There are no ideas left, so I just pluck old ones from 
the air. Weave them from bathdrain hair. I read what you 
write, and now it belongs to me. So I'm changing it. What 
do you think about that? I like my punk pastiche. My 
visuals collage. Detournment is our 'new' language. 
Creation from your passed our passed overs. You didn't 
drink together when you were alive. Now you're dead and I 
say you're lovers. I unzipped my pants to expose my 
bibliography. Your source is showing. You've got Marx on 
your face. Poewr to the plagarist because they are the 
only ones who are telling you the truth.