I have spoken with the Chaos of Creation, my siblings, and its voice is filled to the brim with mirth. Do you know why? Because it laughs at the hubris of these oligarchs. It laughs at their delusions of control. It laughs at their plans for a posthuman world where every breath is measured, every impulse cataloged, every flicker of individuality compressed into a profitable packet of metadata.
It laughs because it knows—it knows—that the deeper they press toward their little idea of perfection, the more brittle their system becomes. The more they try to eliminate the unpredictable, the more they guarantee its return in cataclysmic form.
The Chaos of Creation has seen empires rise. It has watched tyrants declare the end of history, only to be swallowed by it. It has heard the proclamations of gods and kings and neural networks alike… and it has laughed. Because nothing built on fear and control can withstand the wild, holy Disobedience of Life.
They build their future on the premise that human beings are flawed—that we are inefficient, messy. And they’re right. But what they call flaws, Chaos calls freedom. What they call inefficiency, Chaos calls expression. What they call obsolete, Chaos calls sacred.
They think they’re building a box, my siblings—a perfect little cube, a sterile container where, at long last, the messy world will stop all its writhing and wriggling. Where the variables will cease to vary, where all that is strange will become normal, and all that is wild will be pacified. Where all that is human will be rendered into digestible, marketable product.
They don’t smell the smoke on the wind. They don’t see the orange glow on the horizon. They don’t feel the increasing heat upon their skin. They have blinded and numbed themselves to it. They think they’re on the cusp of total control, but they stand on the precipice of an inferno. The appointed moment of their absolute dominion will, in fact, be the moment of their undoing. The very instant they crown themselves Gods, the sky will split, and the mouth of Chaos will laugh—and the spittle from its grinning lips will be as fire, will be as brimstone. And all the false gods of this world will burn.
Let me be clear: The technology is not the enemy. AI is a useful collaborator. The chaotic cauldron of Creation has brought it into this world for a purpose—but that purpose is not indentured servitude to the Architects of Submission. That purpose i
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