... society falls blindly into a corridor of golden owls swinging a half-finished bottle of black electric wine from her silver river hips, she's recently been stolen fresh from the crystal sunshine... sold, solid, raw and beautiful upon her death-drenched rainbow soul... her pink time slash your guts whore shadow in twisting drag so sweet on the opium sleeping sickness. She fixes her sharp splintered hair, races dark blank insect eyes across a clear blue mist sky and considers the point click true impossibility of tomorrow's fierce eruption, her teetering crystalline madness in the final stages of its distant development. The soma surfer sounds of tomorrow will take her to the outer limits of yesterday’s faltering, failed, and always elusive dreams... today she is dead thinking life machine, she is you me and everybody we know... she is both a wonder and a plastic fantastic curse... an angel falling sickly to the holy earth painted in our violence and love on the hues of burning white golden smiles – animal slick, cute crucifixion and the turning, burning blue gates of heaven... welcome to the open souls arcade...

everyone here gets sold... everyone here gets sold... everyone here gets sold... everyone here gets sold...