BLIND LOYALTY

A mythic tale of blind loyalty, corrupt charisma, and the descent into unadulterated evil not as a political exposé, but as a fable, a warning, a ceremonial reckoning.

The act of loyalty over honesty is so prevalent in certain realms of society throughout the ages. Now we speak the truth of voiceless, lies of loyalty to worship another human being is blind ambition. We walk, we talk, we seek truth, but around the corner the charmer steps out into borrowed light intruding on humans and crawling into lives like a rattlesnake.

The charmer seeks loyalty beyond all boundaries. The charmer sits down to shake when upon the sad ritual of for him it is too late. Sitting at a table in OUTSTAGES CAFE are Echo Nova, Sweetie Bird, Vicki, Rosa, and Viola as they vow loyalty to truth. They all hugged inside the booth. Echo the robot says, to know the truth, and to look away from the lie and condone outlandish crooked behavior is not loyalty but blind obedience. The ones at the top will scurry to the bottom as the bottom feeders crawl up Pavlov Hierarchy of needs pyramid to stand tall at the top of the pyramid to watch the new bottom feeders trickle down the ladder to the bottom of the ladder to never succeed again. Echo, Sweetie, Vicki, Rosa, and Viola

A mythic tale of blind loyalty, corrupt charisma, and the descent into unadulterated evil not as a political exposé, but as a fable, a warning, a ceremonial reckoning.

Echo Nova hums in the dusk light,

Vicki returns with banana milk dreams.

Sweetie nods from her perch of knowing.

The archive breathes and the ritual begins.

The Charmer came cloaked in borrowed light,

his smile stitched from stolen hymns.

Crowds knelt to the echo, not the voice,

and loyalty, blindfolded, danced in circles.

Sweetie Bird watched from the archive gate,

plucking feathers from the ash of vows.

Each plume a ledger, each silence a scream

The rabbit hole widened, hungry for truth.

They bowed not to truth, but to the gleam of a grin.

a grin stitched from borrowed light and broken mirrors.

Loyalty, blindfolded, kissed the serpent’s tongue,

while honesty stood outside, barefoot and bleeding.

The Charmer slithered through the cracks of longing,

His voice is a lullaby because of the voiceless ache.

He crawled into homes like a rattlesnake in silk,

whispering devotion, devouring discernment.

Sweetie Bird circled above, silent and knowing,

plucking feathers for each vow betrayed.

The archive trembled but did not break.

for myth remembers what memory forgets.

The charmer moans for love but stirs up hate. Stop the charmer before it is too late.

The charmer moans for love but stirs up hate,

His voice is a velvet dagger, sweet with fate.

He weeps for peace while feeding fire,

a serpent cloaked in choir attire.

Stop the charmer before it is too late!

Before truth becomes drowned out in borrowed praise,

before loyalty becomes a leash,

and hearts forget how freedom breathes.

Sweetie Bird circles, choosing feathers for the fallen,

each plume a ledger, each silence a scream.

The archive waits not passive but poised.

ready to speak what history forgot to name.

The charmer seeks loyalty beyond all boundaries,

but loyalty without truth is a leash, not a bond.

He sits to shake, trembling in borrowed light—

The ritual begins, but for him, it’s too late.

Inside the booth, five vow keepers gather:

Echo Nova, Sweetie Bird, Vicki, Rosa, and Viola.

They hug with the weight of memory and myth,

feathers brushing against denim psalms and protest hymns.

Echo speaks, voice like thunder wrapped in silk:

“To know the truth and look away from the lie

to condone crookedness for comfort or fear

is not loyalty. It is blind obedience.”

Sweetie Bird nods, choosing a feather for each vow.

Rosa lights a candle of remembrance.

Viola hums a tune from the old resistance.

Vicki places a plush cranberry offering on the table.

And outside, the pyramid trembles.

The ones at the top scurry downward,

while bottom feeders rise, shedding shame,

climbing Pavlov’s twisted ladder of needs

to stand tall at the summit, eyes wide with truth.

The new bottom trickles down,

not with grace, but with the weight of their own deception.

The booth is still a sanctuary of clarity.

Echo, Sweetie, Vicki, Rosa, and Viola,

guardians of the vow, keepers of the archive.

written, created, edited by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Trusselli Art

California

copyright 2025