How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pull the trigger, replacing
subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, use, media — no eros in ideas.

Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for satiric pleasure and symphonic failure.

If that’s allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...

We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,
The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.