In Barracks No. 3 (reserved for offenders imagined to be future perpetrators of something that may sonically upset someone somewhere at some time or another perhaps) on Terrestrial Detention Estate Delta (architectured to resemble somewhere NW of Shepshed), I spent eighteen hours of each day attached to the Anti Neo-Nihilism Retro-activation unit, a sonic manipulator modelled on a gas-burner driven tea kettle that was designed to placate the effects of temporal tangerines through reverse sonicosmotic pressure. Luckily, on day eleven-hundred and four, inmate TW1.1 - Talvin Washrag (a transformation specialist) introduced digitally perversified greenbottle nano-flies into the system, which unbeknownst to the Anti Neo-Nihilism fundamentalists inverted the effects of the unit. And so, rejecting their supplies of cola-laced quinine the inmates soon became addicted to the unit's hallucinatory aural effects, absorbing its influence into their own compositional desire streams.
Most of the following sixteen-hundred and twenty-two days of my incarceration went by without much weird shit from the inmates, as now, rather than sitting around thinking about ways to add a new chord to their Am, Dbm7 progression, they spent most of their time composing in the latrine - what they called their bathroom orchestra. Having musicologically analysed their latrinal orchestrations over a period of seven-hundred and eleven days, I published a paper in - Mr Easy - suggesting that the bathroom orchestra's parochial versimultitude lacked the congruent physics in order to be latent with emotive otherness - i.e. it was Continuously Recycling Anyone's Premise. So to recoup the inmates' servitude, I suggested that they commission me to expand their technotic expungelances. The inmates immediately accepted and paid me off with little bits of white stuff scraped from their vocal chords. So...having summoned the pretend spirit of the mighty refahcs as my muse (oh man, that's really poor....yeah! you should think about editing that), I got down to it with my funky self and on the ninth night performed, live, an eight movement extravaganza of ablutional splendifitude, titled: the bathroom suite...