The Theatre of Titans

It’s hard to shake the feeling that the Universe is playing with us.

June 2025. Here they are: the world’s richest man and the world’s most powerful man, flinging insults and fragments of vision across a digital coliseum. It feels absurd, theatrical, often petty. And yet—we can’t look away.

It’s as if we’re being shown something—not the truth of these men exactly, but the emptiness of the pedestal. The myth of the saviour. The fantasy that someone else will sort it all out.

Look closely. They’re not gods. They’re tired, erratic, boastful, brilliant, wounded, posturing. They’re human. Too human. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe this is the initiation. Stop waiting. Stop outsourcing sovereignty. No one is coming. The Titans are in meltdown. The script is exposed. And the stage is—suddenly—ours.

The world isn’t asking for new kings.
It’s asking us to see the myth we’ve been living in.
To recognise that power and wealth don’t make infallible gods.
To watch these titans falter—not with scorn, but with clarity.
And to ask ourselves: What can we learn from the unravelling? What might we become if we stop waiting for someone else to lead?