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    The Bone Collector            

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of the Nest . 

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Feeder and Protector.... 

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For a long time

Laboriously gathered

At the river's lapping edge

Memories made material of

Sacrificial bone to the altar of Greed

 

instead of need...

 

 

 

                          -  too long

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The Bones were found

as the bones found me. 

 

The omen was clear

A truth was near…  an apocalypse in the

making

 

A Balance in the breaking

 

Opens 

           a Portal through Solid. 

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“ In the depths of the damp and crumbling

concrete cavern-system

that has been my lair of the last 9 months

a Chimera Creature was gestating.... "

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" Feeding on the brown-water-polished

bones

of animals

sacrificed without restraint

to the voracious appetite of urban

humanoids. "

"Heavy bag-fulls of them I had to scavenge, devoutly from

the dirty river banks nearby

to keep it fed and satiated.

And it grew strong...

And it grew wise

and graceful.

And under one dark new moon of April, the portal-year of 2020

when the veil between the worlds was thin

 

It began to stir.... 

On the air it would learn to slither and glide preferring always

to stick to the Shadows,

for its truth was too heavy

for the Light to bare.

Soon

 

 

It will sing its song to you and tell its story.

The story of all Life

 

sacrificed to Other Life 

 

whether by its own Will or that of another... “ 

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      RrrrRrrrattleSssssSssnake Invokes Chimera....       

.

.

.

The Dragon force of undead Creatures

Bound together by 

the threads of fate 

and memory

 

A Chimera

 

Slithers out of murky waters

into the corners of your mind

unwinds…

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the rusted tendrils 

of thoughts-like flight

but long since smothered, by the might 

of a Monsto-City beyond your reach

yet absolute in its rolling might… 

Mindlessly deciding your fate  

and the fate of so many 

 

 

 

 

                          - for far too long.

.

.

.

Come Here I.jpg

 

 

