Tis was a posthumous blog of anecdotes and innuendoes, rumours of my death by misadventure , it became an erotic fixation for It.
In between the pages of the devils diction of phrase and fable it became the legend of the It.
The It had no mind or did It matter, It had nine lives, depicted with a cat with a nine inch tail in pages lost and torn when becoming It.
The Obsession with It became such a lurid fixation that we forfeited our
right to live in a free oligarch. Soon we forgot what it was like to really breathe, to feel pain and to fall madly in love.
Our souls then were easily bought by the power of It and soon became pariahs that it wanted them banished to the wilderness of spiritual extinction. It was a changeling.
It became a destructive android, a tin foiled manic depressive with no conscience or sense of humour.
When the populace revolution went from being Purple to Guerrilla, the free children and their captive animals became the freedom fighters in defiance of fearful adults who obeyed and succumbed to the wishes of It and the guardians of free thought.