We had left the car, but we were still there, because we drove the Necro’Load’You’Ins in us there, we could taste the imps, dancing on our tounges, and igniting our kisses. They were our new vehicle, a vehicle flying just above this conscience realm, into a place that sat above. A circus market of freaks who purchase this or that, floating in a hypergamy of objectified lifts, one thinks this will make me feel that, when I feel numb, when i consume it, it will consume my attention letting me feel something… anything high, and it will consume me, in momentary lifts letting me feel something on my swore swelling sin skin, when unchecked it turns me, and you into balloon animals, of low base hedonism. That is what I saw in the market, freak show Manimal animals, skewed, and puffy, eye swore swollen, starring into fun house mirrors of ideal perfection lies, and misgiving alibis! Load it in, load in the Necro game system’s new catridiges into yoir consoles, YES, put in your mind what ever lie that keeps you plugged in, into the new spin on everything, it is a game, a game of displaced shame. Manimanls walk around trying to lead each other, with eyes wide shut black holes, falling over each other, inviting others in their eye holes, sexually confused in empty soulless pain arrosals. Animals, Manimals, all pulling carts of their own death, into a pit of charcoal contamination. Work the field, work that deep vein, work it, rake that line you sowe into your *you’re* sour plant harvestz, Of Hell, and don’t follow me to the liberating meeting mead hall of The God’s, in the next place, it needs NO twisted self tortured beast such as you!