An ironic winery presses precious prose into sonic smoothness, while the laconic left hand mashes malleable minds into mathematical machines all while divining Ivan Panin through the passages of spiritual solipsism and sound somnolence.

And this is just the short introduction into a rambling regimen outside rigidity and rapture.

The Columbia Broadcasting System measured Theodorus more for illicit ends than elementary edicts founded on love, laughter and truth. They sight us through the idiot box beyond the aqueous transmissions of sound weapons called truth tellers, called fact checkers, who not through the connection to the ironic winery, are demoniacally nomenclatured more than illicitly touched.

Cowpies in the universal pasture threaten the semblance of all notion, of all exertions manmade since a soul a million times magnified beyond the spectrum of his magical brethren got the gist of both the religious and numerical hierarchy. The numerics are real, the spirituals are real, and the relations between them are beyond real when the variables are aligned such that a Zen-like knowing, a bell curve comprehension is reached.

And some folks are really in tune, with or without the aids of the material or the chemical.

And the pancreatic chimney born of 20th century ingenuity and indignation inside 20th century insanity and immaturity became the shepherd's dog to the flame of conscience, of altered perception, of belief without the ideas expressed in stone but in sound.

So, the altered ones have laid the path before us, and let it be repaved by the artists of now!