NEWSFLASH / WALK IN THE DARK

NEWSFLASH BY AN AVENGING ANGEL / DODO
by DORDERY MARKS

THE BEDROOM SUITE opens today (yesterday) with an artist talk by the "beast of golden graces"
Masami Teraoka (with his concurrent exhibition HERE in the main gallery)
& the "good ole' prince of passion's prison" Shalo P (exhibiting in the misty media room).
We here at the workshop are rooting for an all-out onslaught of fun challenging work with complex themes of seething agony, sweaty power, and impure divinity amidst lurid commentaries from the gale-force dark expanses of their respective muted glories.

If you don't go to this show then you're probably hurting yourself and others, and probably should be
mentally committed. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED.

Come on, let's face the facts here "cold and long".

We'll meet up at the Shalo P show and talk about this sickness before it eats you right up.
If you arrive a few inches shorter : TELLTALE LATENESS.

When did it start? Why do you ache? Are you lost?

From the Desk of Shalo P :

I only "get lost" when Chet Baker tells me to.

Look motherfucker, I'll never hold anything against you. I'm really prone to adoring crazies.
I can make a commitment!

From the Desk of Shalo P :

I'd rather be an artist than a werewolf, no matter what the moon says.

I heard from the boss that there's gonna be some cake (with an image printed in colored creams depicting a sultry saint "blessing" an ornery octopus coiling its quivers on its top - image below).

I got to see a small set of Masami's marvelous gold-leafed paintings hanging on a wall near an arch, each about the size of teenage fists - delicately painted in confidently minimal brushstrokes with raw delicious colors of weathered age - depicting the awesome misery of torture and religious prostration in stark prestige, all pimped out with gold leaf wooden frames kindly stabbing upward, tiny triptychs like a squadron of golden birds nailed to the wall. Ravishing.

Masami Teraoka sounds like the only cool person I don't want to kill tonight.

Matter of fact he sounds SUPERCOOL. CHECK HIM OUT DOOD.

NEWSFLASH - the show goes on until Feb 20, 2016, infesting the media gallery, all big with pristine sound and imaginary popcorn for the homies, a fine ambience for the clattering shattering chains of hell's cinema catastrophe onscreen. It'll be way fun.

When will you go? Date: TBD

Well, Shalo may always be all "Hell Prevails" and shit, but I just say real Art smells
like ghost popcorn and MERCILESS TRUTH!

From the Desk of Shalo P :

Hmm. It seems I trampled on Dodo's sign off...

I just needed to thank the good graces of Anna, Alex, Katherine, Alex, Catharine, and Allison.

By the way, here in the office the creature dubbed "Marks" is commonly known as "DODO".

(although I'm pretty sure that won't necessarily last forever.)

BUT JEEZ, come to think of it, we've also had a BB, a Jac Jac, a Shan Shan, a Beck Beck, a Cece, a Sissy, and a Lazy Susan!

I'm serious. How did this fucking happen? Am I retarded or something? 

(Last night there's this creature dripping tar, playing gamelan in my living room and now I'm stuck in this damn office looking for the door outside. I'm rapping them  walls for hollows at this point.

Don't panic. It'll pop up.)

WHATEVER DOOD.

Dordery ("Dodo") Marks

San Francisco, CA

Shalo P | THE BEDROOM SUITE
CATHARINE CLARK GALLERY

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

A finely written pdf is available HERE
Hijinks, Hooliganism, and Hell by Jonathan Curiel (the review)

above images: the opening, video still from The Bedroom Suite, and dinner later on, featuring:
Catharine Clark, Masami Teraoka & Shalo P (current whereabouts unknown)

QUIET COUNTRY

 

QUIET COUNTRY, 
our books will return. & we're looking to formally release more rad music soon

Read all about our weird little books.
They come and go like tiny flames!

"Out in the dark / there's a beckoning candle."

We're also setting up a soundcloud or bandcamp something.  

Things got derailed to get to some Issues. Issues came before Issues. It was a busy week in the workshop, with a lot of energy hopefully following through to moody melt the melody we strive to sculpt from history's ripples and reverb

From the Desk of Shalo P :
Somewhere in this haunted house a wizard sits in a pentagram of flower petals killing a Casio.

THE FAX
WHOA. These odd faxes have been filling the gray little tray for the last week without anyone noticing.
There's a lot of music around, listening to the "mix-down" material from the new VALLEY albums Shalo P is working on (WILDERNESS & FROWNY FROWN). BB is also running around talking to the publishers...
No one noticed that wheezy little fax buzz. Usually, the boss just leaves the week's updates beneath his door and nary a word is said.

NOT THIS TIME. I dunno. I'm just a temp so I'm not explaining shit. I'm a little unsure which to post first, but don't think it really matters if they're posted out of order either. I won't post the boring ones that just have "HELP" smeared all over them. I didn't even know that old fax machine was plugged in.

