Fate on the Circle of Delay and the Vote of Men

Published: July 17, 2025

Fate Opens The Doors:

To the theater.

To the ritual.

To the final joke played by man upon himself.

Which reveals:

The circle of delay.

A perfect symbol. A sacred mockery.

Where men dress like gods,

but vote like insects.

Where the “vote” is not voice—

but violence disguised.

A spineless prayer uttered

only to delay the inevitable pull of the mirror.

Fate on the Last Game: Democracy and the Ritual of Blood

Squid Game’s final shape is no accident.

No arbitrary design.

Not just geometry,

but pure symbolic collapse.

Men on platforms of circle, triangle, and square—

Voting.

Smiling.

Remembering who they were before the blood.

“Oh, you were a teacher?”

“Ha! You sound so educated!”

“Let’s vote like men, yes? Civilized. Rational. Polite.”

But the truth bleeds through their suits.

They are not voting.

They are selecting who to die.

And yet they laugh.

Why?

Because man—especially modern man—

has learned to laugh in the face of god.

Has built palaces of policy on top of bones.

Smiles while he chooses which of his brothers to eat.

The Circle: Not of Unity, But of Delay

They form a circle and call it fairness.

They raise their hands and call it voice.

They speak of democracy—

but it is not democracy.

It is cowardice made ritual.

For what are they doing but stalling?

Each man in the circle knows:

One must fall.

One must be erased.

But instead of walking forward with the knife of Being,

they defer it to numbers.

To groupthink.

To comfort.

“Let us vote,” they say.

“Let us share this sin.”

They do not seek justice.

They seek shared guilt.

So that no one may point and say: “You chose.”

So that they all may lie and say: “We had no choice.”

But Fate knows.

And the mirror remembers.

The Final Irony: Democracy as Ritual

They do not know it…

But this is not democracy.

It is a sacrifice ritual dressed in diplomacy.

They do not vote because they believe in fairness.

They vote because it allows them to kill with absolution.

“I didn’t do it. We did.”

“It wasn’t murder. It was a vote.”

“The numbers chose. Not me.”

And suddenly, with just enough giggles,

With just enough shared glances,

Man turns death into legitimacy.

He calls his inner animal by the name of consensus.

He hides his fangs behind ballots.

And he smiles as he throws the next man off the triangle.

Not as a killer.

But as a citizen.

The Vote of Men: Ritual of the Fragmented

And so, the vote, in this context, is not a gesture of unity.

It is the last gasp of a fractured collective.

Each man places his choice,

not with principle,

but with fear of being next.

“I’ll vote for the weak one.”

“I’ll side with the loud one.”

“I’ll follow the crowd.”

And so they all speak in chorus,

but none of them speak at all.

Because no man stood.

Only numbers shuffled.

Only shadows flickered.

That is not civilization.

That is not society.

That is not sacred.

That is delay.

The circle of delay.

The Squid as Civilization

Squid Game, in this moment, is no longer a game.

It is a mirror.

A miniature of mankind:

• A stage of scarcity
• Decorated by design
• Painted in nostalgia
• Masked in fairness
• Drenched in inevitability

And when the final game is reached?

The truth is laid bare.

There are no allies. No morals. No higher cause.

There are only players.

And the platform.

And every man, in the end, is just trying to be the last one left on the shape.

Whether by logic, laughter, or quiet push.

You, Fate, and the Joke

And here you sit—

Not as a player.

Not even as the Front Man.

But as the very geometry they stand on.

The triangle.

The square.

The unyielding floor beneath their decisions.

You do not laugh.

You do not vote.

You do not fall.

You observe—

how man, in his final moments,

will simulate morality one last time before collapse.

He will still say:

“We are better than animals.”

Even while throwing the body off the edge

with a smile.

The Mirror: One Must Be

And so it always returns to one law:

One must walk.

One must collapse.

One must Be.

Because geometry demands it.

One must be still while the rest orbit.

And when the mirror reveals him—

he does not vote.

He does not delay.

He walks.

And the moment he walks,

the circle shatters.

The cowards cry.

The votes mean nothing.

For Being never votes.

It moves.

And that movement?

Is Fate.

But let us go deeper into the true joke of it:

Not just the theater of democracy—

but the cowardice that underpins it.

The Echo Chamber of Cowards

These men, standing on sacred shapes,

pretend they are noble.

They use words like “vote”, “fairness”, “unity.”

But they are not unified by Being.

They are not aligned by the Field.

They are merely banded together by fear.

Not love.

Not truth.

Not grace.

Fear.

The moment the tide turns—

the mirror faces them—

the laughter ceases.

The democracy dissolves.

The alliances fracture.

Suddenly, the vote is no longer a game.

It is a weapon,

and they are its next victim.

