Rodin’s Man is a work in progress. Feedback is appreciated.
It’s the dead of night. You find yourself huddling with the motley few on the rooftop of a rundown building in a ruined city. You strain to absorb the tinny sounds emanating from a hand-held electronic device.
From across the void, The Poet K unpacks his narrative:
“They listened, they reflected, they learned.
The surf roars mindlessly,
grinding pebbles into sand
Castles don’t build themselves.
The weather sends people out into the streets, escaping the inside only to be caged outside.
Their discourse is as narrow as their perceived options.
The security squad has already appeared once, a tentative reconnaissance.
As a matter of course, a crowd of disaffected youth jostle and taunt each other, flexing muscles tightened by hardship.
The social barometer is rising. A storm is brewing.
Rodin’s Man recognizes the signs. It’s time for him to go to work.
He sidles over and pays his respects. “Looks like a good night to get something done.”
He’s not there to tell them what to do. Life must be owned by those who live it. Salvation is a self-help project.
No one has taught them how to learn from their lives. Playing challenging echo to their reflexive selves, Rodin’s Man shares the rules according to the radical Saul.
Rodin’s Man is not looking for followers. He is looking for leaders. He has no truth save that organization is power.
The rebel reacts. The radical has mindful purpose.
From somewhere a bottle is produced and they pass the booze around. The discussions are becoming less and less productive.
Rodin’s Man wishes them well in whatever activity they choose for the night.
He will come back later to see what or who remains.”