headaches from a lack of rested eyes, but at least the chill jams be rollin'. and goin' close to thirty-six this round. closer to insanity than my own long dark, long gone, long vicious stares lost to souls woes. what feels like death-throws pressed from the mind of the Great Lord. and i am always present with thee. to go a bit ancient, to feel a body left out too long -- words echo through distance of Nous the Supreme, of we the everywhere. echo from place without physical existence and the plethora of priests willingly waiting to corral lost souls, the endless bound and fettered. con- flating all deitys' names and the cults following. waiting to cull from pens where labels hang. priests force head hung low, hair cleared of nape. ready to free us for a Pope's feast. to bring in force a Vision Limitless, all Light changing aspect to dark- ness. Logos descending on Nature. nay; that shall be known with the pruning of reaction and of vindication. and of Nature's being? she received the Word, pronounced herself the Kosmos Beautiful.