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Grim Weeper
Rip a strip of wet pillow, stick it in an empty beer bottle. Light the end on fire but nothing seems to happen. An allegory of my life, they call me the molotov floptail. As my flame it will not light, inspiration feeling frail. My canvas remains blanc; white. A blend of nought and pale…
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mage de la métaphysique

anyone you see who seem to be spittin fires, comes along accompainied by the flaming choir. every instrument up in flames now all that the remains means to us is but another sacred day…
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Fantanlantis

There exists, out there, a desperate wish. For man to return to the realm of fish. Atlantis beckons and it calls forwards throughout time…