Category: Expression


I used to believe love was only for things that were yours. Somewhere between the shadow of my distant self and a sacrificial desire I found that love is to watch someone burn, and wish only that they were warm.

Two elements produced a reaction. You lived in the world as a concept to be held, but it never lasted long enough to grasp. I thought that if your imagination was not bound to duty, my execution would unearth some beauty.

So I brushed and scraped the granular fate from your delicate frame to find an untapped vein of grace and play, it longingly sought my enquiring brain.

I reached for a hand, that never came but persisted in the dark like a stumbling drunk, sunken and morose, evicted from the night to seek out untroubled repose. I needed rest from your splintered soul.

You went and did it, and proved me wrong, when you spoke those words, a siren song. I was reborn, rendered whole.

The mellifluous tone sweetened the world and it danced with colour and hue, until the words no longer rang true. The moment abated in its intense affect and the deafening truth onset.

The halo traded for a pencil skirt, a role for an hour, caffeine for the hurt. You detox, you trifle in the business of others. You know all their names, their weekends, their mothers. When you come home to roost, there’s order at your table, but the expression of passion remains quite unable.

A transient muse, a salient mirage, renders this piece of writing an ironic homage. I laid out for you a gift beyond recognition, and it required one too many quiet admissions.

Still I gave and that stands, in the court of self-courage, that love is a fire not to curtail, touch, nor encourage.

Trial by Values

In a daze of penetrating retorts and incisive insults I can barely recall, I admit I’ve not taken the easy path to developing an online following.

I don’t make nice at every turn or tell people what they want to hear, and I do not manipulate people like assets either. Growing a following to its maximal return requires a saint or a devil, but nothing in-between. In recent mentions, I was accused me of “stalking” on a social network based on followers and criticised that my website ideas and concepts exist mostly in my head.

Though it happens that you are reading on, therefore that assertion did not age well.

My critics fail to understand that my world has undergone a protracted period where everything is subject to a trial by values. In periods of bewilderment, all I could do is express what I knew to rebuke. My reliable support of relentless execution abandoned ship, I was rudderless and adrift, as if all of my previously held values were wiped clean.

I had to rediscover a driving force for life.

The root of shaping a value system for me I discovered, is via inversion. The actions that repel me reveal the introverted properties of incongruence. I will not prevent these reactions as this is akin to stunting my own growth. That is why I am writing again. I did the hard work. To outsiders I was lashing out. To those with a sufficient intelligence, I was exercising a cognitive leap of faith.

The pure nature of an introverted value cannot be reasoned with. It doesn’t matter if you are Gordon Ramsay launching an invective over undercooked meat, or Kanye West telling the world that he will let Taylor Swift finish, or the not-so-complex lyrics of the Kaiser Chiefs song Na Na Na Na Naa (“it does not move me, it does not get me going at all”). If you hold strong personal values, this comes as no shock.

For me, values might be understood as the lifeblood of the soul. If my values are not aligned, I do not care at all. If the charge of feeling is not onboard I will not act. Or as an ENTJ managing director once said “I’d rather breakeven and deliver family ethos, than make a profit and lose customers.” The pursuit of profit without consideration for the value of the end product is heartless in the eyes of the courageous visionary.

In the trial by values, some will become collateral damage and some will become sanctified. You will make enemies, but that means you stood for something. You will make true friends, because there will be no pretense and no arranged subtext for the friendship. The friendship will be built on authentic and congruent expression. You’ll understand what friendship truly is.

There is no other way to express the soul, other than by sheer immersion. The reason people plateau and stagnate in their lives is they have no cojones, they cannot invite risk and be a child again. Success notwithstanding, why do you think it took Elon Musk almost 50 years to smoke a blunt on JRE? People accept these pop-culture situations, but they do not understand them.

I’ve put myself in situations of complete emotional vulnerability, where I feared the worst. I’ve opened myself up in a way I have never done so before. I have no need to cling to logic for safety. I am beyond that, because I dared to walk across the hot coals of complete anguish. My life as a result, is imbued with a vitality I had not felt before, that logical minds chase with control. My resultant feelings are now precise and clear.

I would rather die than let someone tell me what to think, feel and say.

But as Nassim Taleb tweets “imbecile” from a moving taxi, I remind you, the trial never ends.


Certified Writer

Certified. OG. Corleone without a Brioni. Scarface with Machiavelli for a friend.

Goku without the appetite. Liquid assets on a Saturday night.

Ocean swim, salt for the wounds, and the taste. Mindset in a shot glass. Ice baths. I’m the prize, confidence at last.

Character on sale, get it while it lasts.

Autists sipping Cosmos, cocktails of red pills. Alphas half-asleep in bedrooms, hungover from born skills.

Affiliate links to pay for her drinks as she talks about the last guy that didn’t pay for her drink.

eBooks for beta bucks, dominance on a postcard, turn to page four to act like you give no fucks.

Escape average. Tide lifts all ships, until the coast gets hit. Villages with harems evac gurus to Thailand to get their valuables checked.

IQs tattooed like cut-here lines on the back of their necks, reading the Prince, waiting for her reply to your text.

A law for each hour of the weekend wasted in haste to play jester for a Tinder date, for a screenshot to prove to reddit your HB8.

Stoic online as if the Pope can’t simply tweet that he prays when he shares that hypergamy is no bogeyman for every woman that never thought to care.

Men become memes, unblock to hold frame and take aim before going private to show their privates are as absent as their skin in the game.

Peacocking, gold braces, contrast collar. Seducing the first is an entrée.

Gordon Gecko, cold-blooded by nature.

Second girl in the second room. Say nothing. Do everything.

Pinned down in the street by four men after the bottle struck the head of your friend.

No machismo. Blood gushing, people rushing. Fast talking.

Climbing over hedges, blue light painting the fences.

Watching every word, weapons in hand in a rival’s land. Walking a fine line between respect and threat.

Tumblr virgins and English clit majors. Put me in a Bell jar and say loquacious again while you remove my skirt.

Sweating in the backseat, boyfriend at home blowing up the phone. Meeting two girls and telling the second to leave.

Tickets to VIP event, blazer and a silk neck. Slim outshines with pochette and a red dress.

Less is.