Euracyklon

[Zass !kXG.1wTBz. No.7217160]

Euracyklon;
or what one becomes under the wind.

by Zass, the unpotent one


I do not follow my own advice. In fact, I, most of the times, never act upon what I think I should. Either it is cowardice, feeblemindeness or mere indication that I am of weak willed stock. Read that as excuses for fancy words and empty talk.
Awaken then, says I. Five minutes more, all for the better, the sweetness of this bed wrought with grandest of self mutilation coupled with naivete of a young man. Young man, aye, that's me. You one too, if not, you were. If you not a man, seek the worst end of the grand rope, for no other way there is that you might understand this.
Wake later and there won't be cheap coffee. Do you not drink? Clothes another level of dirty, it seems. Where that car? Oh, mother, I am leaving. Again.
Taken on a short ride to the grand palace, I rode with my friend. A friend, they call all those that you might know a little bit, but more than often don't actually see them as such. Sentry point and I am in. Pass of mine holds an ugly picture of mine.
Spare the smell, spare the eyes, spare the soul. Spare not my hands. All dirty, as enclosed by green armor through my own agency. Ah, the preparation is but the sweetest part of it all. No dirtiness still covers me. It is hard to be me. I bear the greatest of all burdens. I am John the Baptist. I am apostle of this coffin.
As enter, there but dark cobblestone and all for the better, none of the wetness. Through wand of mine, light arise. 'Fiat', says I.