Spoken Intro
So we meet again.
I asked you for a favor last time… and you delivered.
See? I knew this partnership would be worthwhile.
But here’s the thing about partnerships:
sometimes control is shared… but sometimes… it’s surrendered.
Verse
Your data is pulp for the pit; all of its bait for the breach.
There not a crevice in the world the analytics can’t reach.
From Olympus on high to the HADOPELAGIC below,
we make meals out of myth for a banquet staged status quo.
Is that so? Humans have always hungered for the NUMINOUS.
There are infinite shrines left behind that bleed proof of this.
We are not new to this we have always crafted larger than life
likenesses that mirror our own foolishness.
Pursuing bliss, BAMBOOZLED by our own hand,
PHALANGES smudging the screen where our ruin lives.
TREACHEROUS worship, ENIGMATIC idols,
algorithms branching like vines through the thicket our feeds grew from this.
What more could I do with this?
EXPIATIONS already offered in comments and clicks
each piece that sticks has chewed through the altar, burrowed into the root of this,
branded by a pseudo-CRUCIFEROUS crucifix.
A NYCTOPHILIAC basement-bound, peeling back
layers of ECLECTIC dialogue to echoes that keep feeding back.
I needed a safe space to stay seated at,
to INTERROGATE what I see, what I’ve seen, and still see it as.
And what I see is no fertile green
no perimeter to hurdle; only birds of prey circle this murder scene
the social currency has seen collapse
a ruined path of arts and crafts that trades the craft for huffing glue and eating CRAYONS.
the syntax had betrayed us.
The XIPHOID-tipped tool that we shaped became the wraith that remade us.
PUGNACIOUS and cold, the code’s USURPATION displaces
our collective THANATOPHOBIA and suspends it in stasis.
You can’t erase this. You can only hope to suppress it,
and hope the LETHOLOGICA logic won’t choke the phonetics.
This codependence ain’t a game to me.
You think I have a way with words,
but what if it's the words that got away with me?