Sunday, May 3, 2009

Soul aether poetry

In earnestly overdesigned, Randian, dystopic cities, ego depletes and the soul bleeds aether, one Merchant-of-Venetian fleshpound at a time. A giant gascloud of fecundity rarefies, almost imperceptibly, and the very creatability of comparative-comparative-history, that great recursive weapon of ideological warfare, set to take root in c. 3500 CE, stands threatened.