Charlie Kirk’s Blood – Geistian, 1/16/2026

“When Pilate saw that he was accomplishing nothing, but rather that a riot was starting, he took water and washed
his hands in front of the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this Man’s blood; see to that yourselves.’ And all the people
said, ‘His blood shall be on us and on our children!’” In one stroke of the pen, heroes and villains, one and all, were
made. In the same instance, the bullet that claimed the life of Charlie Kirk carved the same inflection onto history: a
man who was once a thousand things is now one—hero or villain; a tragedy of the times. Charlie Kirk wasn’t a villain
per se; he had no personal disposition to hurt those around him. But that’s the important part: it wasn’t personal. Kirk
was bought and paid for and became a caricature to the dollar. He could’ve taken his family’s money and his rich
colleagues and ducked out of the “culture war” a year ago—a rich man with legions of admirers and a legend of
conservatism. Instead, his life ended with a gunshot, and he’s now either martyred or mired into the pages of history.
The rest of his life? Dead. The possibilities thereof? Useless conjecture. This isn’t the death Charlie made for himself.
No, he sold his life for lies and was paid very well to peddle said lies, but the cost, Charlie—oh, the cost of the culture
war. What have you lost in the culture war, our only reader? How do you reflect on that loss? How deep does that loss
cut? I, personally, have lost all and have sacrificed all only in the effort to provoke change, to help the world as I’ve seen
it. I have been profoundly wrong and, with any luck, have been right on more than one occasion. I mention this because
this war you and I have been conscripted into has been brewing for some time. The word perennial comes to mind,
whereas in yesteryear the words may’ve been different, but the subtext of martyrdom, hatred, and total divide were all
the same. This perennial, ceaseless war, which each generation picks up anew only to slaughter and be slaughtered in
its name—this is the subtext that led to Charlie’s death.

On all sides we have partisans, but Charlie was a unique partisan: a loyalist to the state. He was, essentially, a bought
-and-paid-for mascot of the fascist, repressive, warmongering elite that rule over us as we speak. He went about his
time as a propagandist for war, only for his final propaganda to be the end of his world—a beautiful tragedy, if ever
there was one. Someone who could have done anything fought and died so elitists could have sway over your and my
life and lead us into the same grinder that ended his life well before it will end ours. But thus the war continues, and the
martyrs will be endless. It just depends on where your partisanship resides. Charlie’s was gone before he was even 25,
into a corrupt corrosive system built long before his birth, that spit him out just the same. Every time I’ve come
to see anything featuring Charlie after the fact, and even when I first viewed the gore, I felt little sadness at the thought
of his death. He didn’t give one fuck about my life as a trans woman, so I’ll take the advice in kind. However, I do feel
sadness in what could have been without this sick, disgusting society and mass-manipulating elite funneling billions to
incite the murder of neighbor by neighbor. This is Americanism in modern life. It’s not the exception, per se, nor was
Charlie; it’s the norm of civilization. My only hope is that we don’t view Charlie as a martyr or as a villain, but as a tragedy.
He was a small part in a tragic play with many actors and a raucous, bloodthirsty crowd. His part was written for him long
before who we came to know as Charlie Kirk got here. And we will see his kind again shortly. It’s just a matter of how loud
and distasteful the gunshot will be. As with Lincoln, Christ, and Kirk the play ended not in applause but in bloodshed and
martyrdom. Charlie died doing what he loved for who he loved, pardon my lack of tears in telling you that Charlie Kirk’s
blood will forever be upon his best friends hands. They know it, and they’re smiling.