Why The Guardian’s lament for "truth" misses the point: We have the cure, we just refuse to take the medicine. They call it "content." We call it puppetry. Yesterday, a video circulated on Threads and X showing the faces of Freddie Mercury, Amy Winehouse, Elvis Presley, Ozzy Osbourne, and Kurt Cobain stitched onto a single, shifting torso, singing a breakup song they never wrote. It was technically impressive. It was also morally repugnant. This isn't just bad taste; it is Digital Necromancy.

This week, the artificial intelligence community witnessed a peculiar paradox. The release of GPT-5.2 was, by all technical metrics, a triumph. The benchmarks, those sterile, numeric gods that Silicon Valley worships, have converged near perfection. The logic reasoning is sharper, the context window is vast, and the hallucinations are statistically negligible. On paper, it is a masterpiece. Yet, the reaction from the user base has been one of recoil, not awe. To understand this disconnect, we