I have written all. Images-grinder concerning an air of using typical wordage, unreal pictures conveyed, an ozone of saphire heard. Of a quenching? What exactly? I am from the planet Mars, usual lineage of a hopping Creator-Class #53413. Heaven and hell only hated each other, mayhap that refuse-shit strain be isolated and forgotten. Who goes falling off his horse after that cute fella standing, repent or be saved, be onan-happy. Judy in her falling grace, of a Martian Sea, the grind into Lore, enacted on the Plains of Orgsla. Phouda-Gaudha!