i was seated in my garden today, reaching back into furthest depths of the mind and traversing the bloodmemory-lizardbrain barrier of my subconscious and intra-ancestral superconscious thought, when the squawking of hedge-witches cracked like black lightning across the neon blue skyline of my esoteroticismal dreamscape (i was laying with fair maidens of days past as they crooned to my ear and sang of my great victories yet to come), which shocked me back to the plane of waking.

clearly, i have once again been disturbed by some stupid bitch and her gaggle of 30-something cat piss aficionados a few towns over dabbling in junk magick, probably with a pulp print tome of numerology she bought off a dreadlocked bisexual in a soy wax candleshop.

222222? try some numbers of true power, you dumb slut.

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