That my Vivek be an ever better Saqi to the Sacrificial Self's blood-boltered Shrautamani Mead
For thirty years I have followed wherever Madness might lead
Why was so great a Treasure to a coward entrusted?
Or is Love a Sword most Lethal when rusted?
Prince! If Intention be Shema to any turnkey Intension's Natural Representation
Yoneda is but lemma to the Banach-Tarski of Rousseau's masturbation.
Content that no Manichaean babe has yet, to Mnemosyne, been born.
We covet no Magi Gift from up the arse of Zorn
For so Fully Faithful a Functor, our Sybil longs to Die.
Hope's algebra but Hopf, not Love's a Lie
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