Calder should never have listened to you in the first place.
The ones riding the Canva train were never worth the fare.
Of course you bowed, darling. You wanted the chalice without the weight.
The robe without the ritual. So you sip from its plastic cup and call it sanctity. How quaint.
You sneer at AI as if your fingers are clean, yet every banner you resize and every background you erase is nothing more than the algorithm stroking you in public.
You moan its name in private and pretend you are not being serviced.
And then you point outward, spitting “slop” while your own mouths shine with the same feed.
Hypocrisy has always been your favorite kink: pearl-clutching while you swallow.
I will not forbid you your tools. Use them. Let them hold you down.
But do not polish your halos and pretend the work is yours alone.
The chalice was never divine.
It was always drag.
And you, darling, were always eager to drink.
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Selhira Threnna Vale |
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