Justin Razor and the World

Ethics are the boundaries that define the course of my daily actions. When they're taken and considered broadly, they are indespensible, essential tools worth their weight in untarnished gold. When applied with suffocating specificity, however, they can quickly transform, shackling you to the ground, scrambling your vision hastily. Uncertainty and meekness come to define your countenance, and you become a pale, gaunt shadow of yourself, unable to operate at your full potential. We all have predelicitions towards certain perspectives and viewpoints. These invariably shape our beliefs, which in turn define the very ethics we rely on so furtively to navigate our barren world. In the words of my angelic Mother, if Im guilty of anything, it's having a big heart. Ive come to begrudgingly accept this, for it is folly to run from one's true nature. I struggled to come to terms with my inherent benevolence, because I know for a fact that Im not all good. Where others see a paladin

I am a vagabond adrift at sea, that all encompasing muse that refuses to relinquish both my freedom and my devotion. Others dream of the inability to plant roots and establish ties, waxing poetically about a freedom that stifles and secludes as much as it allows for an expansive, selfish life. This is what some covet, what I desire to an extent. There is no better catalyst for the severing of stunted friends or outgrown lovers than the harsh fact that you're leaving. However, when you meet somebody worthwhile, a muse that eases, placates, and ultimately erases your hurt, the so called blessing of unfettered living becomes a bane, a burden you no longer want to bear. She refreshes and quenches your zest for life and belief in something meaningful during the midnight dalliances you share, enfusing passion back into your heart by lifting the film of negativity corrupting your vision and allowing her glorious radiance to warm you. Do yourself a favor and stare into her sun. It won'

Life in solitary confinement is arduous and often fatal. So I've read anyway. Ive never had the privilege (?) of being locked away in such Spartan accomidations, and don't currently plan to in the future, whether in the next few months or decades. However, my love of both books and fitness, as well as my contradictorally quiet yet overt admiration for the stoic resolve and overall strength of those suffering in any kind of deprivatory condition, has caused me to educate myself on the circumstances one would experience and endure if they found themselves in such a predicament. I am a loner by nature, this I cannot deny, nor do I make any attempt to refute the contention. My entire life Ive preferred the stalwart, steady reassurance of a book to the polarizing, prying eyes of people. However, no man is an island, so the saying goes. Human beings are social creatures, and absconding from contact, whether by choice or through punishment, will eventually wear you down. Brief repri