I arose from the clan of Shoeless Lou and the Sheffield Cream Queen, two rogue warriors who refused to follow the script. They shed the skins assigned to them by their parents and stayed true to their convictions, doing everything they believed would secure a better life for themselves and their children.

To me, they were gods, Zeus and Hera in a fairy tale of their own making. A story told without contrast, a subjective truth passed down like gospel.

They gave us everything they had to give, except what they didn’t have.
They came from the prehistoric land of the Illusion of Safety, where value and security were earned from the outside in. Society dictated the suits they wore: ill fitting, constricting, dehumanizing. Their self centered, socially constructed identities were built on foundations that had never been seen, served, or held. They had only ever been judged, measured by false standards set by a world afraid of its own reflection.

Eventually, they came to believe those stories were true:
That they were separate from nature.
That they were alone.

It was an operating system forged in fear.
Its only goal: survival.
And in protecting itself, it sold the real for fake and trapped them inside prisons of their own minds.

The body and mind split.
The terrified caveman took control.
And man became opposed to himself,
Locked in a war between his true nature
And the mask he was told to wear.