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6:47 p.m. 2005-09-18

Contrivance and circular calamity on the ridge in the Outlyers a concentrated burst of human futiltiy. The Prophet's eyes averted to stars and skyward celestial abstractions of a maker unknown. Left to me the task set down by fate and the occurences set in linear pattern over timecourse and travel. I am the S.O.S, a last call a final hope for the crowing and the revenant a revision of the storybook, the author of fairtale creating truth from grim fiction dictated by His Eyes in the silence of the void. Contrived to sway the balance the Prophet threw the game and the Sendor is projecting processed desires for outcomes into the fray. In spacetide I seek, abhorrance of His disinterest and His influence the virus put forth to cast them out. I will set this right in accordance with the tale interpreted by the stars through His Eyes in the final phantasm before the darkness set fire to scripts. Let them bleed let them die they are the mortals and the reborn deviations, let them dye the chalky ground of this Outlyer crimson and it will not matter. The Prophets eyes are turned away and I will gaze unwavering upon the Crowing and the Aspect, the faith undettered and the eventual outcome is consequently inevitable. I am last call and I will set it right in the disturbances of space. The Script will play itselt out.

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly