Not comedy

Listen to me. The murder may shock you — but worse than the act itself was the chorus that followed: the laughter, the jests, the chants. Words thrown like stones.

But remember this: words are only sounds. They have no power but what you grant them. The old world forgot this truth. They let insults bite them, let slogans stir them, let careless chatter rule their tempers. And so they were led by the nose. Not by swords, but by syllables.

Our minds are greedy for patterns. Every word, every phrase, every chant feels like part of a great design — us against them. But no design exists except the one we weave ourselves. There is no cabal needed. Only ears too eager, and tongues too quick.

History shows: violence begins when words are mistaken for blows. When men treat an insult as a wound, when they answer speech with fists, that is the seed of decay. A thought, however vile, does not pierce skin. A voice does not draw blood.

And to those who cheer when an opponent falls — know this: you only reveal your own chains. Mockery does not make you free. Laughter at another’s death does not strengthen your cause; it corrodes it. Hatred is a poor substitute for argument.

If the words of your rivals trouble you, then answer with better words. If their vision frightens you, then craft a stronger vision. For to celebrate blood is to confess that you have no faith in your own tongue.

Most men, if you listen past the noise, want the same simple things — food, shelter, peace in their homes. But you will not hear that in the clamor, for rage is louder, and mockery is contagious.

So mark this, while I still breathe: the power of words is illusion. If you refuse to let them cut you, they cannot harm you. If you refuse to answer fury with fury, the spell breaks.

The paradox is this — our tongues can ensnare us, yet silence, patience, and clear sight can set us free. Treat speech as wind. Do not worship it, do not fear it. Remember: only deeds matter.

And no, this wasn’t funny. But sometimes the truth isn’t.