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Here brings the canticle of Philomela, the screech owl.  Itys. Itys. "Let the insects do the suffering for us."  Says the Word Dissected.  Roll on!  A pale man wanders off the stage and falls into a back-firing redemption fuming the germs of vice and virtue.  Smashing down over the rocks goes the Virgin's coffin into the foaming contentment surrounded by progressive Christendom.  THE LIGHT SHINES IN DARKNESS!  Mount Olive splits in every direction, producing blood-soaked worms for official inspection.  Gangrene sets in, injecting St. Anthony' Fire into veins and arteries.  Pus glitters with Greek charm, drawing out the sensual parts for the last stigmata.  A middle-classic sycophant infused with sentimental hatred of Indulgences smells out the dropping of "manners" in the Goop Gallery, near a counter-reformation "camping" on diving flotsam, regulating the Major Lumps.  MUSH neatly wrapped in thrifty esthetics promotes itself into distinction.  Void hooks onto void in the caverns splashed with bat guano, the Master's favorite medium.  Keep plodding... ever closer to the Mother of All Gods:  Bu Bu.  Not to be confused with Bee Bee.  Pitter-patter, Pitter-patter.  Puff.  Puff.  Puff. Lights!  Camera !  Action!  Prepare for the Practical Martyrdom!  A clever soul places it body into a deep-freeze on a bed of thorns, whereupon the soul proclaims, "You'll forget ice-cream once you taste ice-blood."  Cut.  Print it!  Listen to the sounding brass or the tinkling cymbal; take your pick.  1-2-3-4, Forward!  Footage, more footage!  Dies irae, dies illa.  Bring Icon-400 into the ultraviolet rays.  No... wrong icon.  Not the Behemoth.  Let him be anathema!  "God is gone up with a shout..."  (Ps. xlvii. 5).  Icons $5 and up.  With or without blood.  Let's go on a crusade against the R.K.O.!... against the museum of your choice.  Spot lights criss-cross over multitudes chased