̡̡̧̛̛̞̜̱̘̟͕̬̙͉͔̞̟͓͚͙̙͎̮̞̭̯̭̀̇̾̃̄̍͊̑̀̓͒̐̇̇̈̄̔͆́̃̂͘̕͘͜͝ͅ ̧̡̡̡̛͓̠͇̩̦̳̜̬̦͇͕͓͉̮̼̠͚͚͇̟͍̭͈̳̼̞͇̱͑̔̅̎͗̈́̆̐̓̌̎͆͊͗́͒̒̊̇̓́̄̅͊͑́̆̃̿͐͗̕͜͟͟͢͡͞͝ ͕͍̓̽̚ͅ ̢̡̡̻̭̝͓̦̲̼̩̺̩̮̤̖̩̹͎̣͍͓̯̋̉̀͒͒̆̄̅̇̓͋̉̾̒̑͑͌̂̊̀͛̂͘͝͡ͅͅ ̡̢̙̭͚̜͖̦͈͕̼̯̞̰͙̫̳͉͔̘̭̲͍͕̄́͐͆̀̿̊̿̓͌̂̽̓̀̆͊̐̌̿̔̕̚̕͘͜͜͡͞ ̧̡̧̨̛̛̲͖̳̯̭̱̱͕̫͖̝̜̱͍̳̭̟̭̝͈̬̣̜̰̲̮̝̙̪̖̤̲̹̱̰̯̰͕̫̮̟̙͔͈̄̒̎͊́̌̔͛́̃̐͊̓̌̍̑͆̎̀͊͒̀̏͋̿̃͊̑́̔͊̐͗́̌́̿͑͗͗́̕̚̚͠͡͠ͅ_̡̛̜̜͕̠̻͙̞̙͚̩̦̞̫̩̯̰̤͉̺̝̤͈̮̙͍͖̞͕͍̗̞̟̋̉̀̎̽̌̿̈̐̇̔̈̿̐̈́̇̽͋̐̓̐̓͒́͆̾̋́̆͒̈́̿͘̕̚͢͜͞ͅͅ_̡̡̛̛̗̪̖̫̩̮̞̹̖͓͕͓̰̤͍̖̟̹̖̟̗̯̥͚͉̜̼͔̖͈͎͓̼̘̃͗̍̀̑͛̇͌͐́̏̈́͋̄̊͋̿́͗̇̀̊͌̈̓͌̏̽̋͛̽̏̇́͘͟͟͟͞͞͡͝ͅͅ_̧̝̠̹͉̺̠̮̫̼̘͈̠̙̜̲̙̥̬̖̟̠͖̞͇̩̤̰̗̞͔͕͈̞͖̘̹̮̮͓̲̄̍̎̊̓́̈́͌̋͊͗̎̿͋̀̃̓̏̽͛̄͂̔͑̍͒͌̉̆̉̋͐̓͌̂̒͛̑̇̾͐͘̚͢ͅ_̡͎̗̦͉̳̠̳̳̺͎̀̍́̆̿̇͋̍̌̊̕_̹̣̞̼͍͈͋̓̾̈́͠͞_̡̨̧̯̘͚̖̘̣̞̟̠̟͈͚̠̺̝̯̤̺͎̙̲͚̰̤̬͎̰͎̱̥̐́͗͛̏͛͗̍͂̓̑̆̿̀̍̉̍͗͂̎͒͑́̋̐̆̎̔̇͊̓̂̀͑̕̕͜͟͟͞ͅ_̧̛̟̱̫͉͉̜̫͎̟̞̪͔͈̤͚̼̟̠̞͙̦̖̲̫͇̿́͊̈́̄̀̒͒̀̐̈́̅̃̐̒̐̾̌̊̈̄͗̓̂̀͘̕͢͢͢͠_̧̨̛̛̳̗̟͇͍͍̹͈̭̲̖̟͖̈́̓̈̊̃̀͋́͆́̓͗̄̕̚̕͟͢͞ͅͅ_̢̡̢̡̧̛̥͍̹̖̜̝̤̝̫͕̱̺̖̜̖̰̺̪̠̮̠̩͎̬̯͎͇̬̟̲̠̳̫̫̮̰̦͙͛͌͐̂́̑͛̄̅͑̑̑̒͐̋̀͐̀̆͛͑͊͗́͐̋͋̀̊͌̌̆̀̅̽̈̑͋͑̽̚͢͜͜͠͞͞͠͞͡ͅͅĄ̨̮̤̠͔̭͉̱̱̲̥̙͎͍̈͒͌̌͑̄̂̃̓̈̀̕͡͠͡ ̢̧̧̧̛͕͇̮̗̘̬̥̳̯͚͉̯̫̣̫̼̼̑͑͊̊̐͑̍̄̄̍̀̏̿̈́͂͆͘͘̕͟͝͡ ̢̡̧̡̨̺̹̫͎͍͉̫̺̦̺̠̲͙̥̬͎͇̖̹̲̳̭͎̯̫̗͍͚̦͇̱̻̪̰͚̈̂̽̋̂̇̎̽̓͗͑̈̄̏̾̂͂̋͑̎͒͛̇̅̊͌̑́͗͊͆̈͋̎̆̅̒̌̕͘̕̕̕͟͟͢͜͟͞͡C̡̨̢̡̡̛̛̗̺̳̳͚̘̮̟̘̺͚͈͔̪͕̫̜͇̜͚͎̪̗͖̣̭̲̘̮͇̟̝̹̠̗̰͚̹̺̘̞͎̖̬͗͛̀̂̆̅͌͑͒̅́̈̈͂͑̀̆̂̀̏̆̊̈́̈̽̉͋̇̒̍̄͑͌̍̐̆̀̀̑͒͂̇͊̚͘̕͟͢͜͝͞͡͝͡ͅō̡̦̩͉̮̰̞̗̝͙̟̞̭̥͚͎̪̟͎̲͍̝̱͍̭̩̗̠͉̣̘͖͚̮̱͖͎̲̼̖͉̪͙̒́̀͌̾̈́̽͛̌͛̇͋̋̿̒̊̒̉͌̓̔̇̀̑́̽̈́͗̈́̓̒͛̋͋̋̃͂̀́͋̂̔͘̚͟͜͜͜͟͟͞͝͝͞͝͞ͅͅͅn̨̖͔̹͈̗͚̠͈̗̬̪̹͖̥͒͌̎̄̅͂́̑͑̀͋̐̈́͘͞S̙̩̻̑̿͊ě͙̥͕̬̥͔̖͓͙̖̙̙̘̫͈͋͂̃́̈́͆̑͌̋͐̓͑͘͢͡͞C̙̻͓̺̹̥̻̟͔͕̫̥̈́̀̋́̄̏́̐̏̌̊̉͟͡ṙ̡̡̛͎̞̦͚̫̘̻͕̻͖̪̙͈̹̪̠̮̯̯̤̠͓̐͌̎̓́̈̊̄̒́̔̈̈̄̀́̾̈̃̕̚͜͢͞͡͡͡͡ͅͅa̢̨͚͙͍͉͕͎͔̭̰͙̫̻̤̱͎͛̊̂̏̈́̿͐̿̍̐̓̆͐̚̚̕͢͜͡͠͞͝ͅT̡̛͎͕̰̺̟͉̯̯̫̟̹̗̩̑̓͌̌͌͛̆̆̿͒̎͞͠ĭ̧̨̡̛̘̯̩̻̱͎̦̥̪͎̩͍͓͇̤̳̭̗̝͇̤̙͚̪͉͇͙̭̘̪̯̜̘͍͕̦̼̤̠͎̠̮̗̪͎͌͂͋̔̓̑̓͛̌̀̽͒͆͋̀͋̿͋͛̀̆̾͒͐͑̄̐̈̂̔̎̍̈̉͋̎͗̏̍̑̅̿̚̕̕̚̚͜͟͞͝͞ͅͅȍ̢̢̧̨̨̪̠̺̝̰̟̞̦̠͙͔̜̪͚͉̦̙̯̝͔̰͙̼͓͕͉̟̭͎̞͖̝͕̗͍̟̥̺͙̳̺͕̝͇̦̓̇̒̋̃̿̓̏̓̏̔̓̏̈́̍̐̉̌͛̅̋̐́̽̀̈͐̓̉̽͐̈͊͗̎̽̃͒̌̿̎͆̒̕̕̕̕̚͢͟͜͢͟͞͝͝͝͠͝͡ͅn̨͕̫͕͇̹̰͇̺̻̤̪̹̤̱̥̤̬̗͓̖͇̱̝̫̥͔̞̪̱͍͎̘͗͊̓̆͂̈́͒́͐̈́̅̓̓̋̏̓͌́́̍́͆͒͋̂͐̕͘̚͝͝͠͡ ̧̡̧̡̛̫̟̙̻̳͎̤̯̫̲̺̘̗̬͖̠͓͕͕͍̙̰͇̪̥͎̮̠̬̱̟̺͙̎̏͊̀̒̀̐͆͂̄͛̍̉̐̅̐̾̍̐̇̈́̔͋̐̊̊͛̈́̂͘͘̕͘̚̚͘͟͜͢͟͝͝͞͞ ̧̧̛̻̹̭̪̻̮̹̗͕͙̪͎͔̟̞̻̩̞̣̣͔̗͓̙̬͉̰̤̗̠̰̈́̌̃͐͗̄́̍̓͌̌͐͌͌͗̿̃̓̂̋̔̊̊̆̃̓̀̈̏̕̚͘͜͟͝͞͠ͅ ̘̙̹̼̝̫̘̳͇̻̝̝̖̖͍͙͎͎͓̄̏̄̽̏̊̓͋̅̄͂̿̽̇̑̆̋̕̚̚͢͟͞͡ͅ ̢̨͍͍̣̜̘̙̬͚̭̠͖͖̙͓̎́̿̽̓̿̊̉̈̂̅̀̾́̉͢͠͞ ̢̡̡̨̡̨̨̨̛̖͕̱̳̙̞͙̲͕̻̜͓̯̬͙̗̪̗͓̞̬̝̝̩̱̼͕̯̫̬̦͓̘͉̫̩̥͖̙͇̦́̀̃́͌̈͐̋͋͛̀̓́̃̑̏͊̌͌͛̃̌̀̈́̔̓͑̍̂̄̎̔̉͗̋̔̌̄̽̔̿̇͂̕̚̚̚͟͢͢͝͝͡͞͡ͅ ̨̡̡̢̛̬͍͚̥̮͓̞͎̥̙̗̺͕̜͖̱̠̙̽̏͌͑̐̎̔́͗̒̾̏̿̏̌̐̅̌̓̊̀̈̕͢ͅ ̧̡͎̣̗̘̣̖̙̰̩̻̬͇͎̖̹̣͎̖͖̟̮͇̊̈́͗͑̅̂̔͆́̈́̔́͊͑̅̄̀͑̍͛̆̒͑͆͘͜ ͎̰̦͑̈̀ ͔̿ ̳̃ ̨̪͉͖̲̼̑̏̓̆̍͘ ̖̝̮̝͍͑̑͑̍̃ ͙́

When you stare Death in the face...  

                                                                                                    it too,

                                           will stare back...

                                                                                  at  you.

The seed and wisdom of the blade is planted in Us

 

 

Boney feet hanging over

the souls of those that ate

Voraciously their fleshy bodies...

 

A summoning

of warning-wish

emerging from the waters then

Now roaming the corners of minds

Relentlessly seeking

An opening through which to enter...

A patch of ripened ground

To lay its seed

of ruthless wisdom:

 

"May you one day turn

the butcher's knife against

Your greed" - they speak

 

And those who listen

Who turn curses into boons

Will be the last ones standing...

 

With blades glinting

In the light

Of an ageing star

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A mitosis is starting....

.... a flicker in the dark.

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BiCameraL Mind, Through the Looking Glas

 The  BiCameraL Mind,  peering through the Looking Glass 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    . 

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