The content within these halls is of an adult nature—intimate, unfiltered, and unapologetically human.
Only those of rightful age (18+ in most locations) may proceed beyond this point.
By entering, you acknowledge that what you witness here is of your own choosing, and the weight of that choice rests upon no shoulders but your own. Curiosity, once awakened, cannot be unlearned. Consider yourself duly warned.
Welcome, traveler. You stand at the threshold of a domain not meant for the timid or the tamed.
Here, shadows are not to be feared—they are to be understood. For within them dwell the fragments of truth your teachers dared not name.
This platform explores the unholy trinity of existence—flesh, spirit, and mind—each intertwined in sacred rebellion. You will encounter discussions of intimacy, intoxication, and the dark art of self-honesty: the forbidden sacraments of shadow work. These are not vulgarities of the body but revelations of the soul.
Ah, but rumors… yes, they swirl about like incense in a crypt. Some claim encounters with my wife and me—stories so colorful they would shame a carnival barker. We shall not deny them. Nor shall we confirm them. Instead, we add a few whispers of our own, just to see who dares to think instead of gossip. The curious and the cowardly both feed the rumor mill—but only one learns from it.
There are those who say I was military, or a man of law. I was raised among soldiers, yes—men who learned that loyalty often wears a mask. I’ve seen what passes for diplomacy: a smile concealing a dagger. And as for law enforcement… let us say that I respect the spirit of justice far more than the letter of law. Were I bound to enforce every foolish decree, I’d have to arrest half the human race before breakfast.
Others whisper that my wife once danced upon a stage beneath red light. She laughs, as do I. Whether it’s true or not is none of your concern. Mystery, after all, is sacred. It sharpens the mind, tempers the ego, and reveals the curious heart from the judgmental tongue.
Nothing you encounter here is meant as law, prescription, or salvation. Some passages are metaphor, others confession, and some—provocation. For truth does not arrive in comfort; it arrives like thunder through a stained-glass window.
No one is coming to rescue you. Not God, not angel, not savior. The path is yours alone to walk, and the demons you meet will bear your reflection. Yet if you persist—if you dare to face yourself without disguise—you may discover that hell was never a place, but a state of ignorance.
Question everything. Especially that which you most want to believe.
This is our chronicle, not your creed.
Viewer discretion, personal responsibility, and intellectual courage are not merely advised—they are demanded.
My wife and I are not mystics of blind faith nor disciples of convenient delusion.
We are observers—pattern-seekers—students of systems both sacred and profane.
We have watched the gears of religion grind reason into dust and the laws of men twist morality into a circus act for the powerful.
From the pulpits of prosperity to the gilded stages of fundamentalism, we’ve seen how dogma becomes doctrine, and doctrine becomes control.
The Western Evangelical machine, the Word of Faith empire, the Prosperity Gospel spectacle—they promise heaven while selling fear at full price.
We do not bow to such theater. We dismantle it—piece by piece, word by word.
After decades of being told to “be the better person,” I realized that silence is not virtue—it’s consent.
My voice is not quiet, nor polite, nor particularly reverent anymore. It was never meant to be.
I speak because too many have chosen the comfort of obedience over the courage of observation.
The time for whispering has passed; the world needs more heretics with microphones.
Do I call for help when a situation can be handled personally?
No. Unless the building’s burning or someone’s bleeding out, I handle it myself.
Call it cynicism if you wish, but experience taught me that the local cavalry rarely arrives when it matters.
Once—just once—they did. And for the briefest moment, I saw what I’d almost forgotten existed beneath the uniform: their humanity.
Our instinct to seek patterns isn’t superstition—it’s survival.
Some might call it overthinking; I call it decoding.
Perhaps it’s the mark of what doctors might label “high-functioning” behavior.
I call it an evolutionary advantage—an attunement to the hidden architecture of manipulation that keeps good people docile.
We are not anarchists, nor saints, nor saviors.
We are simply done pretending that corruption smells like incense.
And if diplomacy fails—as it often does—then yes, we act.
But never in cruelty. Only in defense of honor, liberty, life, home and peaceful coexistence.
When our voices go unheeded, then we take matters into our own hands. Never with the intent to cause harm, but to make a clear stand:
We're Not Doormats
The line between peace and war is drawn not in blood, but in conscience.