I heard of a shamaness who cures dogma lays off documents on the coast of her ******, swings her liberty torch! and puts on a red cloth. Her *******, like speechless fragile animals Eyes like poison wells across the grand brows and her smell wrapped in a burnt sleep for ten thousand years. She cures dogma!
I smoke too much I dream of an explosion of the silver forests and I want to fall as beautifully as the ballads tell, I have held my breath and now I'm entering the coast of her ******...
The N.V.'ll only **** you if you're a curious cat.
Your Tech-Age Völva Onliest Healer Avant-garde Seeress & Upping the Ante Once under my Wing --a Sui Generis sorta catalyst
But take note, I'm only here for your healing ---and occasionally to quench the thirst for all types of Second Sight weaving, seething, and any and all other appealing witchy hype
And this niche in the Craft Contingently consecrates --you know. when it rains, it pours-- the Superseding of Spirit;
Under the Utopia of Unorthodox Psychotomimetic Wonders enthralled by your scintillating mishap to wander Gracefully falling face-first into The Empath's Curse in other words, to come to terms with Sonder
Dyed in the wool lies the Fluorescent & Incanting Sparks of the out-of-place-even-for-you outre wanders
To me though, It's vividly violent & evincing Capitulated roars, Sequestered howls,
Once Upon a Time the proud growls morphed to crying whines 'Carpe Omnis Scintilla' In Perpetuum, to no avail.
Your Sui Generis Hedge-Rider Call me Selaecios N.V. or Selcaeia, if you like the sting of serpentine strides
I'll proudly continue to uphold this chaotically labile path as it's my Labyrinthine Rite