The first two hundred steps onto the Virgin bay by barbarians with etiquette and trimmed beards. 
Lead by a worn castle who dragged converts seeking to drown themselves in the Pacific while uttering their final proverbs at night  in ladino. 

The brutes raised chipped, rustic swords with Incan and Aztec blood pouring from the tip. Pouring a bridge for one tribe to migrate into the desert lands of another tribe.

Tribes with torn flesh and ripped hair build palaces dedicated to an absent God, but their gods persist in the art on the clay walls and in the veins of the hyrbid infnats. 

Ohlone, Spain, Mexico, America, Hell. A cosmic disaster of stubborn nations ripping throats stuffed with bullets and poison over 163,696 miles of shaken land.


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