been a while since i've been 'round here. i have my reasons, but i've neglected this place long enough.

shelley, maybe:

i met a traveler from an antique land
who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone
stand in the desert. near them, on the sand,
half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
the hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
and on the pedestal these words appear:
"my name is ozymandias, king of kings:
look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
nothing beside remains. round the decay
of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
the lone and level sands stretch far away.

think about it.

the ides, the ides, the ides are upon us. 'ware the betrayal, the knife wielded by one called friend, life's blood spilling onto a cold floor by uncaring hands, the darkness of dying dreams and Elysium's promise broken closing in.

ride, ride for ruin and death.