klaxon/bemuse.

presupervisual suppositions and
blockheaded nonsense floating a
deconstruction into the wheels,
they tend to ride on despite an
opposition & you've got me, the

girl is so good: so spoonerised
that she eyes in her stars, big
shaolin rave subbassed and hard
like the rock within the pipe--
downspouted dissatisfaction she

blends with the occult methodo-
logy to make retroactive calcu-
lus adhere to the poi and spin-
ning fire of maximal exertion &
disinhibited sleep, eulogising;

oh come over, come down lulling
the dulled shoeblade it doesn't
matter what it means anymore, a
voice that intimates stimulants
shredding sixty-fourth notes o-

pen the ground of lilting skip-
ping silver, instructions carry
texts and dead sea: killer, who
are you to walk into my bedroom
and disturb my panopticon? have

tryst and dada film, unspooling
unspoilt spilt split cataclysms
and redundant and vibrato video
that holds just such as a cent-
ury of diminishing information.