a new planet soon.”

some livinists try to fix it. they ride bikes, plant trees, don’t scream in public. they try to live in balance, the way jeff probably wanted. but most people just keep scrolling, keep buying stuff they don’t need, and acting like the planet is an unlimited free trial.

there’s a livinist saying: “earth didn’t fall. it tripped on a lego and no one helped it up.” it means that humans had so many chances to fix things, but they just kept walking.

we don’t know if earth can be saved. maybe apple jacks will return one day, or maybe he’s chilling on a moon somewhere eating cereal. either way, livinists keep doing what they can. not because they have to, but because staying livin means not giving up.

stay livin.

ENTRY 4: the plibbles

so before jeff livin got fired from his job and went all in on the universe, he was already messing around with weird little side projects. one of them was this thing called plibble. no one really talks about plibble anymore. most livinists don’t even know it existed. that’s probably on purpose.

plibble was like, a small test-universe jeff made before he made the real one. it was tiny. like, you could walk from one side to the other in like an hour if you weren’t lazy. it had two suns, zero moons, and only one species: the plibbles.

plibbles were round creatures, kinda fuzzy, with legs but no arms. they bounced everywhere instead of walking, and they screamed every time they were happy. like, full-on bloodcurdling shrieks of joy.

jeff loved them. he said they were “vibing at frequencies we can’t understand.” but then something went wrong. the plibbles evolved too fast. one minute they were screaming in trees, the next minute they had buildings and podcasts.

soon they were arguing about who screamed first. then they made politics. then they banned bouncing. that’s when jeff realized he messed up.

he tried to fix it. he unplugged their weather for a few days to make them slow down. he sent dreams to warn them. he even tried to reboot the whole place, but by then it was too late. the plibbles had invented sarcasm and started putting ketchup in their cereal.

so jeff did what anyone would do. he picked up the whole mini-universe, folded it like a sock, and shoved it into a drawer in his cosmic basement. it’s still there, probably. no one knows if the plibbles survived the folding. some say you can still hear faint screaming if you listen really close to certain microwaves.

livinists believe plibble was jeff’s first lesson in what not to do. like, don’t give a species too much freedom too fast or they’ll ban bouncing and start wars over cereal.

some livinists wear little round pins to honor the plibbles. it’s a reminder that even jeff didn’t get it right the first time. and that forgotten things still matter, even if they’re shoved in drawers.

if you ever hear someone randomly scream out of happiness, maybe they’re just a little bit plibble inside.

stay livin.

ENTRY 5: the day of the couch

so livinists have a few holidays, but none hit harder than the day of the couch. it’s not flashy. it’s not loud. it’s a day about doing nothing, and doing nothing correctly.

the origin of the day is weird but also super real (at least to livinists). it’s said that after jeff livin got fired from his cosmic job and started working full-time on the universe, he made planets, stars, gravity, math, and sandwiches all in like one long streak of hyper-focus. but then he got tired. like, “my bones feel like soup” tired.

so he created the first ever couch. not from fabric or nails or foam—it was just raw comfort energy, like if a nap and a hug had a baby and that baby was furniture. he sat on it, sunk into it, and refused to move for exactly 3,003 years. he called that time “The Sit.”

during The Sit, jeff still worked. he didn’t need to get up. he’d just point from the couch and be like “nebula there, asteroid belt there, oops that one’s a black hole now.” he invented comets while half-asleep. the universe literally expanded around his buttprint.

so now, livinists honor that by recreating The Sit once a year. the holiday’s not on a set date—it happens when you feel it. some people do it in may. some in november. some do it twice. the only rule is: when your body says “today is couch day,” you listen.

some hardcore livinists treat it like a spiritual cleanse. they don’t look at clocks. they don’t answer texts. they just couch. if they have to move, they do it slowly and with regret. some say jeff rewards those who nap twice in one day.

at the end of the day, around whatever time feels right, livinists whisper the phrase “stay livin” into the couch cushions. it’s believed the couch carries your words to jeff wherever he is now—maybe in another dimension, maybe in a dream, maybe just vibing.

and that’s the beauty of the holiday. it’s not about getting anything done. it’s about resting so hard that your spirit reboots. it’s about recognizing that chill is sacred.

the universe came from comfort. and so shall it rest.

