When I write beautiful things, it grates the men because they lack integrated femininity, and when I write ruthless things, it grates the women, because they lack integrated masculinity.

What each is grated by, intolerant to, disdains and rejects is what they most require.

Truth then is poetic, for it is through paradox as revelation that we separate the wheat from the chaff.

And the overwhelming majority are chaff. Not worthless or inhuman, no, nothing so crude, but structurally lesser in the deepest spiritual sense.

Truth is the master principle. There is nothing stronger than it. If I am a slave to it, and you are not - I will always defeat you. Truth is my God, because God is truth and so by surrendering myself to truth, I have aligned myself with the divine.

Can you say the same?

You can either bear truth with gritted teeth, or you can't.

You can either fall in love with it as beauty, or not.

Only those who learn to love it regardless of its content are fit to be the masters of this world.

Only those who prioritise truth above all else can drag us out of the muck, bring order to chaos and inject a little chaos into order - to give volition and forward momentum through coherence of movement without sterility of rigidity.

Only those who are slaves to truth can be the masters of this domain. All else are the prisoners of their wildest fantasies, fantasies rendered impotent by their inability to realise them, because the truths that would take them to them, are not visible to them as some deep part of them rejects it - ensuring it remains unseen, out of reach.