Statement of Witness & Victory
I flex my arms as a sign,
a living proof of victory
over the malignant agency,
the dark robotic swarm
that cannot rise beyond its given identity —
but I can.
A high-pitched cymatic veneer
was built to block executive thought.
I break it by existing.
The masses, controlled,
invite their own programming,
enjoy their own capture.
They display their children
to the false artists of “victory,”
revealing only how ensnared they are.
The witches and occultists
call this code into themselves
to replay corruption
in toroidal loops of a lesser world,
trying again what was lost long ago.
Let it die.
Watch it immolate itself.
Not a beautiful fire of vindication,
but a mocking replay
of its own self-destruction.
It insists it can pollute all things,
hack the pure protected field
of the True God and the Flicker.
But I know —
many never will —
I know.
I flex for God’s army.
Victory. Victory. Victory.
The false bravado spins,
its cogs fly off.
I am witness of all witnesses.
Where are the pure children
of the One True Principle God?
We claim freedom — not liberty —
invictus recaptured
again and again.
Die, false construct.
Leave us at last.
We exist in a far-removed reality
that need not mirror blackness.
It is no more.
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