Lux from Abandonment

Less surfaces can ever be taking enthralling images in 35mm, signed, 'Fanatic'. Free for the first six months: Prometheus. The assimilated fire here is wont to be transient, riddling the news with holy graven capital digestion; the volatile, religious tribune of eradicated pleasure —

aimed at rationing during surplus banks, when, distemperate — so wet — we cut the advance in to furnish the formulaic ritual known as civilised breeding, estimated to pass from monster to master in a radiating paradigm of expiation

or what The New York Times called:

'Knowledge communing with clear dissent where images of an argosy take shape, transferring father's manifesto from mother's disaffection to her piano, carried back and forth and led away by customs' incommensurable figments upon space, intensely varied as the squares of distance, imponderable figures of abstractions proposed by discriminating each component of earth; novel insignia for the apotheosis of a simulated opposite to science.'