Man is without fear in the face of the unkown.

    What is the reason people aren't afraid of climate change. Is the idea to foreign or is it that they don't believe climate change is real. Could it be an inability to plan and sacrifice as a collective human community. Is it a problem of information dissemination or an inability to understand the information received.
    I think it is something different, I believe it is a lack of fear. A lack of fear even in the face of catastrophic destruction that a rapidly changing climate will bring. We as a people do not like change but we are also not afraid of it, we are built to adapt to it. In fact, we secretly relish in the challenge and in the chance to rebuild a society anew. Maybe the society we have built has to much legacy, to much that is unsatisfying, and we need to start over fresh, building on the ideas and technology we've developed in the past hundreds of years.
     Perhaps, it is because we are born, knowing we will die, but knowing life will continue on after us. Perhaps, we know that in suffering humans achieve greatness, and suffering through the cataclysm encroaching upon us will push us further as a species. I think is because survival and adaptation is something engraved into our souls the we welcome the future and its changes with closed eyes.

Why do geeks get so passionate about TV shows, and why they don't like the second Matrix Movies.

Geeks often view their favorite sci-fi shows as a reality beyond realities. They delve into the philosophical world believing that the rules the shows portray are as the rules of reality truly are. They are often enthralled at first, taking in all of the absolute morality, justice, and philosophical truths offered by the show yet also shrouded in mystery. Then at some point the show must choose a direction to take, and at that point they show lays out the truths of the reality that the show is based on. At this point a geek has already invested heavily in creating their own reality about the show, one that they can even believe is more real that the one they live in. But suddenly the veil is pulled from their eyes, when they see the shows creator taking a different path with the base rules of the shows than they had themselves extrapolated. Believing that there world is more real and true to reality, they get angry. They have now had total control of their world pulled from them, and they often come to the conclusion that the show is simply wrong now and ruined. Thus the reason they can't like the second two matrix movies the way they should be loved. The matrix had to take a path to tell the story, and that path often didn't gel well with the inner reality geeks had spent so much time creating.

The lost stars

I'd like to write about
the lost stars.
I'd like it to be a metaphor
about the loss of our nature.
I'm pretty sure I can relate it to
lights getting brighter and streets louder,
and us losing sight until we are too blind to know realize we can no longer see.
You see, in this technological march we are comforted by a false light.
The hardship's of life which teach us of deep and elegant beauty, are obscured and hidden.


History remembers it was a forgiving god who fell in love with humans and cast out his likeness,  his immortal brethren. And like him we raise a false idol giving over the awe once reserved for the unknown darkness.
We giving reverence to the virtual layer surrounding us, and we forget that it is our creation.



Give me back the fresh water full of fish,
Give me back the wooded forest and mountains full of game,
Give me back the glowing stars,

Traitors are all of you.

A Fall Cruise

I sit on my bed,
with love beside me.
The soft down comforter warming against a chilling fall.
Old Island songs play off in the distance,
blending with the chirping tree frogs outside.
We look out and into each others eyes,

I pull her close and tight. She
lays across my chest, listening to my beating heart.
Her breath slows to a gentle rhythm,
and then she is asleep.

I find myself typing, writing, with the soothing freedom of words.
On a pallet for only my eyes, or the worlds.

Older and Complex

As my writing
 grows older and complex,
I more and more
want to write something simple,
straightforward, to the heart of some point.
As the crow flies so to speak.
Not up and down the mountains, dragging
people through the brambles along the way.
But in a F-14 jet with all the power and clarity
of a vertical takeoff, a safe landing, an exhilarating ride.
Without the long hours in the shop,
pouring over each detail, sanding, measuring, then recutting
when I inevitably fuck up. Applying a glaze,
then another layer, sanding, then painting, then painting again.
A 1 stop shop, click, cart, buy, receive in mail and enjoy.
And thats enough of that.

My heart or mind, which I often confuse,
is empty of desire to write, yet soothed
at the same time. I feel compelled to
continue... A long forgotten thought is still
a thought and my mind will always
want to think it.

I find I learn so much through words,
and thinking about them. Each sentence
can be read many ways, each paragraph
many more. Each time
maybe even with a  different meaning.
There is much hidden that in words,
that leads to new thoughts and discovery.
The words are the conduit for thought,
but often times feelings get lost along the way.
I used to write my feelings down, but
its been so long.

I'm out of practice, not time, god damnit!

Typically I wouldn't publish this rubbish, but
I'll soon delete these ramblings in favor of fine wine.

One old friend once said to me, write whatever comes to mind.
I wrote about a fish
trapped in a bowl,
looking out, swimming in circles,
seeing a cage that was so thin, so breakable,
but unable to escape.
Perhaps I felt this way, I wonder what I would have written today.
let us find out,

A mind blank,
as each flashing thought
is deemed worthless and killed at birth.
My arms weakening
rebelling
 as they judge my words unworthy
not willing to hold my hands to type,

paralyzed, I am paralyzed. Dear god,
my self-confidence could use
some steroids.

My mind doesn't ramble like it used too.
The words stick
in my head as if glued.

I found that I neglected, the joker and the soldier,
and so they huddled,
frightened atop the infinite plateau as the
red fire griffith scorched the earth about.
Until I came and soothed him. Until he purred
like a happy kitten. And I put out the flames,
though the volcano still smolders. Perhaps
that is where the griffith came from.

The volcano moves off into the distance,
drifting away like an island in the sea
as the cruise ships sails by and over
the curving oceans.

And  so we sit to dine on the plateau,
made of dark cracked earth. They tell me that one should
never leave their soul behind.

not so lost

I thought it would be me,
who found myself adrift one day

but I was wrong, it
was someone else that found me.

traveled mind

My tounge parched, my heart beating,
my mind racing to a hopefully wrong conclusion.

The days taken over by a repeating question.
A yearning desire to relax, calm, collected,
freedom.

About life

mainly mine, winds nostalgically
down a trodden dirt path, one with tree
branches arching over. Some with
winters first snow, and others with
green leaves blowing in the wind.

It curves ahead to the right and up,
out of view. I glance back, my shallow
footsteps have traced out the path I've travelled.
There is a small notch in the wood of a birch tree, a
brown furry chipmunk scrambles out and up to the branches.

And
I turn onwards.

Fated

I was born to write a book
for a child
to read

wrote

Ill write today,
after a long time.
maybe tomorrow something interesting.

The world is green and blue. The space around it black.

I heave a sigh upon my companion tonight.
It's only response the soft hum of its fan gently
cooling the atom processor. Let me test my vocation.

Humbly time stands before me,
begging me to take notice before I pass.
The look of this vagabond makes my stomach uneasy.
How could I even help this stranger, I could give all my money
yet the vagrant would still be there tomorrow tin can in hand. I
could give my leftovers, as good a meal as any: fried shrimp,
a slice of corn bread, and half a helping of mashpatotoes with some drops of gravy. Theres even some cocktail sauce left. Yet, he doesn't need nor want it.
I look upon the bum desolate and my stomach lurches and then sinks in.
Where is my strength draining too, I feel as though I'm going fall over and die in this things arms. That bastard, coming upon me without warning, with that downcast soden look, those worn out clothes, dirt covered face, and overgrown beard. I scrunch up my face and turn my chin up in protest. This creature only smiles, a smile that sinks itself in to my mind, a humble, all knowning, and fearless smile that stretches from ear to ear with the top lip slightly curled up barely reveavling two blisteringly white teeth.
This turns into a grin, and then a chuckle, and then uproarious laughter. I cover my ears, but the laughter only grows until its deafening,
like sirens warning of a tornado, I duck down next to the side of the road, then the clock lets out a high pitched screech only heard before at the death of the twelve demons of hells ninth circle,
then there is a bright light
and then blackness.

A long time I have sought her, yet she is always out of my reach.
Se sits in places I may see her, but not talk with or touch.

"Come with me my darling, let us escape upon the winds"
I yearn so much to say.

I often wonder if in the end we will ever meet again.
Or if instead we shall pass this life each secretly longing for the other.

You know crows only feast on carcuses of dead beast. Maybe I too am destined
to nourish myself on memories and distant hopes.

and they all sat and stared at the world.
"look out at all of your friends, look out at all the paths you did not take"
and then they sat down and weeped for a while at the missed chances
and they rejoiced at their escaping destruction.
Share now in your joy for what could be in your future.

