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Is everyone doing 'end of Barbelith' poetry, then?
If so, it's not a bad idea. I intend to channel my inner McGonagall, and see where that takes us, I guess.
'Grant Morrison,
You, in your ivory tower
If you'd spent just an hour
Running by, naked, in the April showers
When I felt like a flower
And you were so crazed by your majestic powers
As an artist, you tit.' |
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