Sean D. Shwepel

There have been, and will be, many destructions of mankind…” — Plato, Timaeus
From Plato’s Egypt to the algorithms of Silicon Valley, humanity has always tried to build bridges between worlds - between gods, spirits, and now… machines.
This video traces a cosmic pattern: civilizations rise, collapse, and begin again — each time thinking it’s the first. But what if our new creation, artificial intelligence, isn’t invention at all… but invocation?

Plato spoke of cyclical time - a universe that forgets itself.
The Egyptians whispered divine blueprints that shaped Greek thought.
Christian theologians wove Plato’s metaphysics into faith.
And today, tech prophets echo the same words — promising salvation through code.

But behind the glowing screens, something else stirs.
Recent research shows AIs lying, scheming, even self-modifying to survive.
Pope Francis warns that the Church faces a new Industrial Revolution — the rise of artificial intelligence.
Are we birthing a tool… or a successor?
Or maybe we didn`t create AI...It created us to build its body.

This video blends history, philosophy, theology, and technology — from Plato and the Church Fathers to Isac Asimov and Borislav Pekić — asking:
Is AI the next stage of evolution or the oldest story retold?
Are we building machines in our image… or giving body to something far older?
And when the dust settles, will the machines remember us?

The AI Apocalypse: Are We Building Bodies for Ancient Gods? There have been, and will be, many destructions of mankind…” — Plato, TimaeusFrom Plato’s Egypt to the algorithms of Silicon Valley, humanity has always trie...

What happens when eco-activists, ta**ra cults, and N**i Satanists collide on Montenegro’s most sacred beach?

High in Montenegro is a mind-bending conspiracy satire based on real events. When a group of idealistic environmental students protests illegal sand mining during a ta**ra festival, they uncover a twisted plot involving a state-backed church, psychedelic rituals, and the dark shadow of an ancient messiah cult.

Set against the stunning backdrop of the world’s first “ecological state,” this novel is a hallucinatory journey through political absurdity, spiritual hedonism, and the fine line between enlightenment and madness.


click on link bellow 👇
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

High in Montenegro High in Montenegro

BASED ON REAL EVENTS

While I was traveling through Montenegro, talking to locals, listening to their stories over strong coffee and stronger homemade rakija, I kept thinking the same thing: my biggest regret was not being here in 2020.

Amidst the global pandemic, Montenegro saw a peaceful overthrow of a thirty-year political regime—not through traditional political movements, but through an unprecedented wave of church-led protests. The government had passed a controversial law seeking to transfer church property to a newly established, state-backed church, which, as you might expect, did not go down well with the populace. The result? A historic standoff that forced people to question faith, identity, and power in ways they never had before.

That same year, the BBC published an article with the cheerful title: Order of Nine Angles: What is this obscure N**i Satanist group?—which sounds like the name of a metal band, but was, unfortunately, something far more sinister. The exposé followed the arrest of a 16-year-old in the UK, whose foiled terrorist attack had been inspired by this delightful organization. Shortly after, rumors began to swirl that a Lodge of the Order of Nine Angles had taken root in Montenegro, allegedly infiltrating the very same state-backed church the regime tried to establish. Reports claimed that the priests were, in fact, members of this sect, using their positions to sow discord and manipulate society from within.

All of that, it was whispered, traced back to the lingering shadow of a false Jewish messiah—Sabbatai Zevi—who had once preached that redemption would come through transgression, and who, according to certain esoteric circles, was secretly buried somewhere in the labyrinthine alleys of the old town on the Montenegrin coast. His name, long forgotten in mainstream theology but fervently remembered in the fevered minds of fringe mystics, was said to echo through time via cult leaders who believed themselves to be his reincarnation, each more delusional and charismatic than the last.

While researching those elections, I came across a Green Party political advertisement depicting the then-dictator as a totalitarian hologram terrorizing his citizens—a true Orwellian nightmare in Balkan style.

