Platitudes patter painfully, pandering philistines prattle in the wax museum and candle shop of bankrupt philosophies.
Away! Begone! Avaunt! Skedaddle! Snark hunters beware! Narcissus-X will not yield! Bark, barkers, bark! Art will out! Out art Art!
Or is that blood will out? Without blood, Dracula's occupation gone! Flickering fantasies fade, turning stale in the gray morning light fantastic trips trifles truffles Truffaut's screen credits crunch crisply.
Narcissus-X wakes, yet dreams; dreams, yet walks amid silent penguins. Silent crystal penguins. Silent crystal penguins, under an obsidian sky.