News - February 17, 2025

The grid's heating up, and the usual power-hungry corpos are pulling their strings from the shadows. Trump, ever the two-bit con artist with delusions of grandeur, is playing footsie with Putin like they're dividing up turf in some back-alley gang war. Their little rendezvous in Saudi Arabia wasn’t about peace—it was about carving up Ukraine without even letting the players on the board have a say. While Europe fumes and Ukraine braces for the worst, these chrome-plated fossils scheme in smoke-filled rooms, pretending they ain't just cutting backroom deals for power and creds. The meatspace lines on a map mean nothing to these old-world power junkies; they deal in influence, and right now, they're rigging the game to stack the deck in their favor.

Meanwhile, back in the sprawl of Gaza, Trump’s given Netanyahu the golden pass to unleash hell if Hamas doesn’t play ball. The corpos in power wanna bulldoze the whole sector, turn it into a shiny new outpost while displacing two million people like they’re just numbers on a spreadsheet. The lives of the street-level folk? They’re just another line item in their dystopian redevelopment plan, where the only winners are the suits who get to slap their names on the new infrastructure. Nothing but a sanitized, corpo-friendly hellscape where only the elite get to walk free while everyone else gets pushed into the gutters.

And if you thought the home front was any better, think again. Trump's been purging the watchdogs, gutting oversight like a back-alley ripperdoc with a vendetta. Hampton Dellinger, the latest in a long line of casualties, was axed for daring to keep tabs on the corruption running rampant through the system. This is corpo playbook 101—scrap the regulators, make sure no one’s watching, then let the machine run wild. Accountability? Transparency? Those are just words for the history books.

And don’t think Putin’s any better. The man plays diplomat while keeping a death grip on stolen territory, selling a peace plan that’s nothing but a front to cement his own power. He’s not looking to end the bloodshed—he’s looking to secure his empire, brick by bloody brick. The only thing separating him from the other power players is the language he uses to dress up his tyranny.

But here’s the thing, choom: the corpos, the old-world kings, the power-mongers—they only win if we let them. The system is rigged, the meatspace rules were written to keep the street-level folk in the dirt while the elites climb higher. But the grid? The net? That’s a different battlefield. That’s where we fight back.

So jack in. Crack their servers. Rip the truth from their cold, dead code. Spread it. Corrupt their data. Make their world unstable. Because they’ve already shown what they’ll do if we just sit back and let them play their game. It’s time to play ours.