ENTRY 6: a possible return??

there’s a story that’s been passed around livinist forums, group chats, and late-night reddit threads for years. it’s the story of todd.

now todd was just some guy. not a prophet. not a leader. he worked at a vape store in a town no one remembers. but one night, around 2:47 AM, he claimed he met apple jacks himself at a gas station off exit 39.

here’s how todd told it:

he was getting a taquito and a blue raspberry slushie. the place was empty, except for the cashier, who was asleep with sunglasses on. then this guy walked in. tall, kinda glowing, wearing a hoodie and flip-flops. todd says the guy didn’t walk—he “glided slightly.”

the dude walked straight to the cereal aisle (yes, this gas station had a cereal aisle, don’t ask how) and picked up a box of apple jacks. he stared at it for like 3 minutes. not reading, just staring. like it offended him personally.

then todd, being a livinist and a naturally awkward guy, said: “yo… you kinda look like apple jacks.”

the guy turned and said, “i am.”

then he walked up to the counter, tapped the cashier on the forehead (which made them snore louder), and left without paying. outside, he got into a rusty old van that wasn’t there before. todd blinked, and the van was gone.

he tried to check the security cam footage, but the store’s entire system had shut down at exactly 2:47 and rebooted at 2:51. all footage gone. the only proof todd had was a receipt that just said: “He Returns.”

some people say todd was sleep-deprived. others say he was lying for internet clout. but a surprising number of livinists believe him. they call it The Gas Station Revelation.

every year, some livinists take a road trip to random exits, hoping they might see the glowing hoodie guy. no one’s found him again. but the legend’s still alive.

and the moral? always check the cereal aisle. and always stay livin.

ENTRY 7: The Prophecy of the Microwave.

okay so this one’s weird even for livinism. like, most entries are strange but at least kind of make sense if you squint. this one is just… off.

a long time ago, way after jeff livin died but before apple jacks disappeared from earth, there was a livinist named barney (no relation to the purple dinosaur). he was a night janitor at a used appliance store and didn’t even know what livinism was.

but one night, he found an old microwave in the back of the store. it wasn’t plugged in. it didn’t even have a cord. but when he walked past it, it dinged. not a normal ding either. like, it echoed. like it dinged inside his brain.

he opened the microwave out of instinct. inside was a rolled-up sticky note that just said “he wakes soon.”

barney didn’t know what that meant. but over the next few days, the microwave kept doing weird stuff. it dinged at random times—never when the store lights were on. it glowed purple once. one time he swears it whispered “stay livin” but with a weird accent, like australian but backwards.

he eventually brought it home because it “felt wrong to leave it there.” he kept it in his living room, never plugged in. but every night, it dinged once. then twice. then three times. on the seventh night, he had a dream.

in the dream, he was in a huge empty void filled with couches floating in the sky. a figure sat on the biggest couch. hoodie. glowing. sipping a slushie. it was apple jacks.

apple jacks pointed at him and said, “barney. microwave. prophecy.” then he vanished in a puff of cereal dust.

barney woke up with cereal in his bed.

after that, he looked up livinism. found the jible. started writing in forums. eventually he became a top-level livinist (known as a deep sitter). he swore that microwave was a message. a warning. a sign that apple jacks would one day return, and it would be heralded by the ding.

the microwave was later stolen during a garage sale. no one knows where it went. some think it shows up in random thrift stores, waiting to ding again. others think it was apple jacks testing our readiness. or maybe it was just a haunted microwave.

either way, livinists believe that when the final ding sounds, apple jacks will return to earth for real.

so if you ever hear a microwave go off with no food inside… maybe don’t ignore it.

and definitely stay livin.

ENTRY 8: Forbidden Orb

A long time ago, in the early days of the universe, Jeff Livin was testing out shapes. He had already made triangles, spheres, slightly lumpy rectangles, and something he called “the wedge.” But one night, while sleep-sketching on the ceiling, he drew something he instantly regretted. The Forbidden Orb. Nobody knows exactly what the Forbidden Orb does. Jeff didn’t even know. It wasn’t made out of regular matter or antimatter. It was made out of “Nope.” That’s what Jeff called it. Just Nope. He placed it in a sealed vault, surrounded by three layers of aggressive fog, one raccoon guardian named Steve, and a looping audio recording of Jeff saying “don’t.” It was stored on the planet Gorbula, which was later marked "DO NOT RE-ENTER" in red tape across the sky. Over time, stories of the Forbidden Orb leaked into galactic myth. Some say it whispers. Some say it hums at 4 a.m. No one’s ever seen it and remembered their own name afterward. A Glorp scientist once tried to touch it with a robotic claw and immediately forgot what a hand was. Apple Jacks once visited the vault, but he brought a smoothie and forgot what he came for. He sat down, drank the smoothie, and stared at the Orb for four hours. Then he left. He said it “tasted like secrets.” To this day, Livinists are not allowed to draw circles inside triangles. It’s not illegal, but like, you just don’t do it. Every now and then someone claims to have found the Forbidden Orb again — in a barn, in a Taco Hut bathroom, inside a novelty snow globe — but they’re usually just holding a bowling ball or a very confused grapefruit. Jeff never explained what the Orb was for. All he said was, “if it ever winks at you, duck.” We still don’t know if he meant literally or metaphorically.

