Building from the ground up since 2024
The Revenant Equation
The Equation
I am the sum of what was left behind,
the balance struck between ruin and rebirth,
a revenant not of death, but of motion,
etched into the gears of industry’s ghost.
Ninety-nine, ninety-nine—A pattern near completion,
four nines standing sentinel at the gate,
each a pillar of work, measured, precise,
a week forged in fire, in steel, in sweat.
Nine hours, nine hours, nine again—
until the eighth, the breaking point,
where the hammer slows, the weight shifts,
and the number folds into something more.
Eight, sixty-six, sixty-six—A recursion, a spiral,
a symmetry hidden in the ledger’s script,
each digit a cog in the unrelenting machine,
the ouroboros feeding its own fire.
Sixty-six stacked like vertebrae in a spine,
supporting the weight of what I build,
turning, turning, always returning—
not to the past, but to the work,
to the pulse of creation, to the hum of intent.
Sixty-six, sixty-six for forty—foundation and framework,
Ninety-nine, ninety-nine for four—finality and finesse,
time distilled into a perfect average,
Sixty-nine, sixty-nine—the number laughs, knowing its own symmetry,
knowing the poetry hidden in its mechanics,
knowing that chaos is only unmeasured order.
I am the architect of that equation,
not bound by ink on paper,
but by the rhythm of my own hands,
by the balance struck between toil and craft,
between the weight of the forge
and the lightness of what I leave behind.
I have walked through the ruins of men’s ambitions,
where numbers are cold, lifeless things,
where work is a weight that breaks the spine.
But in my hands, the numbers breathe,
they turn like gears, sing like wind through steel,
they measure not labor, but legacy.
Ninety-nine, ninety-nine—The near-ending, the threshold.
Eight, sixty-six, sixty-six—The turning, the unbroken cycle.
Together, they shape the revenant’s path,
not a ghost, not a machine,
but something in between, something infinite.
I do not carve in marble, nor write in ink—
I etch my mark in time itself.
And when all is dust,
when the wheels of the world rust silent,
the equation will remain.
Ninety-nine, ninety-nine, eight, sixty-six, sixty-six—The revenant’s mark.
Neither the end nor the beginning,
but the perfect balance of the work,
the weight,
the will.
99.99.8.66.66
The 999986666 Team
The Jack of Spades
The Queen of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts
Beneath the cut where silence trades,
He plies the edge of steel and grades.
No hourly wage, no boss to bind—
He bills the earth and leaves no time.
Nine-nine, ninety-nine,
A whisper wrapped in crooked line.
Not crown, nor cuff, nor deal unmade—
He names his price with fuel and blade.
Six-six, sixty-six,
Where numbers roll and ledgers fix.
Beneath the cut where silence trades,
He plies the edge of steel and grades.
No hourly wage, no boss to bind—
He bills the earth and leaves no time.
Nine-nine, ninety-nine,
A whisper wrapped in crooked line.
Not crown, nor cuff, nor deal unmade—
He names his price with fuel and blade.
Six-six, sixty-six,
Where numbers roll and ledgers fix.
The hours long, the take is wide—
He digs the depth they’d try to hide.
The contract bends, the margin sways,
Yet through the dust, he carves his pay.
Not just a Jack, not just a trade—
The Jack of Spades.
The game he played.
99.99.8.66.66
The revenant equation
The Queen of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts
She doesn’t wear white.
She never did.
Too many stains in this work.
Too many ghosts in the waiting room.
They don’t see her crown,
just the clipboard,
the coffee,
the calm voice that doesn’t flinch
when they say the darkest thing they’ve ever done.
She’s not royalty.
She’s a fortress.
She took the hits,
bled on the ledger,
cried in the st
She doesn’t wear white.
She never did.
Too many stains in this work.
Too many ghosts in the waiting room.
They don’t see her crown,
just the clipboard,
the coffee,
the calm voice that doesn’t flinch
when they say the darkest thing they’ve ever done.
She’s not royalty.
She’s a fortress.
She took the hits,
bled on the ledger,
cried in the stairwell,
then showed up again Monday
like it was just part of the job.
Sixty-six sixty-six for Thirty—
not because of pride,
but because healing costs something.
And she’s not ashamed to name the number.
She knows her worth,
and she’s tired of acting like
care should come free
from the ones already carrying too much.
This is her empire—
a demolition company for pain.
No hard hats, just harder truths.
No wrecking balls, just words
placed in the right spot
until something buried finally collapses.
They call her the Queen of Hearts.
Not because she’s gentle—
because she’s got the guts to face
what most people run from.
She’s not here to save anyone.
She’s here to walk with them
until they remember how to save themselves.
99.99.8.66.66
The revenant equation
Contact Us with your vision Today
Hours
Open today | 08:00 a.m. – 05:00 p.m. |
Closed all Major Holidays