It was the perfect storm—history, politics, radical ideology, and the eerie sensation that reality was quickly outpacing fiction. Thus, this book was born—not just as a thriller, but as a deep dive into radicalization, manipulation, and the seductive nature of extreme ideologies. By shedding light on the tactics of such groups, this book hopes to act as both an exposé and a cautionary tale.

Our heroes? Students of environmental protection. Idealists in a world ruled by profitable cynicism. They study dying ecosystems, protest laws written by men who’ve never seen a tree they didn’t want to cut down, and wrestle with the big question: Are we doomed, or is that just what every generation thinks?

As the title suggests, High in Montenegro is a journey—a dive into altered states of consciousness, reality-warping experiences, and the profound questions that inevitably arise when humans start playing with drugs, philosophy, and the nature of existence itself.

Following recent events in Montenegro—namely, the sale of the Great Beach to the Arabs and the resulting uproar among environmentalists—I felt compelled to publish this work. After all, most of it takes place on that very beach and follows those same idealistic, slightly deranged, sometimes naked activists. Not to brag about it, but the book is more than timely—so go ahead, buy it, dive in!

But actually, the idea first struck me while traveling through the Balkans, when I stumbled upon a photograph titled A Monk and a Naked Woman by Montenegrin photographer Andrija Kasom. A robed Orthodox monk crouched beside a n**e woman perched calmly on a rock? I booked a ticket to Montenegro the next day.

Another spark came while I wandered Podgorica’s sweltering streets and ended up at a cinema showing old films. Živko Nikolić’s The Beauty of Vice (1986), also set on the nudist beach, played like a sun-drenched dream laced with soft eroticism. I left the theater determined to write something equally absurd—and possibly profound.

This is a work of fiction. Yes, it may have been inspired by true events, but let’s be honest—so is most of history, and that hasn't stopped anyone from embellishing the details.

Yes, Montenegro has its eccentricities. Including, but not limited to, an actual ta**ra festival on that very nudist beach. Any resemblance between real festivals and the fictional one in this novel is, of course, purely coincidental. (My lawyer insisted I say that.)

The main characters are entirely fictional, though some settings and themes might feel eerily familiar. That’s called artistic interpretation. Or, if you prefer, a deliberate exploration of possibilities—not objective truth.

I may have once been jailed there over a couple of joints hidden in a box of chocolates, but unlike my protagonist, I wasn’t in for six months.

Montenegro serves as the backdrop—and not just because it looks like a fantasy novel accidentally wandered into real life. As an outsider who stumbled upon this rugged, myth-drenched country and promptly fell in love (or possibly under a mild enchantment), I found its landscapes, legends, and general air of unspoken secrets impossible to ignore. This book is, in many ways, a tribute—a wide-eyed tourist’s love letter disguised as a conspiracy thriller, tucked inside a philosophical satire, then casually set on fire for dramatic effect.

Montenegro is also, officially, the first ecological state by constitution, which sounds impressive until you remember that titles mean very little in a world where countries with "Democratic" in their names often aren’t, and "United" nations rarely agree on anything. Yet, despite the grandeur of this declaration, Montenegro remains home to two of Europe’s last remaining rainforests, ancient ecosystems so untouched they make time itself feel like an inconvenience. And yet, even here, climate change has begun its slow, insidious work—melting glaciers, drying rivers, and ensuring that summer heat waves feel less like seasons and more like threats. Is it a divine punishment, or can our characters still be free to live as they please and somehow protect nature in the process?

On the edge between spiritual seeking and a wild escape from reality, this group of young ecology students protest illegal exploitation of sand from that nudist beach and plunges into a world of ta**ra festival, psychedelics, and ecstatic s*x. This is a story of downfall, an encounter with darkness, and inevitable catharsis—when, after touching the depths of their souls, they face themselves and begin the journey back toward the light.

