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Monday, November 14, 2005
Substitute
A return to consciousness is in order! Prepare a banquet of powdered daggers for our parched tongues. The skin has been punctured by a thousand needles in the past hours, but where the inks start and the metal spoon concoctions end is difficult to tell, the only evidence is a tender crook.
Styrofoam nightmares filter in and out of colandered squishy matter and gutteral chants in the forms of Rag, Na, and Rok are the only things decipherable, but they sure do make for a good show.
The mind is a shotgun shell and nothing is clear. Glass cylinders with sharpened counterparts transform chaos to clarity. This return has been only temporary.
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