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Following a dream of a house in the hills, surrounded by a tornado of dust. Inside the house were mazes of stairs and escalators in endless array, on which walk the Dead, until they forget where they are, and whither they headed. I sat with my children and wife, and hollered at them,:

Remember the Dead, Remember the Dead, Remember the Dead,

being only “half-possessed,” as I joked. As I wrote down the dream, a grey specter came to mind, ancient as a stone eroded. He said,

Nusuteru alspaku inthil-iz-assu Ugu’en, Ugu’en, Ugu’en azh-as-assu Inthil garfactyu misuthingol glee-enterol gus’th


Lofty perceiving, speaks not a Great Spirit True fading out; The evil ones, the not-them, who are not, Great Spirit by Heats Fading out, they went to lowest airs to bring the Grey Prince’s
Lay returned to nothingness.

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