Misty mountain heights too precipitous and craggy to tread. We imagine infinite possibilities and traverse the talus instead. Wandering through frost bitten landscapes the macabre gruesome of yore. Sentience breeds visions of panacea entreating us to ask for more. But enigma is a treacherous tirade and the berserker is at the door. Revulsions list toward recompense reality seems a ***** The wanton wayward gist of pith is diabolical dementia. How to accomplish bailiffβs rake while preserving in absentia. There is no more impunity for those who live with sooth. And yet our souls would long for grace and try to call it truth.