Poetry. "Chomsky once wrote, 'colorless green ideas sleep furiously.' What if he meant it? In the course of Marco Giovenale's funky postflarf confabulation, the world receives some bracingly desaturated interoffice memos. Our little individual protocols go clinking around in their post-Adornian subroutines, an occasional hero prairie-dogs up from his/her cubicle to check out the escape routes, the gods of consumption and bureaucracy rattle their lightsaber...
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Poetry