Not an alliteration

I am a bear that munches on blueberries in the Amazon forest, which is as magical as a mall, or a building in which men grow diverse things, their drugs surprisingly less potent than even cough syrup, whereof children meet these first signs of peril clandestinely embedded in local supermarkets by samurais returning from séances, floating through vents or automatic doors as transparent as any and reflecting always a flurry of ingestion and excretion, caprice and devotion.