Rangers and their flyovers. The red ranger slaves ranging the veldt with their cumbling machines and their trenchant religion. Their truncheon religion, all luncheon long, the truncheons of their religion will find you.

Their crumbling religion, their thundering machines, their sky-darketing atomic harvesters

The army and its secret savants
The enemy radio and the raiders
The army raiders go tenement on your ass. they knock the tar out of the streets and out of the trees. They knock the trees out of the sky and the religion out of the sin. They toy with the tars in the skies and the star on the road going soft in the sunlight.

An act of solemn will. An act of solid will. On the potato range, radar, the psychos are having children today, and their enemies are emetic in their religion, and their foghorns find that they are relating so quickly to the enemy that they are violating their most cherished social conventions! In short, the foghorns found for the plaintiff for several million dollies.

They live in a shitty apartment in the Tombs. The catcalls of Santa Monica. The landlord does catcalls at 3 a.m. in the morning.