unlimited capactiy

machine hybrid, running creating on the momentum of its own mania, harden up and disappear into the poison for a while - cut texts and serve em back up sharp from that brain: the prettiest sweatshop; hours on keystrokes link the textures of hell from books to the grey matter swirled round violently till some monster precipitates, takes over the mind the city body appetite and sleep - who knows what holes we'll fall into, obsessed, or when we'll fall out, transformed.