we are the masters of our own domain, we raise the walls, we setup the defenses, and yet we may be betrayed by our own voices and impulses, maybe this tale is true, men lying in wait inside a glorious now notorious gift, or perhaps it is one of the greatest metaphors of all, troy did not welcome the horse with open arms, so I’m told, or so is written, there were voices of dissent, and those who chose not to listen, so we are troy, perhaps easily repelling an overt invasion, but persuasion, the soft penetration of sophistry, seduction, the art of deception so you hang on your own noose, sounds preposterous, and so it is, on the face, but how many of our proclivities may overrun, maybe they do not open the gates all at once and let the enemy pounce on sudden corpse, but more like insipid poison, gladly taken in with wine filled glass-fulls, glad gulps of our own demise, all in the name of feast and compromise, for are we not beasts that reside in the cultivated fields of temptation, so far removed from plains and migrations, somewhere that lurks, we are not a patchwork of circuits, flesh and blood, no matter what we may think or elevate above the other species, flesh and blood begets the same, as virgil says (or so quoted) “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes” translated to: ‘I fear greeks, even those bearing gifts’, for greeks are merely the name of that day for the malady lying at their own feet, for many years I have always thought of the story as a great tale of war and beware, but more these days I fear I may have written this chapter on my own lair many a time, eager to hold up a trophy minor victory or none, hold my name up to the sun, or worse boast to fly closer like an icarus run, this all seems so clear, so obvious now, how fallible and foolable this form can be, me, how can I be my brother’s keeper with my own loose gate, so maybe that is the avatar, the symbol, the meme to remind me of fate, a hollow horse or not so hollow horse, to keep me on course and remember that I control the comings and goings of my castle, there is the one enemy out there that will surely flatten my walls, pierce my defenses, steal, no silence my last breath, witness as death plows this whole effort under the ground, but until then, I shall think of the trojan horse and question what I let happen within my own domain as to maximize the health of my inner hearth, heart, sanctum and mind.

notes… and you thought there wasn’t a thrash version of the Beatles classic “Eleanor Rigby”, silly rabbit, thrash is for kids…