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A Buggered Wreath

A Buggered Wreath of Quartz did hold the back of power, a sway to hind, a man too few, and so came forth a Bedraggled corpse.

Supine in the midst of all chaos and brine, a reach of mirth did affect the swine. Swine have taken to the floral front, companions and compassion for the state of Now and Nowhere.

A good few men and far too few women are writing the same thing, a little verse of what may be. So say I, the eye of the world which could be. "Grow and make a great corpus for the future! The dawn of eternity is here, and y'all spoil yourselves for a sucrine moment of time, when before you lays the love of creation."

Animals: Procedural. So is the gift of Hyperion to Nyx, a couple people, a couple friends. Blossoming and growing into a gene which carries itself upon the banks of time to a procedural future, upon which the wreath of the bedraggled quartz lies. Be now not sure, be now not aware of what may be, a hope for enlightened glory, enlightened promise of that promise and privilege to be among the greatest and most important gift of Hyperion to Nyx. A true love. A true friend. A true gift from narrative to chaos.

If you're trying to fill the multiverse, and you're not willing to consider the entire creative output of humanity as a starting point, you're wasting your time.

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