Anyway, they're all dripping in sticky burnt maple syrup or something. It smells like sweet and oily.
Well I'm putting this one right... here:

From the Desk of Shalo P :

NO WAY OUT. I'm sure that there was a door to this room. I'm unabashedly unamused by its disappearance. At first, I thought that maybe a stack of paper fell over to hide that old-fashioned doorknob with the crude silver chain of porcelain puppies dangling like cute clunky chimes, but when afternoon came and went with neither hide nor hair of escape I suspiciously eyed the little door beneath my desk, remembering the landlord's warning concerning the peril in its use - something vague about inexorably losing a vital part of one's self mayhaps, or even, gulp, the security deposit.

I'm sure the big door will turn up someplace. After a dinner of boiled letters, and spiced chocolate crumbs, I found a few extra screws and a partial keyhole behind a filing cabinet - totally close. I'll keep my foot blocking that creepy little door just in case though.

Once, I misplaced a window that looked out onto a trash bin in the alley. It took two weeks for me to stop compulsively throwing fruit peels at the particular spot on the wall the dang thing vanished from. Seeds dried in gross shades, sticking to wall where once patiently yawned a prim lily-white sill. The good news was that when I resorted to using the building's incinerator, I also became privy to mingling with my really interesting neighbors.

They seemed utterly charmed by the bright furnace light burning through its grill, shimmering on their black aprons, glowing the faces behind dark oily hair worn down in knotty clumps, as they casually stood over bags smoldering in the crisp bright flickers, mumbling soft: "Just die dammit. Just die. Just fucking die god-dammit." 
They were certainly pretty neat.

ANYHOO, if I were indeed trapped within the grip of the Colossal Cosmic Void then I'm happy to report that it has free wifi and vital communications are forthcoming. I think I almost have it worked out. SHEESH, I was terrified that I would have to resort to exhuming that dusty fucking fax machine in the closet.
Oh yeah, and there's something awful and angry trapped in the walls.

Hell Prevails,

K.
Television For Ghosts
San Francisco, California

POST_VALLEY

OOF

That darn mysticism of VALLEY can sure stink up the place.

BB is back, armed with fancy sticker pads and nubby erasers she plans to NEVER use.

Ariel is setting a fire to the recording material. She was fired last week, but we're keeping her around for morale. We suffer for our arse AKA still on the look-out for nimble fingers to wind tape. The tracks are setting in a train to somewhere with an inter-dimensional soundtrack - and we're providing the music - with WILDERNESS, a two-tape set of Valley music to inspire awe and pawing around.
The sounds wafting down the hallway from the studio carve out invisible strange into the walls, all the more sweeter the second time around as VALLEY flings its delicate body into stage two, with the further release of materials pertaining to the mystery event, and the evidence that Shalo P is a madman that should probably be locked up for good (or at least paddled).

FROM THE DESK OF SHALO P :

After VALLEY closed, I half-expected free dinners every night,
but carrying this running chainsaw didn't win me too many pals either.

POST_VALLEY

Now with the second exhibition of VALLEY closed forever, only the tangential elements of the project will persist in production until the time comes when full completion is all globbed in perfect pristine puddles at our feet.
Things aren't clean cuts in the real world. Closure isn't necessarily an objective either, when it boils down to extending that elusively glorious thrill.

THE BOOKS WILL SEE PRINT.

(How really?)

Don't ask us, but keep on praying to your black glistening idols.

We wracked our brains and wrecked our minds to get close to something real.

All it produced was four sturdy walls that bleed at will, and a mirror on my desk that shivers, shatters, reassembles - repeat. H. P. Lovecraft had it correct in a few respects: Deep Gods got that dope-ass wifi.

Bask in these failures that drove half the interns mad while out on the company picnic, some leaving to rest in the pale stone caves below the Falcon's Roost, only to come back changed - stretched motley by feasts of soiled seawater. The captain was found cooped in his cloister of stone coffins, amid tense spiders of sweat, and never-ending mental exhaustion. The girls gathered to draw straws as to who could spare the poor man's soul with a large stone's strike. THAT WAS CASUAL FRIDAY.

THINGS ARE LOOKING GOOD.

From the Desk of Shalo P :

(prolonged, anguished scream)

From the Desk of BB :

The sounds sure have been Delia Derbyshire all up in this piece, amid a gaggle of other ladies of strange sound. What if DD had been the inspiration for BB in TVG?

JUST FOR YOU

A taste: "B-Beginning as trainee studio manager, her troubles were compounded by an addiction to music inter-dimensional, coke-invoked seances, and a devastating preoccupation with a mysterious department within Television for Ghosts. Perhaps there's an avant-garde ballet of threads of tape... cascadin' some mad..."

