Welcome to Bluesky-Bullhead, a place where the classical world is given a chance to critique our society as it is at the dawn of the 21st Century, among other things. I am your host, Pierrot le Fou, it is among my duties to look down my nose at you and pretend that any mistakes I may have made in citing or paraphrasing are eithertoo far below me to warrant the slightest inconvenience, possibly just meant to trick you fools, or even enlighten you into whatever other meanings you may find. Notice the picture at right, that was from some 1950 odd years ago, I recall being on my way to Damascus to persecute some Christians when their god - what nerve! struck me blind and spoke to me, informing the path I would take for the rest of my life, even possessing the gumption to change the name my parents had given me! I went along with it somewhat grudgingly for a few decades until I was crucified. Then a millenia and a half later this Italian fellow decides to paint the whole scene, and leaves me lying in the light of this divinity, struck off my horse, surrounded by darkness. Let me set the record straight - yes I was blinded, but I maintain past my dying day that it was merely the reflection of the noonday sun off of the polished iron armour of the centurion in front of me. And as for being knocked to the ground by the holy spirit, well, our saddles didn't have any stirrups you see and I rather was distracted by the sun and at the same moment a bee stung me in a very sensitive area having forgotten to wear anything under my toga and tunica...