Pool_2

>> Shrine <<

Tragedy is always personal. Gravity had pulled so strongly here that enlightenment had folded in upon itself. A soul of duality was seeking singularity. What that was, he wasn't sure, but he was ready. Whatever it was that he was, had ripped. He was a wound of self. Gavin McGuiness embodyment of blind raging justice had swung his axe at evil and ripped the fabric of chaos. Justice, the kind you silently cheer for, had loosed the equilibrium between great evils. After all, evil is not a philosophy, nor a creed, nor any intellectual or spiritual conceptulization. It is simply the propensity to grow without regard. Good is simply that which contains. Balance of power. Who upsets balance unleashes evil. Growth, regardless of its veneer, no matter how sweetened and rewarding - flow without a spigot, power without a restraint - growth without regard, is cancer - evil. Nothing should exist without the people's hand on the plug. That is the only argument. But who was in control now? Did this justice do any good? A criminal organization blindsided by an attack lashes out at everyone on their possibility list. He was invisible. Imagine the back room discussion, "One of our operatives has been decapitated. Sounds like the work of a foreign poet?" No. They could not have had any idea. The subject of doctored photos? Shannon? Put her on the maybe list. Now this one lying twisted, was he the head of the snake? Or, maybe it is a hydra? Really, what were the options? He didn't have a portfolio of graduated responses. Was he God's warrior, or his own? Head bowed, eyes closed, standing motionless, a hatchet hanging inanimate in a wavering clutch. His mental silence connected to spirituality. A slow deep guttural throat