I’ve been dreaming of cults, strange cults, lately. Names and faces that looked familiar yet has no names to recall for. What a month of great, morbid dreams.
Dreams of nameless masses, moving as one, holding up candles, morphing as one, into an orgy of mass arson. What lovely, lovely nocturnal travels they have been.
Long live The Cult, the Mysteries of Our Time in this Flaming existence.
Hail The Cult! The nurturer of chaos and night.
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