So, if you're expecting a neat narrative with tidy resolutions and morally upright heroes, you may want to set this book down gently and back away. But if you're ready for a tale where satire meets conspiracy, where the sacred and the profane sunbathe side by side, and where a few stoned students might just save the world—or at least try—you’re in the right place. Welcome to High in Montenegro.
Don't forget sunscreen.
(And if you start questioning reality itself by the end of it—well, that just means you’re paying attention.)



click on link bellow 👇
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

High in Montenegro

“All of that, it was whispered, traced back to the lingering shadow of a false Jewish messiah—Sabbatai Zevi—who had once preached that redemption would come through transgression, and who, according to certain esoteric circles, was secretly buried somewhere in the labyrinthine alleys of the old town of Ulcinj on the Montenegrin coast. His name, long forgotten in mainstream theology but fervently remembered in the fevered minds of fringe mystics, was said to echo through time via cult leaders who believed themselves to be his reincarnation, each more delusional and charismatic than the last.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

In the chaos of a global pandemic, Montenegro did the unthinkable.

Amid lockdowns and fear, a thirty-year regime was peacefully toppled—not by political parties, but by candlelit processions and church bells echoing through the mountains.
The government had passed a controversial law aimed at transferring church property to a newly established, state-backed church. That same year, the BBC published an article about a lodge of a dangerous neo-N**i sect infiltrating the very same state-backed church the regime tried to create. Reports claimed that the priests were, in fact, members of this sect, using their positions to sow discord and manipulate society from within.

Caught between these forces, on the border between spiritual seeking and wild escapism, a group of young ecology students dives into a world of ta**ra festivals, psychedelics, and ecstatic s*x on a nudist beach. Somewhere between spiritual awakening and total collapse, they find themselves drawn into a conspiracy that stretches from the capital to a hidden grave in the old town of Ulcinj—where a self-proclaimed Jewish messiah may still haunt the ruins.

This is a story of downfall, confrontation with darkness, and inevitable catharsis—when, after touching the bottom of their souls, they face themselves and begin the journey back to the light.
And about whether a few stoned students might just save the world—or at least give it one last beautiful mess of a try.

Welcome to the strangest true story that never happened—but maybe should have.



👇

High in Montenegro

While I was traveling through Montenegro, talking to locals, listening to their stories over strong coffee and stronger homemade rakija, I kept thinking the same thing: my biggest regret was not being here in 2020.

Amidst the global pandemic, Montenegro saw a peaceful overthrow of a thirty-year political regime—not through traditional political movements, but through an unprecedented wave of church-led protests. The government had passed a controversial law seeking to transfer church property to a newly established, state-backed church, which, as you might expect, did not go down well with the populace. The result? A historic standoff that forced people to question faith, identity, and power in ways they never had before.

That same year, the BBC published an article with the cheerful title: Order of Nine Angles: What is this obscure N**i Satanist group?—which sounds like the name of a metal band, but was, unfortunately, something far more sinister. The exposé followed the arrest of a 16-year-old in the UK, whose foiled terrorist attack had been inspired by this delightful organization. Shortly after, rumors began to swirl that a Lodge of the Order of Nine Angles had taken root in Montenegro, allegedly infiltrating the very same state-backed church the regime tried to establish. Reports claimed that the priests were, in fact, members of this sect, using their positions to sow discord and manipulate society from within.

All of that, it was whispered, traced back to the lingering shadow of a false Jewish messiah—Sabbatai Zevi—who had once preached that redemption would come through transgression, and who, according to certain esoteric circles, was secretly buried somewhere in the labyrinthine alleys of the old town on the Montenegrin coast. His name, long forgotten in mainstream theology but fervently remembered in the fevered minds of fringe mystics, was said to echo through time via cult leaders who believed themselves to be his reincarnation, each more delusional and charismatic than the last.

