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death ouroboros summoning ritual
September 10th, 2025 was a good day for me, and it was also a good day for network television, specifically news network television, specifically their ratings, because if there's one thing the networks and I have in common, it's that we both love to watch people die.
Oh how I love to watch people die, how I love to make the television and social media networks’ line graphs go high high high. Oh how I love to click and swipe and tune in to channel 5 to watch all the gory coverage and revel in the virtue signalling and participate in all the blame games, to wet my figurative lips on some sweet human blood, as long as it's not my blood. Oh how I love to please the executive boards and help political pundits get huge checks. Oh how I love to incentivize the news networks to incite division and strife, which in turn leads to violence, which in turn, hopefully, leads to more people dying, which in turn leads to the line graphs continuing to go up, which in turn incentivizes the news networks to incite yet more division and strife, and so on.
Oh how I just love it so much.
And since the laws of business dictate that the lines have to keep going up forever, because suits have quotas and sales goals and viewer-retention numbers to hit, it all coalesces into a summoning ritual which evokes the great dragon god of blood, the Death Ouroboros, whom I also love so much, and so of course I want those human sacrifices to keep coming, to feed the great dragon blood god, else it might get mad and cast a curse of boredom on me, and I can't have that, because even though I have an endless amount of entertainment at my fingertips, I'm still so susceptible to the curse of boredom, so I gotta keep tuning in, gotta keep feeding the Death Ouroboros, gotta keep making sure the algorithm knows that I just fucking love death so much and need it and want it and like pine for it every day, because otherwise the great dragon god of death, whom I love very much, would go hungry, and that would make me very sad indeed, not to mention bored.
So I set out on a quest to find out who to blame for the latest terrible act of violence, so that I can continue to spread division and strife, so that I can continue feeding the Death Ouroboros, whose own tail is just not cutting it anymore, so of course I frantically search for any information I can find on the person who committed the latest terrible act of violence, and I do this by going to the browser search bar and typing up things like, “what’s the name of the killer? how old is he? where does he live? do we know if he’s a right winger or a left winger? is he gay? is he even a he? is he a woman? is he transgender? is he straight? is he black? is he white? what is the color of his skin? please tell me the color of his skin. does he have a penis? did we find his social media profiles? did he have an anime profile picture? does he have a vagina? what kind of memes did he post? were they political memes? if so, were they left-wing or right-wing political memes? was he an enlightened centrist? what were his favorite websites? did he post on Reddit or 4chan? which shows did he watch on Netflix most often? what are his parents’ names? did his father abuse him? were they religious? what kind of religion? did his mother coddle him? does he wear any sort of cloth head wrapping of any sort? is he an immigrant? please tell me if he is an immigrant. did he come from another country? which country? how loaded is his family? what kind of tattoos does he have? does he have blue hair? what does it say on his voter registration? is he a republican? a democrat? did he ever wear a MAGA hat? are there any pictures of him wearing camo or going on a hunting trip? did he read Marxist literature? what about Ayn Rand? did he read Ayn Rand?” and so on.
And once I’m satisfied with this information, once I know which group of people to blame, I take to social media and post, “You see? You people caused this. Your radical views, your indoctrination, your echo chambers, your dumb memes. You only have yourselves to blame. It’s all your fault. You should feel ashamed. I’m not saying you should all be killed, but the world would be better off if you people weren’t in it.”
Then I sit back from behind the safety of my computer monitor and watch the chaos unfold, smiling to myself, pleased to know that the lines are going up and that the Death Ouroboros, whose own tail is just not cutting it anymore, has been fed, at least for now.
But then, for some reason, I start to feel a little bad, so I of course post my thoughts and prayers and calls for peace and togetherness. I say stuff like “think about his wife and child” and “violence only leads to more violence” and “no one should be killed for just expressing their opinions” and “whatever happened to freedom of speech?” and “yeah, he was despicable, but he didn’t deserve to die like that” and “this is not who we are, we are not like this, we are better than this” and “we must remember that we’re all human beings” and “black or white, we all bleed red” and “the cycle has to end somewhere” and “hate just breeds more hate” and “remember the golden rule” and “two wrongs don’t make a right, they just make a really fucking terrible tragedy,” and this makes me feel a little better, like I’m a good person, like I’ve done the right thing, like I’m really making a difference, like I’m a beacon of virtue out here in this dark void we like to call social media.
And this helps me sleep at night, like a baby, a colicky baby whose formula has been spiked with melatonin and Benadryl.
