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.