I have just a thought: The Russian War Machine. It is going to experience something soon.

These guys are like family to me.

Don't go down too far, and don't fall in, but push your way into the castle, breaking through, like a storm in the night, trees tumble, the ways of nature warped.

A side of myself.

The last battle.

War cry a sound of a blood hound, creeps like a hissing snake across a foggy valley, like a screech from a netherworld, grim as black roses being cut, deadly screams, heart racing, it hurts just to hear it, like a banshee on crack cocaine.

Dancing over dead bodies can't be done, stop this, it is from another time, it is a dead art, or ready to die, just give up this war soon, finish it, say goodbye to this, this "War"

Every day I peel an orange in my imagination.

And the strip tease begins when I ask for it.

1945 is not 2025.