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August 4, 2011
How slaves are created from the moldy plastic at the bottom of the human beaker, precipitates following the onslaught no one can name or shape by reason of discernible logic...no source pit exists, nor the places of forgery. Monsters of mind with not a touch to be granted or sight to be revealed, squirm ever so lightly within, waiting for the cue, the moment of their earthly erection, watching minions work their nests unknowing, eager to please, eager to be seen, acknowledged, accepted by something even if that something lives unconsciously exerting the tiniest nudge, goading the slave forward.