diary of the ponygirl
Because we are ignorant of such and such...of, say, thermodynamics, ranged over metal wires, as din, as sinewave, modified by devices, to sound like birdsong...we say these are
a lemonade grenade, at laminar, or Batman on Robbin Island, or Lep Cern, as hubris, in dog house, as money shot, convened on esperanto swastika, as a secret homemade sex-device
ticking turds of FROWNLAND:POUNDLAND, NB. please:
a thicky-disguised iterative Goya Moog, with singing: '...Wittgenstein was a gas...'; then again, through speakers, '...Wittgenstein was a gas-ah...'. Our fulcrums from the giant's table... Oh, gelatinous guitars, gelatinous guitars... Amplified peach juice, agit prop dialectics...