How can I fight myself?
How can I win if the battle is only with myself, inside me?
How and why I must reassure of victory the same that proposed the terms of the battle, against me?
How can peace exist if no one is interested in it, or me?
How can I prevent innocents from light themselves in rage of the atrocities of doubt, in them?
How can I think about these proclivities when I’m merely thinking about the quality of information, about me?
How will I find the way to commiseration when all that led to pity was abruptly mistaken with weakness, of mine?
How can I stop fighting when all I have done all my life made me a eternal warrior, of truth?
“I must shout my name,
in the highest praise,
echoing in the deepest gorges
of the gurgling canyons,
bloody,
rumbling up to the banks of the standing armies,
enough to find those willing to fight,
just,
real and visible,
mere shadows of me.”
the MONSTRUKTOR