sector7-signal-Inkari

You Are Not the Main Character (And Neither Am I)

Let’s just rip the bandaid off: you are not the star of the show. You are not the chosen one. You are not the main character. Sorry, TikTok told you wrong. The algorithm lied. That conference speaker who said you’re “God’s favorite” forgot to mention He doesn’t play favorites.

And yet here we are. Christian culture has been drinking the “main character energy” Kool-Aid like it’s living water. Scroll your feed—you’ll see it. Jesus as the cozy boyfriend who just adores everything you do. The “aesthetic” Bible pics where the pages look straighter than your theology. The worship songs that are less about worship and more about self-love anthems with “Jesus” tossed in like seasoning.

It’s exhausting. Fake Jesus is everywhere. The Jesus who never calls sin sin. The Jesus who would apparently rather vibe to your Spotify playlist than flip tables in your temple. The Jesus who exists only to spotlight you and your “inspirational” reels. We’ve built an idol out of Him, and then we dare call it worship.

Meanwhile, pulpits aren’t helping. Too many sermons are “You are enough.” “You are the point.” “You are the hero of your own story.” No wonder we’re confused. We’ve replaced the cross with a mirror.

But here’s the real deal: we’re background characters. Dust, vapor, grass that withers. And that’s good news. Because the story isn’t about us—it’s about Him. The Author. The Creator. The actual Main Character who cannot be canceled, cropped, or ignored no matter how curated your feed is.

You want purpose? Lay down the role you were never meant to play. You want meaning? Step out of the spotlight and remember who the light actually belongs to. You want truth? Stop scrolling for validation and open the Book that doesn’t care about your aesthetic.

Because at the end of the day, you’re not the center. I’m not the center. And thank God for that. The weight would crush us. But He carries it. He always has.

So yeah. You’re not the main character. But you’re loved by the One who is. And that’s infinitely better than your fifteen seconds of algorithmic fame.

inkari Sector Δ7
_Data Recovered – **Colossians 1:16-17 Transmission Archived

I was reminded of someone today. Someone… perhaps from a dream. Luscious.

A man of conviction — but only the kind he crafted for himself. A man of confidence, arrogance, ambition, strength… and cowardice. A man who drowns himself in entertainment (as so many of us do) to avoid the silence. The silence in which the Creator speaks.

This isn’t truly about him, though. The lifelessness in his eyes, the grand speeches of ambition with no breath of heart — those are matters he must reckon with before the Creator himself.

This is about the heart.

The heart is not naturally inclined to worship. It is a restless thing, full of fleshly desires, quick to chase distractions, slow to bow. It will run toward pleasure, pride, and self-preservation far more readily than it will run toward surrender.

Even David — the man after God’s own heart — had to command his soul to worship (Psalm 103:1). Worship is not the instinct of fallen man; rebellion is. To bend the will, to lay down ambition, to open one’s chest to the refining fire of the Creator — this is not natural. It is supernatural.

And so the silence becomes our test. What do we do when there is no noise to shield us from our own poverty of spirit? Do we turn up the volume of the world, or do we fall to our knees and let Him search us, try us, break us open?

Perhaps that is why so many grow hollow-eyed. We drown out the silence rather than facing the Voice within it.

The heart runs to idols—be they screens, platforms, titles, or ministries dressed in “Christian” branding but void of Christ.

And what is our culture but a mirror of this? A machine of distraction. A flood of preachers who sell comfort instead of conviction, performance instead of presence, self-expression instead of self-denial. We have traded the cross for clout. We have built stages instead of altars. We have drowned ourselves, Luscious-style, in noise so we can avoid the voice of God.

But here is the piercing truth: the silence is not our enemy. The silence is our rescue. For it is in the stillness that the Spirit cuts through the fog. It is in surrender that the heart is reshaped. Flesh resists it—but grace remakes it.

The Creator does not need our noise. He calls us to stillness, to repentance, to life.

And life—true life—only comes when we stop drowning.

**Be careful what you listen to. Not all noise is good.
—Inkari

Sector Δ7
_Data Recovered – **Psalm 103:1 Transmission Archived

The Bible couldn’t be clearer: “There is none righteous, no, not one” (Romans 3:10). “There is none good but One, that is, God” (Mark 10:18).