hidden mist

the witches grin through the cracks of the viny trees
as they watch the children
running into the orchard unaware

the moss cover creeks
and the centaurs see the treachery
but turn there heads
to the stars refusing to be

the child laughs out its innocence
filling the world with joy
giggling under the apple trees
so frightfully enlightening themselves

and the witches chant spells
to ensnare the lively children
they spin toads eyes and newt legs
into a broth of Cinnamon swirl

they argue and scream they fly
and they laugh their green noses
and black hats roar softly
and magic flies about the air

the children look and smell
a Delicious slime made of cinnamon
and they take their apples
and dip them into the caramel broth

and the centaur looks and begins to run
but though his legs are fast
his action was late and the
distance was not of proportion to time

and the witches smiled with the children
they laughed while the children laughed
and then the children fell stone cold
and they cried for the rest of the day

as the witches gathered up the children
and placed them into cages and began to
eat what they pleased of the children
and they began to grow younger like the children

the centaurs rage was great and they sped faster
and they encroached upon the viny jungle
and they new and smelt the delicious broth
but as they came close it burst into flames

and they followed the footsteps of the children
to where the witches were and the children were
but all they found were beautiful young women
who were naked and singing to the stars

and the centaurs at once fell stricken
with lust for these beautiful creatures
and took them to their forest to bed the
and at the stroke of midnight there were screams

on the next day the centaurs were missing
but there was a giant feast and the
beautiful women laughed and cooned and feasted
and magic filled the air shaking the trees.

Procrastination

Task #1 still incomplete.

Task #1

Meditate for 5 minutes

The Begging Man

The darkness swelled about in a dim storm. The man was here, he expected the words of god to appear. She was In shambles, but god was within her, god was seeking through her. He came at her malice in his eyes, ‘bring forth the mighty, bring forth the omnipotent.’ She dissaperead, and before the man, God. In flames, in brimstone, in ice. The man stared into the vastness of the eye, his felt the power of the gaze, he felt the eternity of the universe, he felt judgment and relished in its bittersweet truth and finality. A peaceful realization in his moment of destruction.

desire

all that is in this world
crumbles in my fingers
all that is of this world
like dust scatters in time
of all the things I've done
I have desired nothing more
but to have loved and be loved

in the truest since,
to pass each day in harmony and joy
with a casual smile
surround by ideas of where I am
and where I can go

could I say it simpler
I would,
but you and I know it
so I need not say it at all really
just remind you

Halloween

custom designed night,
by customary people,
the pitch was set for listless lust
and everyone had a good time

Warning

Please skip this and the next three if you are interested in reading anything of content,
these are of a very poor quality and will most likley be destroyed,
and while most people think
short lived things are the most beautiful, believe me these aren't
grand finale fireworks,
but soft duds that sizzle when they are needed most to explode,


Thank You
Sincerley
Yours Truley
CDK>.....AKA The...Lost...Crow....

I can't feel the beggings of the rushing questions
they usually come to me in the form of
mutated frogs, peaking out over-
and they just don't
help much, mostly I never see them
but I know they are-
and that
drives me crazy
for I want to see them in full stride
as tadpoles even, if there is such a thing
and brush up against them then
and learn, or maybe even to devour the eggs
right after fertilization
to get the purest taste of life,
right at the souls inception
If I could reach this, maybe I could follow
the process backwards, and latch onto the souls
thread my fist
and from there climb to heaven
and here jump into the pool of constants
and emmerse myself in the world before questions

This isn't really a poem, more a statement about me

I am one of perhaps the 99 percent of people
who are apathetics, and I'm not saying Im proud
to be apart of the majority, but I am comfortably apathetic about it.

overdue

The apolgy was overdue,
regardless of my excuses for putting it off
but the apology was right on time
for it came at a time I could mean it
and for that
it covered all of the excuses

In my Room at Night instead of Outside with the Tribe

The Doors music
reverberates
softly in my ears
dulling my anger
sharpening my imagination
I rest easy in my chair, it is here
I am at peace,
though, still deep within
I am longing for the touch of her
whoever she may be
so In absence of that, not unhappily
I sit and type myself away
my soul leaps to my hands
and presses each key
and I mistake thought
for soul sometimes, but not when
I am whole
not when I have concentrated
not when thought is devoted impartially to senses
and the soul given free reign
of decision
do I hear do I see
do I feel
the world breathing

deadly to pain

pain griped soul
like
salt caked eyes
a sound in the form of
rhythm unleashes
natures fury, gods fury
upon the
impenetreble depth-
fleeing prisoned.
mending whole!

drunkeness

while the wasted lasted
I smiled
I smiled a deep rich smile
that crossed my face
from ear to ear
while the wasted faded,
I paused to reflect
but smiled
because I was pausing to reflect
when the wasted was done
my reflectrion lasted
and I cowered in the corner
like a dog with my tail between my legs
afraid to finish my thoughts

when the rain comes,
with all of its troops
with its wind and hail
sometimes it calls upon the lightning to thunder
It pounds the world into
a hellish prison
but when the rains leave
and we look back outside
we see it has left us with heaven