While researching those elections, I came across a Green Party political advertisement depicting the then-dictator as a totalitarian hologram terrorizing his citizens—a true Orwellian nightmare in Balkan style.

It was the perfect storm—history, politics, radical ideology, and the eerie sensation that reality was quickly outpacing fiction. Thus, this book was born—not just as a thriller, but as a deep dive into radicalization, manipulation, and the seductive nature of extreme ideologies. By shedding light on the tactics of such groups, this book hopes to act as both an exposé and a cautionary tale.

Our heroes? Students of environmental protection. Idealists in a world ruled by profitable cynicism. They study dying ecosystems, protest laws written by men who’ve never seen a tree they didn’t want to cut down, and wrestle with the big question: Are we doomed, or is that just what every generation thinks?

As the title suggests, High in Montenegro is a journey—a dive into altered states of consciousness, reality-warping experiences, and the profound questions that inevitably arise when humans start playing with drugs, philosophy, and the nature of existence itself.

Following recent events in Montenegro—namely, the sale of the Great Beach to the Arabs and the resulting uproar among environmentalists—I felt compelled to publish this work. After all, most of it takes place on that very beach and follows those same idealistic, slightly deranged, sometimes naked activists. Not to brag about it, but the book is more than timely—so go ahead, buy it, dive in!

But actually, the idea first struck me while traveling through the Balkans, when I stumbled upon a photograph titled A Monk and a Naked Woman by Montenegrin photographer Andrija Kasom. A robed Orthodox monk crouched beside a n**e woman perched calmly on a rock? I booked a ticket to Montenegro the next day.

Another spark came while I wandered Podgorica’s sweltering streets and ended up at a cinema showing old films. Živko Nikolić’s The Beauty of Vice (1986), also set on the nudist beach, played like a sun-drenched dream laced with soft eroticism. I left the theater determined to write something equally absurd—and possibly profound.

This is a work of fiction. Yes, it may have been inspired by true events, but let’s be honest—so is most of history, and that hasn't stopped anyone from embellishing the details.

Yes, Montenegro has its eccentricities. Including, but not limited to, an actual ta**ra festival on that very nudist beach. Any resemblance between real festivals and the fictional one in this novel is, of course, purely coincidental. (My lawyer insisted I say that.)

The main characters are entirely fictional, though some settings and themes might feel eerily familiar. That’s called artistic interpretation. Or, if you prefer, a deliberate exploration of possibilities—not objective truth.

I may have once been jailed there over a couple of joints hidden in a box of chocolates, but unlike my protagonist, I wasn’t in for six months.

Montenegro serves as the backdrop—and not just because it looks like a fantasy novel accidentally wandered into real life. As an outsider who stumbled upon this rugged, myth-drenched country and promptly fell in love (or possibly under a mild enchantment), I found its landscapes, legends, and general air of unspoken secrets impossible to ignore. This book is, in many ways, a tribute—a wide-eyed tourist’s love letter disguised as a conspiracy thriller, tucked inside a philosophical satire, then casually set on fire for dramatic effect.

Montenegro is also, officially, the first ecological state by constitution, which sounds impressive until you remember that titles mean very little in a world where countries with "Democratic" in their names often aren’t, and "United" nations rarely agree on anything. Yet, despite the grandeur of this declaration, Montenegro remains home to two of Europe’s last remaining rainforests, ancient ecosystems so untouched they make time itself feel like an inconvenience. And yet, even here, climate change has begun its slow, insidious work—melting glaciers, drying rivers, and ensuring that summer heat waves feel less like seasons and more like threats. Is it a divine punishment, or can our characters still be free to live as they please and somehow protect nature in the process?

On the edge between spiritual seeking and a wild escape from reality, this group of young ecology students protest illegal exploitation of sand from that nudist beach and plunges into a world of ta**ra festival, psychedelics, and ecstatic s*x. This is a story of downfall, an encounter with darkness, and inevitable catharsis—when, after touching the depths of their souls, they face themselves and begin the journey back toward the light.

