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 - 04.02.2002 +
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hollow hollow man. sit and careen with us as we procrastinate by doting on
ourselves. here we hold elderly principles in a sad, decaying prosthesis. this
is not the saddest, of course, for we are not the limpid and dying ones.

so we say to convince ourselves.

so we say, he says. disavow the rumors. we drag this prosthesis behind us,
in black, clinging mud, refusing to drop its self-evident husk. we are aware
of a molten fungal growth, revolving life, glowing and mutating into a
hyperneural mycelial network, skipping leaping into praeterhuman. oh, the 
praeterhuman: +5 vs. golems, and +3 to all saving throws. might as well break 
all the rules and call it god.

this is where we step to, five steps at a time.

oh, sure, it's all laid out before us and you and everyone else. laid out
in nice purple silken clumps traversable and reversible, as much as it is
staunch and irrevocable. but who dives into purple clumps? who has seen the
purple clumps? dive into any clump and surface with a synapse between your
teeth, long ago lost and forgotten, resurrected for a literate generation, 
every sapping one of them dragging a sad, broken prosthesis.


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