largely ignored, the portions of finite comprehensibility that slither and steam through the pondscum of advanced rationalty. the crusted salesmen that crash through our windows exhausted and burdened with algorithims continue to buck and on the kitchen floor, reflected in the greased opaqueness of crematorium slipstreams.
prey for the wounded and discontinued septegenarian, celebrity intact.
let's all haunt the dimestore vatican down by the poor side of town.
"He will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldrini, the traveler came as a large and moving Torg! Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the McKetrick supplicants, they chose a new form for him: that of a giant Slor! Many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you! " - louis tulley
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