(This one is actually not about
Executive accountability
or Brechtian literary Theory.)
No, this is literal toast which is made
between two glass(-like?) panels that somehow
heat to (your crumbelieveably preferred)
crispness, beyond raspberry tarte pretti-
ness. I ask: is this a device to shout
with glee for, or novel enough to wade
in selfish malaise and finally re-
sign our libertine bodice life, pervert-
ed. (at least, Michael Hutchence on a bough.)
But wire coils do seem so antiquated.
This world has become auto-belated.
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