I sometimes wonder, in the dark neon nights, where stickers go when they die.
When they rot off lamposts outside of skeezy night clubs, where the glittered priests pimp christ.

A child is burning.

Tonights fire is paid for by circus clowns and magicians. Advertisments of the hell we've created.

The child disapears in the flame, and magically becomes ash.

These ashes are holy.

"Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are."
-Grant Morrison

"'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat: 'we're all mad here...
... you must be,' said the cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"
-Lewis Carroll

Yes
No
Do nothing