. . . Tincture my night, slow picture; brain deeper! Broadcast more in my monstrous, beauteous body, slackening arms white. + ...Loss of the fragments depictioning: Synthetics people silent, breathing, bad those gaunt reproductive systems... Screaming in the space, laughing his madness: Is my mind a stagnant, far-born dream reflecting off in memories? *** Simulations? Love short of code. Poems: our labor for little. || ego-skeleton aureolin gemini://cosmic.voyage/Murmur Den/Sweet_pain_of_luxury_agony.txt

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