November 11, 2005
Bisblintovskayov
And the new star city is the place. Dextrous hands assemble, from black market red minds, great and mighty bits of metal and plastic to form the next best vehicular structure – the NBV – recycled soviet military space’s history. And careful consideration is given to propulsion systems that might explode or on any given day direct the pointy end to infinity and Beyonce because the just Knowles they can.
Young Russian Aerospace Engineering, Russian hip hop, Uria(c)h (C)Heap, de Byeatlyes, and a German Motley crew stressed Russianly, on the second syllable – RamSTEIN - fuel and propel the Soyouz-boosted, young Russian-Aerospace Engineered, payload-bearing innovation, to its orbital then interplanetary destination, full of venusial mystery and darkness though the journey may be. Very clean US dollars – our new world’s gold standard – are exchanged.
The comet’s tail of cold-war communism’s rhetoric shizzles Star City’s fizzle and snoop dawggy dawg in tight braids and pimp goatee, once again, exhales white smoke an unseen moment previously drawn in, creatively & religeously, from a twisted white fag, him being portrayed as "representin'", or one might even say as "down wid it" in his oversized NFL Jersey sporting the obligatory inuendo-filled numbers "69" during a typical video shoot of a typical “down” of his lyrical ups and downs, again – bear with him. Please.
And Irbit, the Ural Motorcyle factory is the place. The year is 2005. Bent welded shapes of metal and only allowable, relatively minute, percentages of plastic bits, unite to form world-war-two era frames, tanks, and side cars. Meanwhile, harkening back to reason for being of the horizontally opposed powerplant, Boxer blueprints from Bavaria reveal themselves, unravelled, not so mysterious, smacking of the Stalichnaya shared in clandestine and consequential meetings between Fhurer Adolf und Tzary Joseph, cause 750 to 1250 cc’s of torquey trouble between the knees of wanton “Ural Volk” riders.
Era?! Errata! Circa! Circa?! Circus! Yet, saleable. All these metal and plastic joined bits are enviably and ultimately saleable to those rest-of-the-world-wide nostalgaholics who insist on perpetuating the state of solid metal bits united with only necessary percentages of plastic bits, joined together towards of course, what else but a healthy sense of anarchy. Good thing pewter isn’t as addictive a metal to be considered in the structural sense.
Hell’s angels wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against the “Ural Wolf (pack)” in any of the olympisized or televised extreme right wing sports of any sort, docketed. And yet our bits of joined metal in union with allowable minute percentages of plastic bits, no matter whose territory their ores have been dug from, nor no matter whose national chemical laboratory their phenolics have been formed in, continue to hurtle and guide global history immer onwards on the well-worn, ring-road less taken, by everybody. Rome, having fallen in its "extra-reachitary" left, then right, then left again, regardless of direction it leaned too far towards anarchy and the empire therefore, has been nowhere to be found, for otherwise acceptable lengths of time.
This kiss, this kiss, subliminal.
Young Russian Aerospace Engineering, Russian hip hop, Uria(c)h (C)Heap, de Byeatlyes, and a German Motley crew stressed Russianly, on the second syllable – RamSTEIN - fuel and propel the Soyouz-boosted, young Russian-Aerospace Engineered, payload-bearing innovation, to its orbital then interplanetary destination, full of venusial mystery and darkness though the journey may be. Very clean US dollars – our new world’s gold standard – are exchanged.
The comet’s tail of cold-war communism’s rhetoric shizzles Star City’s fizzle and snoop dawggy dawg in tight braids and pimp goatee, once again, exhales white smoke an unseen moment previously drawn in, creatively & religeously, from a twisted white fag, him being portrayed as "representin'", or one might even say as "down wid it" in his oversized NFL Jersey sporting the obligatory inuendo-filled numbers "69" during a typical video shoot of a typical “down” of his lyrical ups and downs, again – bear with him. Please.
And Irbit, the Ural Motorcyle factory is the place. The year is 2005. Bent welded shapes of metal and only allowable, relatively minute, percentages of plastic bits, unite to form world-war-two era frames, tanks, and side cars. Meanwhile, harkening back to reason for being of the horizontally opposed powerplant, Boxer blueprints from Bavaria reveal themselves, unravelled, not so mysterious, smacking of the Stalichnaya shared in clandestine and consequential meetings between Fhurer Adolf und Tzary Joseph, cause 750 to 1250 cc’s of torquey trouble between the knees of wanton “Ural Volk” riders.
Era?! Errata! Circa! Circa?! Circus! Yet, saleable. All these metal and plastic joined bits are enviably and ultimately saleable to those rest-of-the-world-wide nostalgaholics who insist on perpetuating the state of solid metal bits united with only necessary percentages of plastic bits, joined together towards of course, what else but a healthy sense of anarchy. Good thing pewter isn’t as addictive a metal to be considered in the structural sense.
Hell’s angels wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against the “Ural Wolf (pack)” in any of the olympisized or televised extreme right wing sports of any sort, docketed. And yet our bits of joined metal in union with allowable minute percentages of plastic bits, no matter whose territory their ores have been dug from, nor no matter whose national chemical laboratory their phenolics have been formed in, continue to hurtle and guide global history immer onwards on the well-worn, ring-road less taken, by everybody. Rome, having fallen in its "extra-reachitary" left, then right, then left again, regardless of direction it leaned too far towards anarchy and the empire therefore, has been nowhere to be found, for otherwise acceptable lengths of time.
This kiss, this kiss, subliminal.