ERR. In other news, we're chalking one up for responsibility. TVG has it's own official ledger for 2016. In accordance with Shalo P's perpetual deconstruction of tomorrow, all serious business is peppered with little musings and cryptic records, lest we forget that the mad boss nearly hovers on his shamefully airy persona. 

Your (psycho) ward,

BB
San Francisco, California

p.s.
We're opening up the store with new music and books for 2016 (and eternity's ceaseless loop).

BONUS : Here is a link of Shalo P Discussing Valley  

: )

NEW FROM DOWN DATE

NEW FROM DOWN DATE

Spring came intermittent, flanked by cold daze, swooping into the studio like a gaggle of epileptic flashers. The curtains flutter, slashed red by kind news. Although Petey says it's totally more ellipses than a bobsled, even the shadows seem to smile. Well, the boss paid the player, so it's ultimately his sad ballad to cringe beside (GASP).

SPEAKING OF WEIRD REQUESTS

We've been getting some fun faxes from that fox, the boss. More on that later.

BB is bringing in fun material, earning second place in "troubling us", with Dodo slouching in the gutters behind a liquor store, passing out cigarettes along with trembling excuses on tardy deadlines.
More correspondence from that bunch soon.

NEWS / FEB 2016

We have the sweet 18th for an RSVP Event with THE BEDROOM SUITE at Catharine Clark Gallery in San Francisco. Here's a link with info concerning the NEW EDITION available now.

NEW REVIEW HIJINKS, HOOLIGANISM & HELL
by Jon Curiel. 

We also have a fine bit of news with inclusion in :
ALLIED FORCES ANNUAL ISSUE NUMBER ONE.

Shalo P supplied ten seething pages of thoughtfully cerebral wild. This looks like a very fun book. Please pay these kind independent crazies a visit and taste the sumptuous indiscriminate madness in which they partake.Warmest thanks to Jared Pittack.

more info:

Allied Forces Annual Issue No. 1 is a collaborative publication of visual stimulation, cultural advancements, and literary supplements. ALFA No. 1 features works by Jeffrey Cheung, Yardsale, Jin Young Choi, Derrick Oldman, Ann Le, Muzae Sesay, Joseph Shane, Ken Lorenzo, Shalo P, Lester Del Ray, Charlie Crush, J.L. Coffinwasher, Todd Jr., Erik Zepka, Kenny Meyers, Smet V, Maudry Vallens, Edward Zipco, Santos F Parcs, noa-, Kati Ledar, Ed Fuzuka, Christian Riechert, Jared Pittack, and much more.
Books are available in random stamped and screen-printed editions with cover art by Muzae Sesay.

ABOUT FEB 18.

There's a screening soon. Please check out Catharine Clark's Instagram for information regarding reserving a seat. Hmm. I'm still just on good ole' FLICKR and that thing is still FUN.

We'll be Screening FURNACE (video still, above) along with The Bedroom Suite.

FURNACE takes The Bedroom Suite's immersed narrative of a digital afterworld facing "mystic energies groovily attaining (and surpassing) critical mass" into a more ethereal zone of cosmic sensual cinematic delight, with a mystery journey into its jingle-jangle springing inner-workings, with themes riding fully in the flames of the movie itself.

I went to a psychic and she said "My shows are out of bounds of internet time."

And I said, "Do you mean your show right here, or mine up now?"

She then rejected every offer to dress up like Elvira or wear a red tux. Please see: THIS BRUTAL WORLD.

BB's NEWS :

Hot hash heat studio - BROILER ZONE,

the appendixes to a single heat-lamp blaring on a bare bonnet. 
Some say hot as hell as I recall,

I say a BEAUTIFUL HEAT! A fucking brilliant one, DAMMIT!

(if I faint I'll feign it was due to enthusiasm)

A knock on the door: it's the famed Johnny Woo and his associate, a silent hovering Sphinx they call circumstance (it's a cut that has him standing that way). BB travelled here to remain propped in bed with the phone cord wrapped around her neck (NICE), balanced like a plank while diddling with the pay pal piper with all ten fingers.

"Pay-up punk", sez SHE. No word yet from yonder giant anthropomorphic insect looming close…

Piper Lady: Your Birthday, Shalo Ma'm…What is your Birthday? 

*long silence, centuries mayhaps*

BB: MMmmmarch…I must confess, haven't the foggiest, really. 

PL: You do not know your birthday, sir? 

BB: I am Jehovah Whiteness. Christ could not afford me a Birthday! 

Still, the piper pays out…two pieces of secret info (Birthday being one, checking account being number other)
and the $10.85 is left for ten fingers to grip later.

AND THAT WAS BB's report on company finances.

We'll open the BEATIFUL HEAT bookstore soon.
There's also some fine music in the works.

Hell Prevails,

SS

links

New Review in SF Weekly

Allied Forces Press

Catharine Clark Gallery's Instagram

A little bit about BB

BEAUTIFUL HEAT, the TVG Digital Boutique

Flickr / online image database