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11:56 p.m. 2005-09-10

Is it sin to pity the devil his role in all of this? Intangible image of the fallen angel with charred wings haunting, consuming and literally etched in the walls. And this one lives in a world where images and haunts are perpetual.
So you wrote me a letter, so what? There was no enlightenment there, no illustration of faith or illumination of a place for me in your life. Do you want me there or not? Fuck you, I won't wait around to find out... it could have been beautiful kid but you're too scared to want it.
And I don't even know what these choices are, the ones you're so unsure of.
Astral physics, the combination of scent and fusion ravaging science in the sky above. The reanimated remains of philosophies doomed through repetition and stagnation. Revolutions of faith and the frequent reoccurence of a broken shadow. Spectre hobbling through stilted shores, slitting the cobblestones beneath angular appendages. Slithering emotional demonology, a twisting morphology of transcendant belief into something vile. A littering of tongues on the roadway of the communique, the messenger of alien commendations. Executing the revenant in celestial trappings reminisceient of the supernatural. Upon the field in early morning the fog was born of a dirge and a prayer the complex arrangement of stuttering corpses above flagstones and gravemarkers the battlefield is a ruination and a diagram. Rise.

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly