Gliding over top of zombified crowds, fucked to the gills on intravenously-delivered memory machines shuddering subsonic renditions of Ezra Pound's Cantos into my bloodstream.
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Gliding over top of zombified crowds, fucked to the gills on intravenously-delivered memory machines shuddering subsonic renditions of Ezra Pound's Cantos into my bloodstream.
This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on November 25, 2006 12:55 PM.
The previous post in this blog was "Who but a book-poet would dishonour the God-big Finn for the sake of a gap-worded story?" (Flann O'Brien).
The next post in this blog is You don't think I'm going to make this easy for you, did you?.
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Comments (1)
it happens.
Posted by caroline | November 25, 2006 6:55 PM
Posted on November 25, 2006 18:55