A True Story: Twenty Years and Plowing into Eternity

Up to this point, everything I did was for my own narcissism and all attempts to easy my hopeless, dark, hell-bent state were a failure. No matter how I tried to numb the pain and bring light into my life, I was unable. My prison chains were real, forged of a damning, deceitful, and disturbing kind of steel. These binding serrated bars and chain-links of death were unable to be lifted and left me most inescapable. I was powerless, and none of my works, even my very best ones, nor any of my uses of self-help, could rescue.

Nothing Else Will Do

When personal works are but filth; when entertainment no longer numbs; when self-righteousness and the pride of life are shown for the powerless vanity that they are; when man cannot give comfort to the soul - O' what a place, O' what a sweet place raw reality.