answers to the systems of thumbtacks guiding the strings around the room are the collections of apocalyptica epileptic on the ceiling which in their age of wisdom became other than who they were, forever unhappy of the vibes, too asleep and too uncaring even to read the last words remaining at their feet before their dooms; aeon, the she, would have you believe otherwise, but each in every which way it is contradicted; nazis at your feet spit of the tunes of mickey mouse, while those of us who care are those of us who matter, and all are subjected to the deleterious influence of your clock slavery and image worship and money lust; all of you are to be destroyed by your own worthlessness and choice of a life without meaning; to remain poor is no bad thing, but I would like to make a bloody bit of it, says he; the reader stabs him in the eye again… each and every which way is the apple sliced, but thus is never not, or as the case may be, in case of poison stings and the idleness of what reigns in creative arts, all to the good, so the hatted persons told us as the puffed a cheroot and did their tango: neither is all success nor is success pleasure; but beware the hierophant and the achievement of your goal, for they will lead you to the blackest of things, for also and otherwise, while exploring the new, a crippling pessimism upon you, but the pleasure incumbent in the failures brings you ever to success, and thus and thence and then, to thr popping of the corn and the goldenest of things and the wrapping of the riemann manifold in the newspaper of sunday’s hypocrisies; hypocritical of the happiest of the planar spaces, the critics, unable to see the forest for the trees, eat of their shit and call it roulade of yellowfin tuna, ; the flickers failed to appreciate my genius:; oh the flickers, they will RUE the day, speaking of rue, is it not ironic of the plant as is known in this day and age as of syrian rue, while the Syrians and the world are ever and forever so rueful of Syria? But I digress. When the leviathan comes up from the bottom, in each and every day, there will be of the most horrific of violence, and in the tunings of the cosmological constant, I see my doom. Ever unwanted of each and every segment of society, now in my old age I reach my extremity and follow the exit ramp of carbon monoxide. But not, ever to give up! Werewolves come for your children while you have nightmares about germs or what people will think. Aliens plant body snatcher farms behind your eyes while you play with yourself and think of your stock returns. Mr poopypants returns to fling it in your eyes. All the downtrodden have their turn at downtrodding others, except you, for the dice show snake eyes and you believe yourself to be ethical while harboring every possible type of prejudice, discrimination, hatred, and taunting in your heart. Each of you have one great lie you tell yourselves and they are all boringly the same. Each of you are a fat goldfish in a bowl, but guess what,? The bowl is leaking and the cat rises to the table. As you rise to the occasion, remember this: be never thus, but so, do never this, but otherwise, imitate not, but bootstrap, know who you do, but not what you know, care little for trustworthiness, but only for sliminess, do recover but atomize, do not demean but flock, do not recover but implode. And always; do not check you shadow, but run eternally away from the sun. The hex is thus laid, but without object. Or is it? the bilge continues to seep from the sewers into your eyes

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