It is the blueprint of Von Neumann's collapse. No reliable document is available owing to the taint of wiseass viral revision. It is a corkscrew reordering of the imagination vector upon human history.
Giordano Bruno sings a duet with Sly Stone, "Everybody is a star," a funk-philosophy apotheosis extending Copernican cosmology to religion, politics, entertainment. Bootsy Collins grinds on a barn swallow unhinging every popsong, for every icon has its node along the wave and the high energy of our desires weave them together with the goo of finnegans wake mythic plasma.
If they didn't have bucket seats, you would think Dan and Jan were siamese twins as they think so much alike. These intrepid bhodies travel these two-lane roads past brief hallucinations of towns, singing along to the cicada songs broadcast from a grain elevator full of communications electronics. Dan spies a cow so powerfully magnetic that it bends the corn in spirals around itself. Jan points out the giant troughs full of coffee, "Those are for the horses who chase down jokes that get out of hand," Jan says sagely. Dan cackles with delight.
Over hill and dale till they must pull over into a field of corn glowing gently bright blue. Jan shucks an ear and they moon over it like a wand encrusted with glowing jewels. Catapillars fall off blind from the stalks. "You think we can eat this stuff raw?" Dan asks her. They finally look back at me, sprawled across the backseat.
"You want some corn, freakboy?"
I think I'm still losing blood.