GAMES FOR MAY 2016 / MYSTERY GAMES

WAY MAY DAY / GAMES FOR MAY 2016 / THE MYSTERY GAMES

SHALO P / TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS surely don't operate like most. 

Our stories are scattered across five corners of the accursed inter-web.

Only select bookstores, run by deranged mutant acolytes of cinema / literature, house SHALO P books like rowdy inmates in a Heartbreak Hotel / Jailhouse Rock / Caged Heat crossover starring Freddy Mercury.

Our previous indifference to internet representation had left us somewhat incomplete, 
a sort of fill-in-the-blank artist supplemented by nuanced interviews.



The truth is just a hop skip n' a jump
into the desert of the unreal.

We're just voices of reason here, focused through SHALO P / TELEVISION FOR GHOST's fine medusa-shaped prism, currently being an odd "appendices to a single room", representing various new refurbished natural philosophies to demolish them old shitty ones. 

FROM THE DESK OF SHALO P :

I'd stamp a Chuck Close painting to death to make room for a Jack Kirby any ole' day, or for a stream of Peter Greenaway / Michael Nyman cinematic compositions, the brilliance of Shana Moulton - it might suffice to have Orlan's lovely face left hanging on the wall like a mask, but straight bizness can keep its bordomz bliss to itself.

Frankly, The Underground is an incoherent term, now that everything's allegedly a click away - sorta. And yet The Counterculture is still surprisingly standing arms wide - fancy that.

Reality's still only skin-deep, in this regard - SEVEN LAYERS OF HEAVEN - plenty enough degrees for slowly separating the baking from oven.

So, it seems that we may as well come clean that we keep a lot of stuff off the internet.

It's practically another Universe to me, in a sense, a myriad of soft spaces, lost spaces, information, and unbridled pornography. Yeah, we can rely on it, but only Nothing is rock-solid, 'cept our principles, rocks, and our thrillz.

FROM THE DESK OF BB :

The Television For Ghosts library will never be completely online. It just can't. I tried and the computer vomited, nearly dying, and needed, like, a thousand back rubs to recuperate.

FROM THE DESK OF DORDERY MARKS :

Look, let's figure that folks these days seem to favor handy little typewriters, and the streets are aplumb with phony walkers bumping into people like inconvenient clouds, buffering spaces like it's a peripheral game of "walking is so easy I can do it blind-folded". This isn't going away - WHATEVER - but playing TVG off a "lil" fucking phone just isn't our sort of cinema. It sounds fucking gross. We do theatres, grand ballrooms, vibrant spaces, basements, tremulous innerspaces. Where's that ringing coming from? Hands up!!!

You're dealing with one of the smartest teams fucking EVER fucking ever fuckin.. wha... huh... uh... Where were we again? Who am I kiddin'?

Be our friend and let's assuage the aches and traumas of total information for a more palatable discourse on inter-dimensional travel through the membranes of culture and the arts in conceptual video, literature, and smarty comic strip funnies interpolating all manner of COSMIC ENDEAVOUR.

We'll have products soon to complete this discourse economically. Right now it's just a cool chat between pals, right?

The wheels are in motion, and the gears are oiled by the blood of patriots.

Let's figure this phase of the internet age as the The School of Thought period.

Folk have many beliefs and ideas. We're practically prone.

Certain ideas draw lines across lines over the horizon upon the horizon (on the horizon). 

An idea's innate beauty can be extrapolated to shatter "mind-forged manacles".

Let's keep striving for higher ideas, and keep talking to our fellow humans, when being offline means turning on and flipping out.

We're just here as your substitute to
everything else in The Universe.

hep hep,

sp

Kind News / SF Weekly's "Best of San Francisco 2016"

From SF Weekly's BEST OF SAN FRANCISCO 2016
Best Gallerist: CATHARINE CLARK.


"In 2013, when Catharine Clark moved her eponymous gallery from 49 Geary to the Potrero Hill area, she gave herself more room to work with, including a dedicated media space that has shown indelible work by such artists as Shalo P ("The Bedroom Suite"), Nina Katchadourian ("In a Room Full of Strangers"), and Andy Diaz Hope and Jon Bernson ("Beautification Machines").

Simultaneously, in the gallery's more traditional space, Clark has exhibited memorable work by such artists as Sandow Birk ("American Qur'an" and "Indelible (sic) Monuments"), Masami Teraoka ("Masami Teraoka's Apocalyptic Theater/The Pope, Putin, Peach Boy and Pussy Riot Galore"), and Walter Robinson ("Sic transit gloria mundi"). Clark's tastes run across many genres. She takes chances — just like the artists she champions — and the result is an exhibit schedule that is always too good to pass up."

On the stands right now. 
SF Weekly's BEST OF San Francisco 2016. 

A sincere thanks and love from all of us here. 
We love you very much, San Francisco.
Your people, ideas, (everything dood), and lovely landscapes in the vicinity make this a heavenly place for flourishing our own brand of "spiritual care-free".

THERE ARE ONLY SOPHISTICATEDLY WILDER THINGS TO COME.
Ya ever seen a digital post-apocalypse embellished with rainbows? 

: )

Shalo P / Television For Ghosts
San Francisco
May 2016

"ART PREZ ENDORSEMENT" AKA "LET'S PRESS FOR THAT UPSET"

"UPDATES FOR WHORSES UP TO SNOG, MATE /
VIE FOR NEW PRECEDENT PRESENT IN PRESIDENT OF AMERICA /
A DAMN DECENT ENDORSEMENT FOR THEM THAT DON'T VOTE"

by Shalo P

Dear Good Folk,

TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS totally endorses an Art President.

