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March 9, 2011
The tired, red momentum has gathered to an ascending pitch belying the inevitable crash. Aside from the telling glances sideways after gorging on small deaths, revealing its innermost panic, its creativity, impressing only its own desire for survival, not the opposing avatars of construction, strides forth from the murk to arouse inspiration for the impending assault. The ageless ingenuity, not to be outdone, digs deep its welling gloom, searches lovingly for the instrument of death most likely to be effective; listening to the taught silence across enemy lines, no movement betrays nor cry of disdain nor feeling in its heart.