My rituals have become increasingly strong in the 21st century because I am only partly understood by many people with bad complexions shining in the vestibule. There will be a series of violent acts in this developing society. Why? For three reasons.
1. A series of temptations - all resisted by fantastical me.
2. The fan's not spinning, but I say it it.
3. T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" contains a lot of conventional elements.

The man you're supposed to like wears clean clothes. The other one is pock marked. He loves her because of her teeth, her small hairs, and her neck. She wears full-length dresses of the earlier period. The man in all white wore all tan today and, again, he lunged at me. He can spot me from very far away. When he sees me, he runs toward me. I hid behind a wall and watched him the other day. He does not run at other people - only me. He runs at me! I also found out how he makes his all white clothes all tan. He pours coffee on himself and laughs. He has nice long hair and the beard I cannot grow. My enormous attraction to a certain kind of outfit. How my childhood was punctuated by red. Under the skins of animals. The villain becomes an emplyer. Elegiac. Meliorist. Priapism. He is of the laconic style. That is his style. Downright garrulous. He fights me with purity. Do not use purity when you fight me. An importunity. The school marm. The dancehall girl. She grew out of a mudpuddle. She bloomed in a mudpuddle. The boy on the heap on the hill. My rituals have declined in the 20th century. One bomb came down and then another one three days later. Three days. Give me a pattern of initiation. That is all I want. If someone gives me a pattern of initiation, I will take it. I hate how I have to come up with these patterns or find them on the internet. Give me the pattern and I will follow it. Oedipal implications.