A highlight from Weirdhouse Cinema: Psychomania


I smell exhaust the hot breath of devils in the fog of don the noise of great cat purring underneath the earth and mound waking up. You see it through the mist. Pale sprigs of mistletoe. Entwined with greasy drive chains. The high priest watches reflections. Stretch to absurdity across the curve of the mirrored chrome. He is as tall as the cliffs. He is as long as the worm of dreams. The purring of the cat grows deafening. The priests grin is wild with that. Twist of his hand flexing. The wrist is ringing. Hen's neck to adorn the altar of spring or is this the spell that

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