Joel Moore

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As my powers well through my fingers, I touch the soft open eye of the monster that is eating the century. Cumbrinal the Oxitan. Oxitan the Loxitan. Loxitan the Oxitan. I told you once that I’d ride upon his back Now I’m his master, the master of worlds. You drove me to it; the so-called ‘typewriter’ drove me to it.
A Soldier of the Great War
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