basically my brain is the sort of fare they serve at the nursing home for old zombies; the undead's equivilent of soft, smashed bannanas or strained peas. eventually i just splash the word "anointed" all over the page. what's it fucking matter? i'm going to come back later & take the skeleton apart; this wasn't a brontosaurus at all! now lets put this skull over here where it belongs. of course, where it belongs starts getting tricky, cabals of dragonkissed all angry as anything at my stellar debut 65 million years ago.