This son of a butch, the body without organs of the organist without buddies,
sitting on a short-legged chair in this darkened deserted choir
listening to La Quinta Sintonía's reminiscent echoes - and guns with the wind oh
the more accurate boolean approximations
+ ---> (meaning, is more or less right in a time of delusion, is more or less
true in a time of confusion - oh sin noticias de los dioses)
And (s)he thinks we are all black Christian faggots we are all Republican Latina
lesbians
like a destacamento militar avanzado
Nous mettrons l'électronique au service du peuple
a poisonous cocktail of polystyrene and jet fuel which makes the human body melt
pour ses instants verité
igo in he's gone live dead he's not he's gone libev e he's not gay he'ss nback
in his ghead take me home histoire de me mélanger au peuple
et le serveur me sert illico quand je claque les doigts.

In the previous episodes:
Bush/Carlysle/Bhopal - Xtravanganza, entering the lounge packed up with democrat
chickees, a cold shake moving from back to back, J. Joyce in a dusty corner
tearing pages from a phonebook apart, A. Sondheim and L. Quarles sitting down
at a coffee table sipping a Budweiser, the former wearing a white stained
tee-shirt reading "10000 0 010 0 00 000 000 1 00 0100 0100 0000 111 0110 0",
and the latter, medium-dressed in a stance, trapped in a temporal loop, keeping
on enunciating with a (not-so) distanced and loud voice, "y tu Dada también", we
old europeans are slowly joining our places, fetus-like under the napkins,
sucking our thumbs, giving useless names to vacant burritos smokes.

{Since it's like that, we´d better become elastic.}

oh btw, neither bill gates nor entrance fees through the mocking glass, darkly.

- I've never killed anyone in Fallujah.
- No one is innocent...

(a knowing smile. One can hear in a distance the intertwined cuntrapuncta of a
trumpet and an AK 47.)

- ¿Seen this scar? I´ve been sewing the 1/64 scale maps of each American state,
one by one, onto the darkness on the night.
- But it was never too late before|
- They used electronic voting machines, you know.
- Yeah. Yeah, but.

(a knowing cry. one can remember in a distance how merrily we used to laugh our
laughes. "Never more", the raver says, a 1969 military jacket, black-oukaze
sunglasses, two ear-plugs playing some late digital Merzbow's zen distorsions.)

A smell of weed, the perfume of death, the immence of the ultimate compiler,
binary pills taking effect: here below the denial tasks.

I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again
I shall never use smileys again