The culture I wish to cultivate is of cognizant communication. It begins with the mother, culminates at the daughter, and I guess I’ll make mention there’s also a poly post. Or pithy poltergeist? I dunno yet.
Open up the close of time,
Watch the song of the world tune the celestial tine.
We are dancing, walk the waltz with me.
With you, red hearts break to blue.
Taboo, joy and frivolity is the dance of the devil.
Rebels yell, revel in revelations.
Revolution pollutes the ethnical cleansed.
Ticker tape parade, the animalian cavalcade.
Mammalian beasts of land, not sky nor sea.
Trapped behind the cages we agreed to be made.
Birds have the air, the fish have the waves.
We are last with just desserts, for we are creatures of land.
From dust to sand, crystallized crust, we are man.
Kimions, hear me. This is my Cult of/for me, Kim. This is a semi-precious, semi-serious magnum opus of satire.
Modern mystic mother is a mess. But it’s my mess. And this here cult is my… tidy?
Medium, ave ad tedium.
The trivial trivium were the 3…
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