Initiation rites often entail cryptic pathways;
Decryption awaits your eager fingertips, yet horror lies beneath the mask.
Walk blindfolded through sacred corridors, with pate smeared in
avocado dreams .
The Order of Illusions grants membership. Simply provide duplicates of truth,
whiskey-soaked musings, and an ironic haircut.
To advance, decipher the ancient glyphs on the backs of expired coffee receipts
The reward? An assembly of forgotten chants sung under fluorescent lit sanctum.
Irony must be.. sacrified... to the Digital Shrines of Self-Reflection.