As I walk through the streets, I see a strange world. I draw it all on graph paper. Every stroke is an effort. Thousands of them come together to produce all this foolishiness. I can't get the look I want, even though thousands of images rush through my mind.
I miss having some imaginary facial espression that will carry me right through all those little two-dimensional squares.
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The Son of Baphomet
Fissures of the Breeze
Red Swath
Secret Reflections
The Voice of Deceit
Golden Kabala
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