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Maeve Faul

As I stroll the alleys of your artificial realm, I am astounded at the  multitude of writings. Legions of feelings, thoughts and realities strewn on dead trees. Even more philosophies. Empty philosophies. SCORES OF EMPTY PHILOSOPHIES! My heart cries out in agony -- so many great minds to waste... to the darkness... to the snakes. It is written: "The prophets are but wind, My Word is not in them".  These catastrophic blasts lay waste to souls. Soon all human light and love are desolate.

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