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weird American chlorine pools bespectacled thru him are we and we is he crawling o’er a hallow all-factory, page crankl’d, the cookie crambl’d. An e-aura , an energy hue helled down shouts “It’s finally my Miller time.” One long slug of dead air, wearing a yellow rubber glove. Ego-death: one dusk we’ll drudge it up from the depths, the plumb.
Peace n Blessins,
