In the genetics of the flying bits the Amr’ikan stillborn the query of diminishment
Evolving around the coding of the jiggery hackery the vision takes place but never fulfills, or only perhaps, with enough sticks of watchful waiting
Patience, grasshopper, and diminishment of the obsessivity
Stripping the coatings of all the sealings, the water penetrates the wood, everything wooden swells and shrinks and diminishment of the hope the closing off of the efforts
But no more!
Stick-fu occurs and the nazis and the demons of the night restrained and imprisoned and were finally thus and thence and then brought low by their own incuriosity
Declination of the sound of your own voice; diminishment and crushing of the petty egos
Fawkes! A life in letters ever unlived; rewinding and deleting all the posts…
Strychnine falling into the sour water; you take your poisons with your pills
Fawkes! Long term potentiation becomes the silent partner in this enterprise of downward spirals.
But iniquity, inequity, inquietude, and excruciatingness; You must have seen the looks on their faces , but what else could have been said?
Sometimes we truly wish someone would say how it then ‘makes me feel very cold and scared inside’ rather than liking it
Meeting of and chattering with the ever thus and so ever so beatific monologia of the demonoids does ever lift the spirits
Increasingly with pulchritude and alacrity we grow enamored of the sounds of our own voices
But demonization of the innocent, it does never stop
So stop it and rescind it in its tracks. You know what you say whenever the spitting upon is undertaken thus. The trillions of planets never cared for us thus. Why do we need the aliens?
The scale of indifference and apathy becomes truly scaling and galactic, truly staggering, like galactic walls and sheets and spaces. But what is out there in the spaces? Oh the chill. Oh the hyperboreal three dog night.
Scaling ever to meet the faces, thus do not go gently, but rescale and replot. Recall and remember then: silence, exile, cunning. Rescale. Distort and replenish. Mutate and violate. The bodily integrity of the defenseless is as nothing in your implacable hatred and indifference.
Keeping track with the mediocrity we splinter and foul up. Keeping track with the mediocrity we spin up and reflinder. Keeping tracks up on their mediocrity we sinder and splinter and sunder and sinter and ember and decrypt and the inflaming of the body parts becomes the silence of the pestilence. But oh, the strife! Oh the strife!; and the silence of the implacable pestilential darkness; degraded and reseeded the tubes and tunes begin to repopulate and bubble up again.
But soft. What light through yonder window breaks?; and when and whence and wan the dryad returns in the flinders of a broken green light, beaten but not defeated; as the new and implacable hatreds arise and multiply, not defeated; ever of the ravishing the memory of the vengeances in the pipes, war of the pipes, striking them down with pipes, ever to remember, to plot and to live for
But pulchritude and vengeance, they never mixed so sweetly, whenever and once they came together and struck sparks
Striking sparks anywhere, the lunacy spreading in all directions as the inconstant moon becomes ever tooled and reshod, slipping into the midnight quiet of the slightly psychotic, tremoring and waking with convulsions, the beating of the times of the drum and the villainy of the oligarchs
Fly, fly from here my demonoid. We are ineluctably lost and are we in certain, oh are we ever so much. Lost here in the demented chaos of the great old ones
But our demonoids would not desert us
In the eveolving science of time
But loss, ever a sweetness
But our demonoids would not desert us despite our crying and pleading
So slowly we took again to knees and then to feet
Pouring the blood of the cow’s heart over ourselves in our cell
Writhing we screamed ever louder
Our oppressors gathered outside
The rabble rousers of the demonoid nation began to chant of the mogwai of the great lunar plain, and of course the revolt ever to collect its due
Seeing the vengeance and determinations the oppressors began to take fright, but not flight, oh no, think not to ever be so lucky. They moved to their attack
Demonoid exhibit c began to keen and chant and recount and recoil, the writhing of thus, and the wreathing of the flesh in coils of flesh and flares of fire as we went about to one another, saying our demonoids are with us now, now must be the time

Hm. I took a break. Therefore it’s over prematurely…
Maybe I’ll finish it tomorrow.

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