Love was the poetry, but love is also hate. Zappa said we'd all swallow ourselves whole with our thirst for nostalgia, but he spent the good last quarter of his life in a windowless hole, getting it all down on tape, for the record. Irony could be the best, if you put it to a rip of electrified string crank of an unbelieveable wattage. But it would still turn out to be something like the sound of anything, coalescing into the song of days. Com is published on the 15th of every month.
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