My words ride strapped on the bare backs of galloping Mongol warhorses ready to find their mark–projected by the bows of cold-blooded and benumbed barbarians.

From across the East Cerebral Valley the revelation whizzes through the air,
marauding the village people in your unconscious where your beliefs about the unknown are conceived under the dubious glow of comprehension.

Having been impaled by the message, the only thing about you that will slowly die is your ignorance and malnourished perception, for you will begin to drowsily awaken to an alternative set of eyes, and seeing will become anew.

I come to awaken the snoring swine within your boudoir, and I will boot it out and lead it to its deserving slop pen so that it may roll around in its filth!

I will rid you of your vile and foul doctrines–impotent ideologies that offend the hairs in the nostril and inhibit the mind.

Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.