Here I stand in the badlands, building a neozion with my words, working out ways to use ello more creatively. It’s like an old coffee shop, so they say. A battleground. Scorched Earth. Look at what we have made it thus far.

Don’t forget my, young ones. I’ve got some saints here, blasting through the windows of the temple. I’ve got America and the world as my promised land, touching the cheek of Australia, saying you are so great.

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