Her voice was a wildly distorted, hoarse, moaning construction that was like Cynnie's when she had smoked some heavy sinsimilla and was automatically unwriting the art-movie project her life had inevitably become. The sonic rock chords blasted in time with her deep-throated, full-throttled voice as it shot out the wordbombs of verbiage all throughout the dance floor, causing quick flashes of light to explode into topographical meaning. A Nitroglycerine Language Riff Detonating Dionysian Pleasure:

ecco echo

primal rhyme

ecco homo

right on time

an empty fox

speeds up

moves out

burrows down

and in