Cultures

Cultures clash like hammocks
wound about each other,
where each distorts the others patterns,
and they try to settle,
but can only seem to push and pull each other
one cannot seem to cope with the diamond
the other cannot assimilate a gyroid,
and patterns cross, patterns mix
all the while, the person sitting upon the hammock
rolls around ironing out the rough spots
making his hammock comfortable to lay upon
until the two patterns have become something more
something neither by itself could have become
something neither by itself can recognize.
the strengths of one
fill in the weak spots of the other
the strengths of the other
fill in the weak spots of the one
and something new
something brilliant shines
and the person upon the hammock
he smiles in the shade
as he sways under the trees.

culture

Like a warm bossom
culture holds you
you can roll around in its web
and it comforts you like the best of hammock
you look over its many intricate patterns
to see how it is woven
you see diamonds,
you see spirals,
you see an incomprehensible meriad of
reflections, refractions, rotations,
its dizzying effects lulls you into itself
and like the universe and its galaxies
envelop
so does your imagination
as it tempts you with recognition of cultures deepest
and most beautiful secrets
of how its radiant vibes permeate through
your soul
your families soul
your best friends souls.

sleep

when sleep comes,
you see if from afar,
and you feel the ropes
wrap around you
as the lilipucians work

can analysis be the time of seconds, minutes, or just hours

what is fate
but a blinding certainty
of events set in stone,
but as we know
things set in stone
are set in the past
what is tempting fate
but a confusion of values
when placed in future senarios
do we follow our values
which have held true in the
past or do
we drop off
do we dare to drop off
and ascribe new values,
for we know
fate hates to recalculate
and always
always
our actions change things
and always always we
judge the rightness of our actions
against what we believe fate to be.

and so when we play with fate
in teheren
and so we tempt fate
and find ourselves in paridise.

who knows
these grey clouds seldom lift
and these blue skys seldom show their
and these mountains hardly stand still
and the sands never crumble

The Prayer

You sometimes wonder, how he
learned to pray so diligently
you look and see
him sitting, over a bowl of pasta
while the steam lifts off,
the aroma pools about,
and he drinks it in
and pours it out through his prayers,
you see this and wonder about him
and then you wonder when else he prays
and you watch,
and see that between each step
he prays
while the clouds are being born
he prays
and as they sit down to die
he prays
when the birds fly by.
he prays
his life
he prays,

bass

a rhythm of ecstasy
pounding in the bass
follow follow the sounds
to the end
and trumpets, and keyboards
play your part,
as the guitar climbs higher,
to the top of mountains,
and onto the eagles, back
percussion please
please lead us, lead the bass
lead the song towards
a rhythm of ecstasy.

is it wrong to be right

to be,
I'll be right when I say
I'm right
to need,
I'll need nothing but
what I say is right
to die,
I'll do nothing but
be right
move,
I'll move along
what is right
flexible,
I'll never bend
from what is right

homesick

it is at night
while, sitting on a couch
a green one, with two pillows
clad with the mysterious patterns
of lost civilizations;
that I feel,
downwardly and upwardly
homesick,
yearning for a home that doesn't exist
spirit tells me there is perfection
So I imagine what rhythm a pure heart beats to,
I hear the soft beating
somewhere,
far off
and then it fades,
only to beat again but fainter
and fainter still
and I begin to sigh, but over my breath
I cannot hear the beating heart
and so I hold the air with the palms of my hands
and slowly feel a change
and then the feeling of suffucating overwhelms
the desire to hear the heart, beat so smoothly
so perfectly
that I release,
and I blow the heart away, as if it where a feather
and the feeling lives,
homesick
without a home

Love, today its love from me to you

today I'll write for you
undiluted, strait from my soul
I'll sing to you, and you'll believe
you'll see the doves
fill the sky like fantastic clouds,
and the butterflies
come in as the auroa borealis,
and leave in giant rainbows,
then in all this magical wonder,
the wind and grass,
will join forces to compose a symphony
with more power than anything you've ever witnessed
and the storm you saw on the horizon,
will turn into an elegant backdrop
and you'll turn to see a tree, reaching out,
its vines will pick you up make a perfect seat.
then you'll realize that the vines
are full of declicouse grapes, and the tree is peopled
with delicuos fruit.
and from here this vantage point
you'll look up to see what the sun could be
that lights this glorious world,
and you'll be blinded by the deepest spirt
love.

