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Necropolis Gully

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  Necropolis Gully Ancient Fertility  The only sound in the deep quiet of the crevice was the crunch of my boots on the debris-strewn ground. Towering stone walls, draped in vibrant green moss , rose on either side, making me feel like an intruder in a forgotten tomb . My matte-black suit , a product of a future this place could never have imagined, felt profane against the ancient rock . Then I saw it: a weathered, silent figure standing in the path. It was a statue of a woman , carved from the same stone as the gully but shaped with clear intent. Moss crept up its base and clung to its form like a second skin. This impossible artifact, an architectural anomaly in this raw, natural fissure , stopped me. My steady, determined posture belied the storm of questions raging in my mind. The statue stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes, a silent witness to a history I had just stumbled into. My mission was to find my crew, but this place, this silent, stone woman , was a new, un...

GODin Pot





GODin Pot


In our time of relative peace, there are those who will forthrightly blame others to gain ascension.
They seek revenge through blinded principles.
But it is foolish for our society to gain prosperity from grounds of wrong.
To gain via perceive threats is untenable.
Centuries of thought have passed and still our want to employ hate lingers.
That is, to stop others and to gain our wants through forced misfortune.
And as our inflictions grow in number so does our determination.
Us theirs and ours cannot be decisively contained.
The more our empowered profiles gain clarity the less our perceived enemy is defined.
Until our enemy has no humanity that we can describe.
Until only shouts of evil and defiance describe only our state of understanding.
Within this scenario of threat, our real purpose is deliberately camouflaged.
And us we and they can no-longer see and or remember what was.
This is how our leading few maintains normalization.
Scratch this delusion and you will see that it is ourselves who are actually broken.
Our way of life is the tragedy of which we will not openly speak.
Our cost of understanding is misfortune.
Our consumption of self-hate is profitable.
We hate them for solace.









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