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Discussion in 'Ænonymous' started by dramacrat, Aug 11, 2012.
Do you want to know a secret?
Fuck you oddguy
Do you promise not to tell?
In the chronicles, it is said that in time out of memory the gods fashioned here a paradise, yet Man was ill-satisfied and sought to cultivate the lands beyond. The soil was thus enriched, yet this gave rise to differences, differences to greed, and greed to war. The gods wept and raged and cleft the land, casting men into the gaping abyss.
The strength of the earth carries us, does naught but be under all, languid, resistant, a mass against which the spirit is strained and, eventually, broken. Only the power of wind may tempt the indolent soil into action.
The earth, now called, cares for you. For you, heart-cleft, and for you alone will it open and reveal the secrets it holds.
Tales of the people speak oft of the wrathful gods visiting man with lightning, and the remorseful gods weeping the rain that follows. For this did peasants once light fires, sending smoke up to the heavens in hopes it would cause the eyes of the gods to water, irrigating their crops. Yet these fires did naught but incur once more the gods' wrath, and in a rage, they sent rainless lightning down to blast and scorch those who had offended.
How better to quell the lightning's blind rage, to still the mindless roar of her answering thunder, than by drawing a cold veil of ice around it, cold enough to freeze passion itself? So will the dark clouds part and let shine through a light as brilliant as the sun.
When the gods looked down on Man, shivering in his ignorance, they bestowed upon him the gift of fire. So did the gods give both warmth and knowledge to Man. Gradually, Man grew wiser, and made many things. Yet, when war came, he used the fire of the gods for the taking of life, and the gods became angry, scorching the world.
To prevent the ne'er-sated hunger of flame from consuming all, drink only from that water which will ne'er parch, and thereby shall it be sated.
To aid the weak, the gods sent knowledge on the winds. The winds loft the seed of flower and tree, tell of the approach of beasts, and carry the voice of an ally. But Man cut down the trees, slew the beasts, and screamed in the waste he had created. The gods sorrowed and raged, and sent a great vortex to flay the world of Man to dust.
The Wind is fickle, going where it will, brushing like maiden's hair on the cheek, bewitching men, and holding them captive. Take the wild wind, traveler, and give it virtue through fortitude of immobilizing Earth. For wind, once frozen, is a promise.
CW is that you?
This thread is gayer than Fumo's anus.
Everything you have come to believe is a convenient illusion, designed to alter your perception of the true reality which lies under the aforementioned illusions.
Kibou used to be a furfag. Look at his earlier posts. He said he was a vegan and a homosexual. His fursona was a rabbit and chinchilla.
oooooooooooooooh he's in trouble
I know this seems like something I would post. But I didn't.
this is not news.
That too is a delusion.
Look at the poor children! How they march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march and march onnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Their bleeding feet warped scales of ancient doom. Bleached bones beach, shangri-la, eden, garden of innocence, disillusionment. The eye stares at the eye. The eye stares at the eye. The eye stares at the eye. The eye stares at the eye. Shivering tongues bathe my ears in the most beautiful shit; wondrous, pliable, convincing.
Ah. A scholar. Few know this essential truth. You must look away from THAT tome. Your learning must be tempered with patience, otherwise you risk running a fever of the brain.
The sentinel burns a great visage. Unmatched by Rome or Xanadu. Most severe punishment of the modern societal complex a great judgement by wings of pure air. The vital air which sustains the dying effort of living. Once snuffed, never rekindled. Twisting cylinders are the dreams. Virtuoso of the chamoise leather, and master of Salamancan embroidery. The diatribe of the great master. Wiser still as its mind wanders with age.
Faggot. To fagg. Of tagg. Gof Tag. Fog Gat. Fag Got. Fa Gg Ot. To Gg Af.
Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot.
@Ronny @Ronny @Ronny @Ronny @Ronny @Ronny @Ronny
@Ronny @Ronny @Ronny @Ronny