Showing posts from January, 2019



Come, walk beside me, like a child
Trust me this instant, I'm not your foe
Grasp my hand tightly for the way is wild
Dark is the Road to Damascus we go

Gaze down this path, no more to be fled
Now is the chance to seize more than aversion
I feel your discomfort, possessed by dread
All the while nescient of such a trying excursion

The weak-will resists the path of reflection
Content to lead an existence with no mirror
You wish to stay the same, never knowing rejection
To my smithy, I take you to make ore become clearer

Hot is my forge and as bright as the sun
The strain from within it can only soften
Locked by my tongs with escape for none
Amuse me, resist, I see it so often

Your everlasting state has come into my view
Thus to heat, bend, and break you is my goal
There is only one way for change to ensue
Shatter upon an anvil, hard as my soul

No chance to gird for swiftly does my hammer move
Your cry upon my anvil rings out, echoing through the heavens
Behold a changed man, w…

The Spectacle Of Spectacles

It could be argued that the most vulnerable conscious time for us is when we relieve our excrement. We, and I mean we as individuals, instinctively know this. Even the other intelligent animals are conscious of this; all one must do is look upon the gaze returned to you by the dog who relieves itself in your yard. It is no secret that the facade of man is seldom relinquished, but this facade birthed from submission under a particular power is awe-inspiring.

The restroom has become the ultimate spectacle of spectacles, one so powerful that even the highest of men succumb to it and keep their truth to themselves. Its power is so pervasive and dominant that even the closest of people can reject one another by the conditioning that has restrained their psyche. In my experience, romantic love is the only thing that can defeat the power of the restroom as an "institution" (but romantic love typically marches alongside an army ready to war against truth in a different manner).