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CALLASSA

Invicta Veritate

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Perceval

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Evening time. Late autumn. 1881

The British boys are beautiful. They are in foreign lands

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Perceval

I have caused her in my womb and sent her onwards from my body.

I have made her, as I have made all.

Yes.

As all women are the makers.

My thoughts, how they wander throughout the illumined and the wild.

From the worldly and the transcendent, the perpetual child.

Now, I am here.

I want her to know I am like no one else.

No matter where to wander, nor when.

Listen . . . while I whisper words that softly dance within a sky lark’s song.

Whisper. Whisper, long,

“Court my honeyed breath, be my beautiful rider.

Ride fast with me, we together into my moon’s shining heart.

And there while warm within my ethereal breeze

you can touch a woman among the trees.

Touch me.

Among the trees.

Touch me, Perceval.

Touch me, because I am like no one else.

Touch me.

Among the trees.”

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from Callassa. The Callassatron

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CALLASSA

Invicta Veritate

MMXXIV

callassa@callassa.global

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