The Trek Manhood, I used to believe, was lonely, an isolated trek through the rough edges of an uncaring, dispassionate world. Yet, as I've told my cohorts, I've realized that all of this pain is a blessing, a godsend. It is immolation, reincarnation of the highest order, a ruthless shedding of dead skin and putrid flesh, plucking shriveled feathers that have waned in their vitality and pallor. Those I've lost, and will lose as my journey towards the realization of my highest self continues, were weak and fated to die, unworthy of walking beside me through the unforgiving wastes of this world. Those that have found me, and seek me, are my chosen tribe, bound by ideology and adherence to personal perfection, physically, mentally, spiritually and temporally. Blood has proven to congeal in the veins of the blinded, while sweat has formed bonds of love and devotion, whether captured by a patch on the back of a kutte or gi's stained with the collecti...