The bombs may fall from jets, but the targeting, the supply chains, the surveillance, all of it is corporate. Gaza isn’t just a warzone. It’s a testing ground. A lab. A marketplace. The killing is done with precision. The profits are logged in real time.
The bullet missed, but the image hit. And it’s the image that rules now. Trump, mid-stumble, hand to ear, flanked by agents in suits. It has already been cropped, filtered, multiplied. Not just a moment, but a message: the strongman under fire, the martyr made live. The spectacle doesn’t distract from the violence; it packages it. Sells it. Projects it across TVs, phones, and tablets until belief hardens into doctrine. This is what power looks like in the age of algorithmic memory: not stability, but survival on camera.
MP Rupert Lowe peddles a fantasy of lost greatness to mask the failures of those who’ve ruled and ruined this country. The problem isn’t immigration or identity. It’s inequality, privatisation, and a political class that sold off the future for short-term profit. You want courage? Try telling the truth about power.
Butler isn’t really about politics. It’s about belief. The bullet didn’t just graze him; it made him sacred. The messy contradictions of 2016 are gone. What’s left is atmosphere, myth, and the story of a man who bled on stage and got up again. The faithful took it as a sign. This isn’t reporting. It’s scripture. A gospel for a leader who survives everything, and so, must rule.