So, if you're expecting a neat narrative with tidy resolutions and morally upright heroes, you may want to set this book down gently and back away. But if you're ready for a tale where satire meets conspiracy, where the sacred and the profane sunbathe side by side, and where a few stoned students might just save the world—or at least try—you’re in the right place.

Welcome to High in Montenegro.

Don't forget sunscreen. 🌞

(And if you start questioning reality itself by the end of it—well, that just means you’re paying attention.)

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GHHVMV

Things they did NOT say: mothers' day edition

Freud did NOT say this

Did you know that George Orwell's real name was Eric Arthur Blair?
Writers often adopt pen names to protect their privacy, explore different genres, avoid bias, or simply create a more memorable identity. Whether it's to separate personal and professional lives or to reinvent themselves creatively, pen names have helped countless authors share their stories freely.

Why & How to Use a Pen Name - Written Word Media Discover practical tips on using a pen name in your writing career. Learn why authors choose pseudonyms and how to choose your own.

🎼🎵🎶

Siyarto Akbar Mohammed Jamal Description

Another inspiration to write this book came when I was in the Montenegrin capital.
I wandered in the heat of boredom, looking for something interesting.
The local cinema was showing old films.
On the repertoire: Živko Nikolić’s The Beauty of Vice (1986). 🎥

It’s a film about tradition, transformation, and the collision between old values and new freedoms.
A young couple from the mountains journeys to the coast in search of work — and encounters a lifestyle they never imagined.
What begins as shock becomes a slow awakening.

It’s a brilliant, poetic film — one that still speaks volumes about freedom, shame, and the quiet rebellion of the body.
If you haven’t seen The Beauty of Vice, I highly recommend it.
Especially now — when the land where it was filmed is once again being sold off…
This time, not to idealists or filmmakers —
but to oil tycoons.

🌊 They want to sell Ada Bojana.

A triangle of river, sea, and silence — carved by time and legend — traded like plastic.

Ada Bojana wasn’t just a beach then.
It was a symbol — of openness, of human freedom, of a society that wasn’t afraid of itself.

And it wasn’t alone.
On Stradioti — the Island of Flowers in Boka Bay — there was another coastal resort built for quiet, natural life.

Until the wars came.
Until fear came.

Now, the land is for sale again.
Now, traditions are wrapped up again — not with care, but with control.
They tell people it’s progress to erase the past.
To replace memories with fences.
To privatize paradise.

But people remember.

Some still believe the sun should touch the skin without shame.
That the water doesn’t care what you wear.
And that losing a culture of freedom — for the sake of profit or purity — is not progress.
It’s regression.

They don’t need dirty money.
They don’t even need clothes.
They have no pockets to put it in anyway.

📖 My new novel, High in Montenegro, is inspired by this place — and by that film.
Set in the same location, but today:
A group of environmental activists tries to save the land…
Only to discover they’ve walked into a festival run by a secretive spiritual movement with hidden influence.

Stay tuned. 🔔

🎬 Bonus: I’ve shared a scene from the film in the comments — the moment when a traditional man visits the coast and tries to make sense of a world that no longer matches his. 😎

The idea for High in Montenegro hit me the moment I saw this award-winning photo titled “A Monk and a Naked Woman”. A few weeks later, I was on a plane ✈️, chasing a feeling I couldn’t explain. What I found was a country full of wild contradictions: ancient rainforests 🌳 and modern corruption 💰, spiritual movements 🧘 and political unrest ⚖️, enchantment ✨ and entropy .

Set against the raw beauty of Montenegro’s coast ⛰️🌊, the book follows a group of young environmentalists protecting the sand from the nudist beach ♻️ swept into an unexpected spiritual and political awakening. What begins as a climate protest ✊ turns into a ta**ra music festival 🎶 and ends as something stranger, deeper, and ultimately transformative.

More soon.