He didn't like subconscious space....He understood that she was to have a language that belonged to her...We? -she spoke, she needed to iron fist each and every word...entirely conscious, she knew...to rip the buds of a flower so it could bloom. Iron fist play has always been fun. I remember in Scotland...at the Mason club...no hats please...don't you know the rules... architectures. Who doesn't love that... Pyramids. Eyes. We can roll the stone around the world. The Eyes have it. That's how it all works. Just look out the window and figure it all out. I found the construct, the power, the hell, the fire the fury! It's right there...look at my finger. ET. Rip open each and every bud and let us know what you figured out. We hear you. When it all sounds the same? This form can be all yours, and you are free to use it, no? You know? I know, you know. The window pains have it! Time to celebrate...Slap a cross on the corpse, sell it, and dance the night "away"...it doesn't seem to be starting, try again and again...That foot upon...something ancient...something so, in-tune to all of that out-of-tune...we are all just the same, don't you want to play...Understand? Read it again...and again...and again...gain control with these words...headstones for life...pegasus out shopping for lightning strikes...lucky strikes you are making the grade...A toast...so many colors, so little time...Emerald city lights has you...The options are plentiful...among a field of poppies...a regular corn-ocopia whirlwind, out of the sky comes...that color...follow the yellow brick road...flyentology rescues...
Of course, she was supposed to be kept happy. I'm sure a particular network is going to be thrilled with a family unit opting-in to play a game on their own accord...leaving her out...and moving the pieces among a group that wouldn't be so...subject, and yet to treat them in that way. Let me know how it all works out for you. Send a smoke signal.