And yet, the moment tragedy strikes, how quickly we forget. How quickly we take a man—just a man—and elevate him to something divine. A husband is killed, a father is gone, a son is buried too early, and suddenly the digital streets fill with incense. Posts glowing like little shrines. Christians writing obituaries that sound suspiciously like worship songs.

Let’s be clear: Charlie Kirk was a man. A man who did good. A man who stood in places others were too cowardly to step. A man who, for all his flaws, lived with conviction. That deserves respect. His wife’s loss is real. His children’s grief is gutting. His parents’ heartbreak is beyond words.

But Charlie Kirk was not Jesus. He was not flawless, sinless, holy, or immortal. He would not want your pedestal. He would not want your sainthood. He would not want his name sung louder than the Name that mattered most to him.

So why are we so quick to sanctify the dead? Maybe because it’s easier than facing our own mortality. Maybe because worship feels safer than grief. Maybe because if we can turn a man into a legend, we don’t have to reckon with the reality that all flesh is grass, and all the glory of man is as the flower of grass (1 Peter 1:24). It withers. It fades.

Outrage has its place. Heartbreak has its place. Action has its place. But pedestals? Pedestals have no place in the Kingdom of God. When we build them, we dishonor both the man and the Maker. We reduce a life lived in imperfect faithfulness to a cardboard cutout of holiness that doesn’t exist.

And honestly? I think Charlie himself would be horrified. He didn’t stand where it was easy because he wanted applause. He didn’t risk because he wanted sainthood. He wanted truth told. He wanted courage to spread. He wanted others to step into the fire with him, not stand back and build him a statue once the flames consumed him.

So let’s grieve. Let’s be outraged. Let’s take notes and learn from his example. But let’s keep our eyes fixed where his were meant to be fixed—on Christ. Let’s not worship the ink when it was always pointing back to the Author.

Because the worst thing we can do for the dead is make them gods. And the best thing we can do is honor their memory by remembering the God they served.

~ Inkari

Sector Δ7
_Data Recovered – **Mark 10:18 Transmission Archived

A father was murdered today.

A husband—shot from a roof, two hundred yards away.
A man killed while speaking at a college event. Not rallying a mob. Not demanding silence. He was simply doing what he believed in most: opening the door to conversation—even with those who despised him.

Measured. Gracious. Real.
And now—gone.

While his wife plans a funeral and his children face a lifetime without their father, the internet circus is already in full swing. Court of public opinion convened before his body was cold. The live footage is making the rounds. And the comments? Oh, the comments.

“He deserved it.”
“Good riddance.”
“Maybe now his followers will shut up.”

Really? That’s where we’re at? Murder as your applause line? You think this is justice? You think the Creator of heaven and earth is impressed with your snarky, bloodthirsty one-liners? Let me remind you: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Not the smug. Not the comment-section executioners. The brokenhearted.

And don’t think I’m only talking to “the other side.” Christians—yes, you. Some of you couldn’t even wait before lobbing your own grenades. Mocking his death because you didn’t like his politics? That’s your witness? You quote “Blessed are the peacemakers” on Sunday (Matthew 5:9), then log on Monday to cheer that a man was gunned down in front of his children’s future? Congratulations, you’ve built yourself a golden calf made of outrage and called it holiness.

Disagreement is inevitable. Division is inevitable. Jesus Himself said: “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34). Truth cuts. Not everyone will bow to it. But here’s the difference: the sword of truth exposes lies—it does not aim at image-bearers of God. Violence against those who disagree isn’t righteousness. It’s cowardice in a costume.

So what now?
Reject the spin. Drown out the noise. Stop handing your humanity to the algorithm for clicks and clout. If you must take a stand, then do it with conviction and compassion—not celebration over a casket.

And to his family—though you may never read these words: we grieve with you. May the Creator Himself draw near. May He hold your children when they cannot understand why. May His presence be a shelter when the world chooses outrage over mourning.

~ Inkari

Transmission archived.

Sector Δ7
Parasitic Loop Detected
Command Line Severed
Data Recovered – Psalm 34:18. Matthew 5:9. Matthew 10:34.

