... Twin-wheeled existentialists steeped in the sterile excrements of a doomed democracy, Whose post-nietzschean sensibilities reject the bovine gregariousness of a senile oligarchy
whose god is below zero, Whose hero is a dead boy
condemned to drift like forgotten sputniks in the fool's orbit bound for a victim's future.
In the pleasure dromes and ersatz bodega bars of the free world the mechanics of love grind like organs of iron to a standstill ...