Saturday, December 31, 2005

Neo Khan: Stunkwave


Iron lungs simmer with countless algorithms poised to rewrite form and function. Cough a bullet to synapse leaking chakra. These counter clockwise arms are versed in ghost alchemy and precise calculus. They storm with analogue feedback. Ears bleed. Mouths run dry. For all, I spit conspicuous consumption. Mars will be the foundation of my flesh totem. We are the Gods Of Plunder. We are Mass Extinction. Push Ctrl-Alt-Del for salvation.

Spam in a Khan like nobody can.

The Revolution will be TiVoed...

...on Mars.

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