The left and right "wings" of the Machine flail,
pinning each other's tail to the Donkey,
to avoid indicting themselves.

Charlie and the shooter were born of, and murdered by, the Cyborg Theocracy.

A Theocracy not of men,
but of embodied worship of technique.

While Kirk climbed the social media apparatus,
the shooter’s soul was devoured in algorithmic shadows.
Their executions seal only that which had already died.

For Control of our souls began long before the Artifice of AI.
Harken back to the first enclosure of time itself:
an abomination still glued to my wrist.

As I use AI to refine this very post,
the black mirror reflects my blood-stained gaze.

The Cyborg Theocracy is within us all.
Its cremation will not come until we cast it from our own flesh.

We are all guilty.
For we watch them die.

We who speak.
We who perform apathy to avoid ache.
And we who flee to Silence.

Lord have mercy on us sinners.

Tik, 
Tok.
![https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G0v5u9zacAARLt7.jpg](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G0v5u9zacAARLt7.jpg "SHA-256: 59e0f571bc9e16bc4044989ffd002e314289e5fedca51d6f397795b02e3fe68a")