further thoughts on kubrick, v. 2001

she witnesses a cavalcade
of colour and of space
and of voices muttering
machine-like
trance-like
putting her to sleep
even as thrumming choirs
mimic swarms and
strauss tries to have his way
with both her
and with nietzsche
with some mad purported
boffin at the reins

(though, she thought,
pink upholstery
and blue danubes
it’s not all bad
just mostly)

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