Your masterly machinations, the miserly masers of your miniature
ministrations, your masterly masturbations. Your administered
ministrations upon the defenestrated demonstrators. The fenestrated
burglars, face to face with the racinghearted grandma farting bullets of
cold steel into the chesty breast of the poor unluckly burger. Gramma
packed a pistol, and filled the fella with fistules. The parameds came
calling, and propellerheads a-crawling.
    Grandma hit the sandbar with a grinding clanking crash. The cash
machine spit twenties in a blinding greening flash. I touched the magic
wand upon the goonies in my life, and promptly, blimpty blompty, they
prazzled into smoke. I sucked the smoke into my lungs, got high then
exhaled. I didn't let any of them become upon me Alanhaled.
    You are what you eat — let me eat a peach. Let me chaise upon the
beach and eat the nearest slenderpeach. Given a single wishen, it'd be
to live a hundred years abandoned by the netherfears, upon the beach
of Sar-On-Frears.
    They tell you you would get bored living on a beach the rest of your
life, doing nothing in particular. They tell you that because they are
scared you'd go and find out that's false. They tell you that because
they cannot admit that, while not being bored, they are boards of rigid
frustration planks, chairmen bred to tread the boards, men of flesh
whose tensionflesh becomes the kneeling footstool of the squealing
bulgeyed spikehaired flametoothed mosquito hardbitten bittern
slatterns of ancient fattened patterns of lantered jawed subalterns.
    Ungh!
    They scare you away from beauty and joy and a salty clear day on
the fringe of the bay, doing nothing in particular, and whiling the
whirling hours of the days away in the lavendergray haze — they scare
you away from that, Muricans do, for otherwise, who would crank the
handles and piston the long handpoles and pump the bellowses of the
machines? The machines would stand unmanned, emptied of all but
their dreams. Technologica would grind to a stop and begin rusting
immediately — immoldated in the promulgating fire of Dionysian
symbolica.