Difference between revisions of "Jennifer Bhulher"
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There are many names for the thing. The things you named it were wrong, but the things we name it make your tongues curl in and eat themselves like snakes. We settle then for your convention, Sweetlings, for we are most distressed when you lose your wiggly mouth appendages. You have called it “spirit” or “madness,” or “poltergeist” or “demon,” it is again none of these things. You should know this. | There are many names for the thing. The things you named it were wrong, but the things we name it make your tongues curl in and eat themselves like snakes. We settle then for your convention, Sweetlings, for we are most distressed when you lose your wiggly mouth appendages. You have called it “spirit” or “madness,” or “poltergeist” or “demon,” it is again none of these things. You should know this. | ||
− | As for the female, inconsequential at first investigation. Her record is like a woven tapestry gone over by a fine tooth comb. But we saw the discrepancies, small though they were. Things that should be are not, things that are not, are, and things that are, should not be. We tickle our humming vibrations at the quandary. We see all, you see nothing. We wish you could see, Sweetling. It would make this data transfer more expedient, less prone to buggys nesting in your brain things. Read the magnum opus of damnation, the witching hour be upon us, DAMNED SPOT, DAMNED SPOT. We tell you of crows nesting at a blue-red tree. The branches are dying. We see a two faced god pull a key as | + | As for the female, inconsequential at first investigation. Her record is like a woven tapestry gone over by a fine tooth comb. But we saw the discrepancies, small though they were. Things that should be are not, things that are not, are, and things that are, should not be. We tickle our humming vibrations at the quandary. We see all, you see nothing. We wish you could see, Sweetling. It would make this data transfer more expedient, less prone to buggys nesting in your brain things. Read the magnum opus of damnation, the witching hour be upon us, DAMNED SPOT, DAMNED SPOT. We tell you of crows nesting at a blue-red tree. The branches are dying. We see a two faced god pull a key as the inky sex drips off the page and a cadaver tumbles down a rabbit hole. |
We wish you could see, Sweetling. The orgy of slime climbs the ethereal strands you vanquish, yet still you are blind to our uploads. Rest now, Sweetling. Rest and see. | We wish you could see, Sweetling. The orgy of slime climbs the ethereal strands you vanquish, yet still you are blind to our uploads. Rest now, Sweetling. Rest and see. |