Must We Endure Musk?

Image: The New Yorker

He courts chaos like a lover,

this silicon Casanova from the Cape,

seducing Britain through broadband cables,

his fingertips electric with spite.

Born not of brilliance but a bought narrative,

his origin story scripted and flogged

the self-made myth carefully marketed

whilst daddy's emerald fortune clogged.

Watch him meddle with Westminster's wounds,

spinning Britain's fractured heart

round his ballroom of bandwidth,

each tweet a poisoned dart of fiction.

Elon of elongated ego, slippery eel

slithering through our timelines

like revisionist bollocks through textbooks,

feeding Europe's feverish dreams.

His CV reads like fan fiction:

co-founder of firms he bought outright,

inventor of tech he inherited,

genius manufactured after the fact.

From Johannesburg's mined privilege

to California's gilded towers,

he carries apartheid in his algorithm

the refugee who builds digital borders.

The man who lived off apartheid's profits

now peddles digital segregation,

courting fascists across the Atlantic,

honeymoon suite in every hate crime.

PayPal's purchased faux prodigy,

Tesla's transplanted founder

hijacking Nikola's noble name,

dragging genius through the gutter.

That Serbian saint who dreamed of wireless wonder,

his legacy now launders hatred,

the man who gave us alternating current

watches his brand broadcast fascist static.

SpaceX's subsidised saviour

his story shifts like London weather.

His satellites sing lullabies to lunatics,

Starlink's threads weaving

webs of weaponised nostalgia

across our broken democracies.

He doesn't innovate, he agitates,

breeding contempt in comment threads,

his platform splicing division

into Britain's social fabric.

The man who cornered electric motors

now electrifies our prejudices,

his current surging through our circuits

like poison through the NHS.

"For the lols," he chuckles

such bored billionaire's burden,

whilst democracy dies by degrees

with each algorithmic tweak.

His rockets chase the stars

fleeing earthbound accountability,

shooting for Mars

whilst grounding us in manufactured rage.

X marks where honesty perished

a platform where truth suffocates,

replaced by engagement bait

and the maths of manipulated outrage.

The boy from Pretoria's bubble

now puppeteers our Parliament,

sculpting fascism from data

with his digital chisel.

He woos catastrophe like capital,

this bachelor of disruption,

his blue ticks blessing bigots,

his code authored in apartheid.

Every triumph tainted by takeover,

every breakthrough bought and borrowed,

yet still he orchestrates our discord

from his Californian castle

This digital demagogue

choreographing civilisation's collapse,

his whole identity performance art,

his legacy a hostile takeover of truth.

The bitter irony: he who preaches free speech

has monetised its murder,

turning Twitter into his telegraph pole,

broadcasting yesterday's hate at light speed.

Comments

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