brandy and undone wine, solipsism and putrid slow hot pokers in the fire, playing it upon ourselves deliberately and so so carelessly, carelessly as the wind, a rhythmic shindig too unrelenting to pound down on a blip glitch slip stick clutched from the radiating and withering masses, the branchlike machinery of an elmers-glue style process that turns cattle rancid and then, much later, pure once more.