Marge Simpson

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I was talking a walk through the shimmering light of awakening dawn, still half asleep myself, when I stumbled upon an ancient portal that looked somehow familiar. The time-worn alabaster frame had writings on it, which triggered stirrings of forgotten ancestral memories, rising like bubbles from a primeval bog. One persistent feeling forced itself to the foreground: a sense of plurality, of never being alone, which was far from unpleasant, inviting even. The path leading up to it was worn as if legions had trodden there over eons. The age-old conundrum of ‘should we or should we not?’ forced itself upon me. Did I just say ‘should WE’? Am I finally loosing it? But curiosity has ever been my weakest strength and my most forceful fault, so in I went. Continue reading

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