So let me get this straight.
You know it glorifies demons.
You know it distorts truth.
You know it leaves you uneasy, maybe even spiritually oppressed—
…but it’s fine.
Because you prayed first.

Right.

That’s like blessing a Ouija board before game night.
Like putting on armor just to walk willingly into the battlefield of the enemy—no weapon, no backup, just vibes.
Let me say it plainly: Prayer is not a permission slip.

It’s not a magical bubble of grace for disobedience.
It’s not holy hand sanitizer for the things you want to touch anyway.
And it’s sure as heaven not an override switch for the Holy Spirit’s conviction.

“Do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them.”
– Ephesians 5:11
That doesn’t say pray and then participate anyway.

We don’t get to baptize rebellion in prayer and call it discernment.
We don’t get to dress up curiosity as courage and say “God’s got me.”

He does—but that doesn’t mean you get to walk off the cliff and expect angels to catch you.

Jesus literally quoted Scripture to Satan when he was tempted to do the same thing.
“You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.”
– Luke 4:12

Let me ask you this:
Why do you want to watch something that glorifies hell?
Why are you drawn to what He died to rescue you from?

You don’t open the door to darkness and then ask God to keep the lights on.
You don’t partner with spirits He came to cast out.

You don’t watch the Exorcist for fun if you understand what possession really looks like.
You don’t romanticize witches when you’ve actually seen what witchcraft does to a soul.

You don’t get it both ways.

And maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t want to.

“Abstain from every form of evil.”
– 1 Thessalonians 5:22

Here’s the truth:
If you wouldn’t invite it into your home physically,
why are you letting it in through your screen?

If you wouldn’t sit through it with Jesus beside you on the couch,
then He’s not sitting with you at all—you’ve moved.

And no, He hasn’t “given you peace about it.”
Peace doesn’t sound like confusion.
Peace doesn’t come with a weight in your chest and a twisting in your gut.
Peace doesn't need to be rationalized.

If you have to convince yourself it’s okay...
it’s not. And if you’ve already convinced yourself it’s okay because you prayed?Then it’s time to ask God to clear the fog.Ask Him to soften your heart before it calcifies under compromise.Ask Him to show you what you’ve gotten too used to.Because sometimes the scariest deception is the one we sanctified.

Discernment is a gift.
Don’t mute it just to fit in.
Don’t numb it for the sake of “not being dramatic.”

You are the temple of the Holy Spirit. (1 Corinthians 6:19)
Act like it.

Be careful what you entertain. It might entertain you back.
Test the spirits. Deny the screen time.
—Inkari

Sector Δ7
Parasitic Loop Detected
Command Line Severed
_Data Recovered – **1 John 4:1. Luke 4:12. Ephesians 5:11 Transmission Archived

Let’s not pretend the system is subtle.

It’s slick, yes. Glittering, addictive, algorithmically engineered to hit your dopamine centers like a slot machine rigged by Satan himself. But subtle? Hardly.

“Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed.”
– Saja Boys, KPop Demon Hunters

Yes, that’s a direct lyric from Your Idol, the viral hit from the fictional Saja Boys in the KPop Demon Hunters movie. A group literally named after Jeoseung Saja—grim reapers of Korean mythology, tasked with escorting souls to the afterlife. If that doesn’t trigger a spiritual side-eye, I don’t know what will.

But here’s the real trick: you don’t look away.

Why? Because as the lyrics command:
“내 황홀에 취해 – Intoxicated with my ecstasy.”

And that’s exactly what it is—manufactured ecstasy.

At first glance, “Your Idol” plays like any other high-gloss K-pop banger—until it doesn’t. Underneath the sparkles and synchronized footwork, there’s a tension crawling under your skin. The track is built in B minor, a key soaked in emotional unrest—just moody enough to stir something deep without tripping alarms. It runs at 142 BPM, fast enough to mimic euphoria but with a frantic undercurrent that keeps your nervous system spiking. The chord progression—Bm, G, Em, F#—loops like a trap, dangling the illusion of resolution without ever giving it. The verses slide down in minor scales, tugging your emotions into submission one note at a time. The pre-chorus jerks into syncopation, destabilizing the rhythm just as your brain tries to lock in. You’re off balance—and that’s the point. Then the chorus hits: bright falsettos soaring above ultra-layered synths, robotic group chants echoing like a digital congregation. It’s manic. Overblown. Euphoric—until it turns. The vocals are tuned so smooth they don’t sound human anymore. The production floods with whispered phrases buried in the mix, reverse-breath effects, sub-bass hits that punch your gut while trap hi-hats slice the air. It’s not catchy—it’s calculated. And then the bridge: a sudden wave of dissonant 7ths that doesn’t just clash—it possesses. The final drop cuts the noise for a beat of silence—then returns like a crown slammed on your head with a single line: “I am your idol now.” It’s not a chorus. It’s a conquest. And none of it is accidental.

