Abandoning the real for the surreal and the ur-real. Tiers and jodhpurs and nonsense nonsense nonsense. It's the post-post-ironic era, did you know that? The Age of Nonsense, and I will be your harbinger and herald. This is the Season of Spiders, Plaid Wednesday, the year I learn to love persimmons.
I leave so many bits behind, shards of odd scattered in the streets and in my wake. Try not to cut yourselves-they're bits of me, and I'm fucking sharp.
Eato mutata resurgo.
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