and then the walls of sleep were awakened by the last thrust parabula to which we had peered through sunken eyes at the great magnitude. if there had been just one person in the in the entire system to have foreseen the careening cataclysm it would probably have been that limp-wristed physicyst from berkeley.
but alas, the great ending of our time catalogue in forseight by this f'n guy, pictued, his bald dome conspicuously ablaze in the noon sun.
the imprint of destiny mirrored in a celestial partner.
such a thing had already been chronicled through the ages. the ignorance echoes across millenium. we scribed nothing in response.
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