Among men, I find different psyches. Some men are angry at life. I suffer them. Rage can be a springboard. Others are eternally optimistic. They are of good lineage. But sometimes I run into men who haunt me long after their exit. Men who, worn by successive loss, just gave up.

No ember left to ignite. The ink of apathy is in their eyes. They won't look you in the face. In their walk, with fallen shoulders. In their stomachs, extended & creased. They're not angry. They are not happy. They are not sad. They simply stopped trying. It makes me very sad.

How do you inspire a man who stopped feeling? Anger you can manipulate, what of apathy? They'll accept all indignities thrown at them. Readily. For a meal. But only because they must eat, as they await death. They eat for the same reason a death-row convict eats. As a sufferance

It's sad to see a man like that. To see kids turn him into a playmate & ultimately their punching bag. To see his society make a maid of him. To be sent around on little errands. For a coin, or meal. Insanity is better. At least then, he won't have to face his dignity & soul.

I hope men never stop dreaming - hoping. Because that is the lightbulb of life. Be it anger, passion, or rage: man must take care to feel. Without that he falls into an abyss of deep, dark apathy he might never recover from. All I saw in those eyes was death. Steel-cold death.