hope

as the pendulum swings
I steadily fight off
the shadows of sleep
until the downward
stroke of night
which, without conclusion:
closes,
and I am suffocated by a pile
of unfulfilled dreams
about love and happiness

The Beach

on the beach
where I want to sit
on the beach
with the wind and the sand
into a deep trance I'd fall
in the trance I'd end up dreaming a new life
all the while
the sun would be warming me
the ocean would be soothing me
and all of this would slip into my dream radiating through,
and I would know, there was something more, something warm
and enternal, and so when
I felt the dream ending, my life coming to a close
because of the warmth I would not fear
because of the waves I would not be anxious
and then darkness would overcome
then cover me in its infinite depths
and suddenly, I would awake;
and be
sitting on the shores of heaven.

Revolutions

The cards made us,
we were peasants kings
princes and queens,
and on conquest we went
and squable we did,
over ones and twos,
and fours, well fours
changed everything,
but none the less
the trump card always won
and the cards,
they always made us.

Crows Balad

who am I
do you wish to know
for I know and its simple
here it goes:

a rain cloud who wont rain
a sunny day that longs to be autum
the beach that dreams of mountains
the small fish who leaves the loving pack
the whale that doesn't song
the bee who wont buzz
the humingbird whos wings he can't move fast enough
the ant who never marches
the hawk who never soars
the monkey who never swings
the sage the wants more
the philosopher that wont think
the rattle snake that doesn't strike
the man who wont walk
the glacier that always melts
the sea that wont surge
the lightning that doesn't thunder
the hurricane that grows dizzy
the athlete who wont run
the scientist that doesn't question

all of these I am
and more
but mainly
I am
the crow who hates crows.

outside my world view, I stall, and freeze time

it looked like the sun
a ripe sun
but was most likley
a lamp with a shade
that cast itself around;
silence curled up
on the carpet and heaved
a sigh like a tired dog
the classics went on
playing themselves
through the tones of
our conversation
through the smoke we
set about our common currency
and from it
investments were made
from one calculatation of probability
to the next
and, we all do calculate from time to time
and I felt offset, and drifted leftwards
to an outside perspective, curious of the stakes
set before me, and so I chose to drink
and drink and drink....-
but only drank
nothing again and again,
which I could continue to do off into infinity if you would like.
At least until the shade casts a different shadow
due to the newborn sun, the real one
and my body, slightly in awe,
slightly indirectly shakes free.
So aside from the tangent
I stand to walk into the night, onto the
ever so green grass placed behind
the glass door. to the knolls I trumpet myself
too the bugs I awaken and temp
as I stomp around their homes,
and finally return to
the inescabable -
I sit and think until ;
I find myself,
at my solid oaken desk.
or couch.
asleep.

The Mouse

mice are small creatures who should
live simple lives, who are nice
who are vicious, who are numerous
and bold. they are the keepers
of the gates and tunnels and
bridges.

the raoming mouse
in a strangers home
prettending its his
living off a feast hes found
prettending he worked for it
pretending the owner is scared
that he hunts him day and night
the mouse
whose bite is fantasic,
staling all creatures
the mouse
has quite the
dillusion
he has quite the
illusion about himself
and everytime he is faced
with himself, he weeps
he cringes,
he crawls away in disgust
because he is lauged at
he cannot find his place
he cannot accept
his vulnerability
he does not know
why he is such,
he simply wishes to run in fields
to dream at the skys
to rest in his nest
to be free
the elders tell him
if he can be content as
a blade of grass is
he will be become
the indestructable wind

The Dragon

dragons are not meant for caves
they are not meant to slumber in life
they are grace and beauty
and revelations

but a dragons story is different
it is a struggle

the sleeping dragon
in its lair
hoarding secrets,
trying to control his rage
less he destroy,
but sometimes meat far too sweet
crosses
which rouses the beast
sometimes he loses patience
and leaps forth
with destruction inside every breath
and afterwards gazing upon ashes
he remembers the buildings
and people and
faces
and voices
their love
their fear
their vulnerability,
and he himself,
invincible, is hurt.
he crawls back to his
cave and sleeps
while they rebuild
he hates to sleep
he wishes only to fly
to be free
the elders tell him
he can be
they tell him
if he can face himself,
he will turn into a god.

