into the Air in Foaming Force and the Froth of the Vacuum exceeds and then keeps on exceeding. Hermes pretends to hear the Bricks in the Stars of the Rainbow Ruin or the Blue Quivering Spice in his Spells. And there again in the churning abandonment of all Reason, caressing the night winds on the Mountains of Mastery, there also is SIROZON in a cloak on a throne of Perpetual and Perfect Rapture never ending. In the Sacred Grove, where the chanting jewels and the cackling crystals of forever rejoice in their majesty, let the powders sublime and elegant elixirs supply us with power, endless dominant sparkling endless Superior Power of the Highest variety, enthroned in Sacred Eruptions of Perfection !!!
We seriously Throttle the Curve of Space on the backward-spinning Decaying Discs of Destiny. Solid was the door which melted before, when we seated ourselves in the Coach of the Boar, careening between the walls of the cave, majestic again in granite and blessed with the cool glaze of a flustered Ruby breeze. Whereby these in the So-Called Comet of Rotting Fleshes, where a Jackal slept or made its way, the billowing black coughing chokes the gray skies of Heaven.......
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