Shake Your Fist All You Want But

You Must Dismantle Your Sources, Lest You Do Nothing But Ape The Prejudices Of Others

Do Mortal Fools Still Measure The Increments Leading To Their Deaths, Wagering Pleasures Against Costs, Persisting In The Delusion That Deeds Have Value, That The World And All The Gods Sit In Judgment Over Every Decision Made Or Not Made?

More Than One Philosopher Has Claimed That We Ever Remain Children, Far Beneath The Indurated Layers That Make Up The Armour Of Adulthood. Armour Encumbers, Restricts The Body And Soul Within It. But It Also Protects. Blows Are Blunted. Feelings Lose Their Edge, Leaving Us To Suffer Naught But A Plague Of Bruises, And, After A Time, Bruises Fade.

We Humans Do Not Understand Compassion. In Each Moment Of Our Lives, We Betray It. Aye, We Know Of Its Worth, Yet In Knowing We Then Attach To It A Value, We Guard The Giving Of It, Believing It Must Be Earned, T’lan Imass. Compassion Is Priceless In The Truest Sense Of The Wold. It Must Be Given Freely. In Abundance.

All They Get Around Here Is Stories. Stories Don't Make You Bleed. Stories Don't Make You Go Hungry, Don't Give You Sore Feet. When You're Young Smelling Of Pigshit And Convinced There Ain't A Weapon In All The Damn World That's Going To Hurt You, All Stories Do Is Make You Want To Be Part Of Them.