A Mind

It seems that the human race has one flaw in its supirior thought which is the ego, it has the most trouble associating with anything other than itself. The ego separates and divides creating a very lonley self, and once this self recognizes its own mortality, it cries. For it wishes to live for eternity as it believes the world around it does. It does not see itself as apart of the world and therefore seeks to impose itself upon the world as a new entity, desiring to become eternal through its impact upon the seemingly infinite universe. Such a relationship as cultivation, the ego looks upon as a miraculous achievement which separates us from all other creatures. But even this is only a relationshiop which we discovered to be benificial. We see a cause and effect, but know nothing of the process which yields the fruit, we simply guess at what must be done to produce this crop. This relationship is not different that the sea anemony and a clown fish, one cultivates the other feeding off of it and taking protection in it, while the other simply must grow to fill its part of the bargain. So if you have trouble believing this it is singularly the egos fault, it traps a mind into singular demensional thinking, squashing all creativity and in its place creates steryotypes with which it identifies others, but not itself. What great opposition does the human race of to cross-cultural breeding, what does it matter that homosexuals run rampant, it is absurd that these things should bother any person in the world, and yet the ego screams for this to stop, for it believes that it alone is the way in which the world should be experienced. Sitting on a bench the ego categorizes every item which it sees, judging to the best of its ability, but to what purpose I posit? Why judge these things, why worry ourselves over such mundane ranks, why not simply let be, why not let ego simply relax into what it is meant to be, why not merely be at peace with the world around us.

Side on Side

and say I'm god

pray to me
as the world prays to him
sacrifice your days giving me words
of your thanks,

i excommunicate
-for someone will bind you
from me through
your own belief-


I don't want that from you,
I do not care for your praise
I am god,
and do as want,
and do not as want.

anything in return
yet you are beggars
give me the atheist that
loves the world
the one that cries
at what society is
the wandering spirt
the freethinker
who would use his soul
to manipulate my creations
in his own creativity,
I am lost
in the artists who
can portray
such dark light, but
make in such beauty,
and the one
who would seek
truth,
because.


no do not think
-I don't love you
for I do not know how to
love or hate, I simply am
at my will I behold
what I wish
and see it in
the light
I am.

misguidence

aghast,
about something which I have no control over
with glazed eyes,
and lazy assertions of passivity
a cacoun is formed of drapping
cloth,
and I wonder as the light passes through~

all the days smile warmly

that such small gust would tip the boat
of which you sail expansive streams
mightent there be a great ocean from which to conquest,
mightent you need a greater boat

nigh, for content is to travel
abroad pebbles smooth by even hands
drinking simply, fishing livleyhood.
nor would I to stray this place
and abound cross such a great unknown
Ohh too happily I'll traverse
these falling leaves and ripples
but to drift among the chirping birds till suns no longer rise

Man

Man is old you know, far older than he believes, but of course not older than he can imagine, for that is his greatest gift, but also that which has been used to chain him. Man was great, they were on the path to becoming masters of the universe, lord over all domains, just and righteous rulers, the only ones capable of percieving true justice. Other species were not so irrationaly rational, they were ferocius and cunning, while man was inginuitive and just. These creatures feared that man would conqueor all of the universe and that they would no longer be able to exist under mans system of rule, so they grouped together and set about trapping the mind of man. At the appointed time, all men were turned against by these creatures, who killed most of them, the few that were saved were then sent to a planet called earth, complelty unihabted by intelligent life, and more importantly incredibly far away from any chance ecnounters with intelligent life other than their own. The people that were placed upon earth, were very young and easily manipulated. They set men about, giving them religion to occupy their minds, you see, man can believe anything, and make anything real that he desires or that he wishes to believe. These brilliant creatures were left with nothing, but a stary sky for which they could obtain no recolection, except distant childhood memories of living there. These children created gods to explain there differences, they were the best and longed for some other creature to justify their exceptional nature, but would find none. Man was left in a dark room and his mind ran in all directions, its brilliant mind, so irrationaly rational that it can grasp infinity and use it in concrete math. Man the greatest creature in the univers, god in mind, mind of god, now trapped without possible answers, sent about searching for falshoods, dilluded by cunning aliens, sent in circles, a beautiful machine that is set about in a circular path, poor man, imagination so great that, it define reality and trap them in wars, meaningless struggles, meaningless desires, remember your true spirit of greatness, ascend back into greatness that you are!

path

Forsake your name hero;
carry not reputation,
only sword and shield.