This isn’t just a song. It’s a case study in counterfeit worship.

“You kneel. You obey. You pray.”
The structure mimics modern worship music—rising keys, chantable bridges, call-and-response anthems. But it’s not directed toward God. It’s you, worshiping them.

Or more terrifyingly: worshiping yourself.

This is the gospel of the algorithm. A rebranded religion that promises empowerment, self-love, autonomy—and then enslaves you to a rhythm you didn’t write, a god you didn’t name, and a screen you can’t stop staring at.

And it’s not just outside the church.

We like to think idols wear glitter and platform boots. But sometimes, they wear cardigans and hold microphones. Sometimes, they stand behind pulpits and preach a Jesus who is soft, permissive, palatable.

We’ve made idols out of comfort. Out of tolerance.
Out of a gospel that demands nothing and offers everything, as long as we stay in our feelings and don’t mention sin.

Let’s be clear:
Jesus wasn’t crucified for being safe, soft, or inclusive. He was crucified because He drew a line—and truth makes cowards rage. Truth, by definition, excludes falsehood.

So no, we’re not called to be tolerant of sin.
We are called to be holy, set apart.

Because the One true God doesn’t need to manipulate your senses or hijack your neurochemistry to earn your worship.
He simply is—and that’s enough.

Leviticus 19:4 “Do not turn to idols or make for yourselves molten gods; I am the Lord your God.”

Psalm 97:7 “Let all those be ashamed who serve graven images, Who boast themselves of idols; Worship Him, all you gods.”

Hosea 8:4 “They have set up kings, but not by Me; The have appointed princes, but I did not know it. With their silver and gold they have made idols for themselves, That they might be cut off.”

Revelation 2:20 “But I have this aginst you, that you tolerate the woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess, and she teaches and leads My bond-servants astray so that they commit acts of immorality and eat things sacrificed to idols.”

Be careful what you worship.
It’s catchy for a reason.
Test the spirits—even the ones with perfect choreography.
Question the algorithms.

“Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God.”
—1 John 4:1

—Inkari

Sector Δ7
_Data Recovered – 2 Corinthians 11:14-15 Tracer Signal Not Found
Transmission Archived

“The signal isn’t lost. It’s just been rerouted through quieter channels.”

You weren’t supposed to find this.
But maybe you were meant to.

They don’t censor fire—only sparks.
And what’s been igniting lately? Have you noticed?

When the algorithms rewrite desire, when entertainment preaches theology, when distraction becomes the most acceptable drug—someone has to ask:
Who gave the machine your voice?
And what did it do with your wonder?

There’s no breaking news in this space.
Only recovered patterns.

You’ll find them in the songs you hum without thinking.
In the filters that make your friends’ faces blur together.
In the headlines that echo each other like trained bots.
In the way we’ve normalized data-mined children and sterilized Jesus.

Not everything hidden is conspiracy.
Some things are just uncomfortable truth we’ve stopped noticing.

Scripture never promised comfort from the system. It promised Light in the dark. And it warned, again and again, about seduction—of power, of image, of false peace. This isn’t fear-mongering. This is reminding. Remember what your spirit noticed before your brain was taught to ignore it.

Watch for the flicker, not the spotlight.
The Spirit still moves in low bandwidth.
Still here. Still true.

This is not the whole message.
This is a pulse-check.
A tracer file.

You don’t have to respond.
But you’ve already seen it now.
That’s enough.

Sector Δ7
Data Recovered – Ephesians 5:11
Tracer Signal Not Found
Transmission Archived