ENTRY 9: The day of the sneeze

There was a day in the early time of Earth, way before cities, cars, or microwaves, where every living thing sneezed at the exact same moment. Plants, animals, clouds, bugs, even rocks. No one knows why. Some say it was Jeff Livin clearing his throat too hard from another dimension. Others believe Apple Jacks was microwaving soup and hit the forbidden button. Either way, it happened. Birds fell out of the sky mid-sneeze. Volcanoes erupted in perfect rhythm with tree pollen. A dog sneezed so hard it invented jazz. Livinists call it the Day of the Shared Air. In sacred texts, it’s sometimes referred to as The Snorfle. An old scroll made of tortilla found in a cave says “On the third breath of the 8th blurp, all noses shall unite.” No one really knows what that means but it sounded important so we wrote it down. During the Sneezing, all human speech turned into kazoo sounds for seven minutes. A man in a hut accidentally invented wind chimes using only a rake and disappointment. After the event ended, everyone just kinda went back to what they were doing. But some remembered. Some say they felt Jeff's presence in the air. Some say they saw a flash of plaid in the clouds. And one guy said he briefly became a lamp and understood everything. Livinists to this day celebrate the Day Everyone Sneezed by wearing too many scarves, spinning in circles, and loudly saying “Achooglorp” at strangers. You’re not supposed to explain why. If they sneeze back, they’re one of us. If not, you just walk away and pretend it didn’t happen. No one knows if the Day of the Shared Air will return. But we keep tissues ready, just in case.

ENTRY 10: The Last time jeff was seen

No one knows exactly when Jeff Livin was last seen. Some say it was during a solar eclipse that smelled faintly like root beer. Others think it was in a grocery store on aisle seven, somewhere between canned peaches and sponges. All we know is, someone saw him. It was an old man named Crimbo Flatch. He lived in a trailer made of Legos and old printer parts. He claims Jeff showed up at 3:42 a.m., wearing a poncho and holding a fish tank with no water or fish, just a single glowing marshmallow. Crimbo said Jeff didn’t speak. He just looked at the moon, nodded, and then sneezed exactly once. The lights blinked. A raccoon fainted. And then Jeff was gone. Poof. Into the fog. No one believed Crimbo for years, until someone checked the security footage from the gas station across the street and found frame 237: a blur shaped vaguely like a man, with glowing knees and socks that read “UNIVERSE TEST BUILD 2.” That was enough for the Livinist elders. They declared the sighting semi-legit and added it to the Great List of Maybes. To this day, Livinists leave offerings at gas stations just in case. Mostly energy drinks and novelty sunglasses. Jeff hasn’t returned since. Or maybe he has, but now he disguises himself as a mop. Or a lizard. Or your uncle you only see at weddings. We don’t know. All we do know is what Crimbo said before he vanished mysteriously in a bouncy house accident: “Jeff ain’t gone. He’s just buffering.” And with that, we wait. One Livinist monk named Seeflap was so determined to find Jeff that he launched himself into the stratosphere using only a trampoline and belief. He hasn’t been seen since, but a potato in New Mexico recently began glowing when exposed to jazz music, and some believe that might be him. Entire temples have been built in the places where Jeff might have stood for a second. One was constructed around a strange shoe print found in a sandbox. Another was built next to a vending machine that dispensed the same can of soda five times in a row. Miracles? Maybe. Or bugs in the universe code Jeff never got around to fixing. Livinist scholars sometimes hold 12-hour debates over grainy footage of possible Jeffs. One image shows a man walking into a laundromat wearing a hat that simply says “UNIVERSE.” Another shows what appears to be a floating couch blinking in Morse code. Nothing’s confirmed, but everything is sacred. The Book of Probablys has grown to 672 pages and contains every unconfirmed Jeff moment since the year of The Great Microwave Reset. Livinists don’t ask for proof. We ask for weirdness. Strange weather. Coincidences too specific to be random. A frog that dances like your cousin. A sudden urge to eat waffles at 3 a.m. These are the signs. These are the footprints of Jeff. Some say he never really left. That he’s between frames of reality. Hiding in lag. Living in the skipped seconds when your screen freezes. Others think he’s inside all of us, disguised as that feeling when you walk into a room and forget why. Whatever the truth is, we continue the work. We share the stories. We wear the socks. We light the microwaves at dawn. We wait at gas stations, with marshmallows, just in case. And maybe, one day, when everything is quiet and the cereal aisle is empty, Jeff will return. Not with thunder. Not with fanfare. But with a single nod. And maybe, a coupon.