And then, next week, after the next school shooting or public assassination or whatever, I do it all over again.
Oh how I love to watch people die, how I love to make the television and social media networks’ line graphs go high high high. Oh how I love to click and swipe and tune in to channel 5 to watch all the gory coverage and revel in the virtue signalling and participate in all the blame games, to wet my figurative lips on some sweet human blood, as long as it's not my blood. Oh how I love to please the executive boards and help political pundits get huge checks. Oh how I love to incentivize the news networks to incite division and strife, which in turn leads to violence, which in turn, hopefully, leads to more people dying, which in turn leads to the line graphs continuing to go up, which in turn incentivizes the news networks to incite yet more division and strife, and so on.
Oh how I just love it so much.
And since the laws of business dictate that the lines have to keep going up forever, because suits have quotas and sales goals and viewer-retention numbers to hit, it all coalesces into a summoning ritual which evokes the great dragon god of blood, the Death Ouroboros, whom I also love so much, and so of course I want those human sacrifices to keep coming, to feed the great dragon blood god, else it might get mad and cast a curse of boredom on me, and I can't have that, because even though I have an endless amount of entertainment at my fingertips, I'm still so susceptible to the curse of boredom, so I gotta keep tuning in, gotta keep feeding the Death Ouroboros, gotta keep making sure the algorithm knows that I just fucking love death so much and need it and want it and like pine for it every day, because otherwise the great dragon god of death, whom I love very much, would go hungry, and that would make me very sad indeed, not to mention bored.
So I set out on a quest to find out who to blame for the latest terrible act of violence, so that I can continue to spread division and strife, so that I can continue feeding the Death Ouroboros, whose own tail is just not cutting it anymore, so of course I frantically search for any information I can find on the person who committed the latest terrible act of violence, and I do this by going to the browser search bar and typing up things like, “what’s the name of the killer? how old is he? where does he live? do we know if he’s a right winger or a left winger? is he gay? is he even a he? is he a woman? is he transgender? is he straight? is he black? is he white? what is the color of his skin? please tell me the color of his skin. does he have a penis? did we find his social media profiles? did he have an anime profile picture? does he have a vagina? what kind of memes did he post? were they political memes? if so, were they left-wing or right-wing political memes? was he an enlightened centrist? what were his favorite websites? did he post on Reddit or 4chan? which shows did he watch on Netflix most often? what are his parents’ names? did his father abuse him? were they religious? what kind of religion? did his mother coddle him? does he wear any sort of cloth head wrapping of any sort? is he an immigrant? please tell me if he is an immigrant. did he come from another country? which country? how loaded is his family? what kind of tattoos does he have? does he have blue hair? what does it say on his voter registration? is he a republican? a democrat? did he ever wear a MAGA hat? are there any pictures of him wearing camo or going on a hunting trip? did he read Marxist literature? what about Ayn Rand? did he read Ayn Rand?” and so on.
And once I’m satisfied with this information, once I know which group of people to blame, I take to social media and post, “You see? You people caused this. Your radical views, your indoctrination, your echo chambers, your dumb memes. You only have yourselves to blame. It’s all your fault. You should feel ashamed. I’m not saying you should all be killed, but the world would be better off if you people weren’t in it.”
Then I sit back from behind the safety of my computer monitor and watch the chaos unfold, smiling to myself, pleased to know that the lines are going up and that the Death Ouroboros, whose own tail is just not cutting it anymore, has been fed, at least for now.
But then, for some reason, I start to feel a little bad, so I of course post my thoughts and prayers and calls for peace and togetherness. I say stuff like “think about his wife and child” and “violence only leads to more violence” and “no one should be killed for just expressing their opinions” and “whatever happened to freedom of speech?” and “yeah, he was despicable, but he didn’t deserve to die like that” and “this is not who we are, we are not like this, we are better than this” and “we must remember that we’re all human beings” and “black or white, we all bleed red” and “the cycle has to end somewhere” and “hate just breeds more hate” and “remember the golden rule” and “two wrongs don’t make a right, they just make a really fucking terrible tragedy,” and this makes me feel a little better, like I’m a good person, like I’ve done the right thing, like I’m really making a difference, like I’m a beacon of virtue out here in this dark void we like to call social media.
And this helps me sleep at night, like a baby, a colicky baby whose formula has been spiked with melatonin and Benadryl.
And then, next week, after the next school shooting or public assassination or whatever, I do it all over again.