Sunday, March 14, 2010

Listen here, you living. You progress. You people of revolution. Know thy reaper! He comes not on a pale horse. He carries not a sickle. And he wears not a black hood. He plays not chess for goodness sake! The reaper is an old foreign woman shrouded in ninety-nine blankets. She wears no shoes. She can be seen crossing bridges at inconceivably slow speeds. the same frozen expression on her face no matter how hot or cold the weather may be. She is an apparition. An eidolon. And she sees not the world you and I do. She inhabits a subset. A compartment of reality in the form of a frozen tundra. And she can only project her image to take the wasted lives from the nothingness whence they came. Cut the fat. Heed this warning, oh good people. For today she comes for you. And she's mightily pissed off. As she should be.

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