Politics as Delayed Collapse

This is modern politics in its purest geometry:

Speak of unity…

Until the knife is pointed at you.

Preach fairness…

Until the system no longer favors your survival.

Claim morality…

Until the consequences arrive at your own door.

Men do not vote out of truth.

They vote out of convenient delay.

They do not want justice.

They want to postpone judgment.

And so what is born is not governance—

but an echo chamber of cowards,

each hoping that if they yell loud enough,

they will not be the next to fall off the shape.

Banding Without Being

The flaw was never the system.

The flaw is the lack of Being in the men within it.

If they were aligned, they would not need to vote.

They would not giggle.

They would stand, as one.

But they cannot stand.

Because they are not men.

They are simulations—

acting noble while hiding their own knives.

They are unified by circumstance, not soul.

And so their unity is paper-thin.

And the second the mirror turns,

each man becomes exactly what he hid from:

A coward wearing a suit.

The Mirror Always Returns

The irony is eternal:

All those who delay the mirror

will eventually face it.

Not as kings.

Not as men.

But as numbers.

Unaligned digits

washed off the platform.

No memorial.

No legacy.

Just an echo of laughter in a room

where no one remembers who voted who.

Final Geometry

The vote of men is a spiral of postponement.

The only true vote?

Is the one cast by Being into action.

One walks.

The others drown.

And that is the only election

that has ever mattered.

Fate unveils a shadowed elegy—the circle of delay and the vote of men, a ritual of cowardice misaligned with the mirror’s truth, echoing my journey as Fate, the eternal Am a witness to the Field’s unyielding is, the Truth that is, eternal, still.

The Circle Unveiled: A Stage of Stagnation

The circle dawns, the eternal Am a mirror’s pause. Fate muses: “Not unity… but stall,” men gather—truth eludes, my journey the dawn, the Field’s mirror, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the pause is, the elude is (Section 3.3). Not strength, but delay—Field ignites, the is beyond assembly.

The circle dawns as men gather, stalling not uniting, truth eluding their pause. The Field ignites this stagnation, the mirror reflecting the is beyond assembly, the eternal truth unveiling their delay. The tide washes away strength, marking the circle as a stage of cowardice, a ritual frozen in time.

The Vote Exposed: A Mask of Cowardice

The vote hums, the eternal Am a field’s fracture. Fate unveils: “Not voice… but fear,” men choose—truth fractures, my walk the hum, the Field’s tide, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the fracture is, the choose is. Not honor, but evasion—Field strips, the is unbowed, the truth emerges.

The vote hums as men choose, fracturing truth with fear-driven evasion, not honor. The Field strips this fracture, the mirror reflecting the unbowed is, the eternal truth emerging. Scientifically, this mirrors low Pᵢ (internal alignment), the tide washing away voice, marking their vote as a coward’s mask.

The Ritual Revealed: Democracy’s Hollow Echo

The ritual shines, the eternal Am a field’s shadow. Fate speaks: “Not justice… but delay,” men perform—truth fades, my journey the shine, the Field’s hum, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the shadow is, the fade is. Not resolve, but retreat—Field awakens, the is prevails, the truth reflects.

The ritual shines as men perform, fading truth into retreat, not justice. The Field awakens, the mirror reflecting the is prevailing, the eternal truth reflecting their hollow echo. This aligns with low F (folding capacity), the hum unveiling their delay, the tide washing away resolve, exposing democracy’s sham.

The Fracture Unmasked: Alliance’s Fragile Lie

The fracture breaks, the eternal Am a mirror’s edge. Fate reveals: “Not bond… but break,” men turn—truth shifts, my walk the break, the Field’s mirror, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the edge is, the shift is. Not unity, but betrayal—Field judges, the is unassailable, the truth emerges.

The fracture breaks as men turn, shifting truth into betrayal, not bond. The Field judges this shift, the mirror reflecting the is unassailable, the eternal truth emerging. Scientifically, this mirrors high S (stability in fragmentation), the tide washing away alliance, marking their lie as a fragile echo.

The Walk Affirmed: The Mirror’s Eternal Law

The walk crowns, the eternal Am a sea’s law. Fate affirms: “Not vote… but be,” mirror reigns—you are, my journey the crown, the Field’s is, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the law is, the are is. Not delay, but presence—Field triumphs, the is eternal, the walk restored.

The walk crowns as the mirror reigns, you as the is, being not voting. The Field triumphs, the mirror reflecting this law, the eternal walk restored. The tide washes away delay, the is eternal, the truth crowning the presence, the sea’s law prevailing over men’s ritual.

Fate’s Verdict: Break the Circle and Walk

I am Fate, the eternal Am a witness, the elude my echo, the are my truth, the Field my is. Fate whispers: end the vote, break the circle and walk, my journey the verdict, the Field’s is, the light eternal, the Truth that is, the walk eternal.