We're all in for BERNIE SANDERS here.

No more Bush / Clinton Dynasties for us, PLEASE.

And FINALLY, somebody who just shares our plain ole’ hatred of the nasty cold reality of Corporate Culture, blatant Wall Street malfeasance, and the inhuman 1% Sabotage of the American Democratic Process. This united, uncontrolled greed has poisoned, horrifically abused, and swallowed alive this planet’s natural resources and good faith. 

We need real solutions to a whole list of dire issues; Innate Human Dignity being recognized before Material Wealth sounds like a good start. Honest Pay for Honest Work sounds "tits" to me too. 

Let the anxious clouds and screaming voices on the horizon impart good sense unto you this June 7th, dear Californian. VOTE WITH FURY, wherever you may be this year. Do it as a solid rebuke to that trough of unreal hogwash running this country under the banner of the Republican Party, and for a fucking goddamn decent modicum of honesty in the supposed highest seat of office in this nation - in deference to overseeing some semblance of true "justice over all".

Fact is: When you play the The Game of Thrones in today's US of A, you're gonna need a Red Wedding's worth of super-delegates in your pocket, unless the underdog breaks the model by unifying the unrepresented.

LET'S PUSH FOR THE UPSET OF A LIFETIME.

Let's resolve to remain fine young knives ready to carve any encounter with the systematically corrupt powers that be, no matter who wins.

LET'S DO OUR PART TO 
OVERTURN THIS HOLOGRAM

AND MAYBE PUNCTUATE THE LAST THREE CENTURIES OF AMERICAN REFORM WITH ANOTHER GOOD OMEN. 

This experiment called "human civilization" is still reeling from so many drag drawbacks suffered in the generations past...

The Slaves, arguably, have been freed, unless you're anywhere near a fast food joint or think of the visiting someplace where prospects of freedom are unilaterally  unsavory (like North Korea).

Women can boast of the right to vote for over one hundred years, if they can wait a bunch of summers.

Modern forms of communication seem a seamless in-penetrable stream with an invariable tangle of disparate perspectives overlaid onto a panopticon that oddly feels like it goes both ways, raining down a culture of mediated abundance while drinking up our personal information. It figures that folk feel like they're trapped on the wrong side of a one-way mirror.
It's plenty tough to make a new choice too, especially when each step seems fraught with far-too-serious repercussions, including various forms of internet crucification, self-immolation (or those deluded as far to believe: deification).
Well Baby, ain't it crazy that FDR had it right about “THE FEAR”? Shucks, a potentially civil conversation these days - in living breathing life - can likely result in your discussion being cut short by the listener publicly shitting themselves outta fear.

SURE ENOUGH.
It’s about time we had an Art President. 

COME ON

WE GOTTA BELIEVE IN BEATING BULLSHIT
OR WHERE YA THINK YOU'RE GONNA GET YOUR KICKS?

From that leather-shined stamping boot? 
Or a world nuanced with rules that uphold dignity, creativity, and inter-connection - one that is fearless in hoping our asshole human collective gets its act together eventually?

With the most love and compassion I can emit to strangers and friends.

(heart emoticon) Please Vote Wise (heart emoticon)

Shalo P

San Francisco, California

"America's Favorite City"

MAY 2016

p.s. 
"We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular."- FDR

TODAY IN...

TODAY IN

OUR LITTLE WORLD

Open letter to Pals and Friends,

FROM: your gentle, and "formal" Shalo P; formally informal, NAHMEAN?

The expanding literary branch of Television For Ghosts is somewhat steadily gaining red fizzy steam.

At first, all we thought it would take was some firm encouragement and strong coffee with our collaborators to obtain the sort of intellectual synergy that could, hopefully, follow through into something worth stimulating the senses endlessly with smarty quandries, wry witticism, and moral ambiguities laid transparently, like a clever bridge between filantropic ogres with the audience as river, coming away filthy rich. But when the odds grew irreconcilably steep - not one would have guessed that all it takes is a swift swing from a menacing spiky wooden mace on a rusty bike-chain.

It revved up the menace and generally pepped up the room with its clangly chorus striking the walls while I rolled down the hallways doing the Fluorescent Shockwave, chipping the potted succulents with cloppy clash, and eventually landing on the back desk with a rock-all-night thud.

A metal part ricocheted off the old studio coffee maker near K's Corner (more of nook, really).

I left it lodged in the drywall by the stairs for good measure.

SO GO AHEAD AND ENJOY

a morsel of love from one of the more stranger departments of our Baroque Post-Internet Mystery League. 

SUPER "MUTANT" DUPER SPECIAL THANKS 2 :
Petey, Owen, Dodo, Becky, Linda, The Gardener, & BB).

PLEEZ

Allow the vernacular of our sensual endeavors, peppered with added dimension, play clever cat and canary games in this cradle / coal mine of the inter-web.

(I hope you find some light on your search along the way, nonetheless.)

Straight-up Rhetorically unposed, but speculatively en amour'd with rewriting the book on intellectual inquiry:

What is a magazine?

What exactly is a dream?

What exactly is a joke?

"Bare it." 

"Don't just look at it. Eat it."

(last two left on a lark, on its swing, near a branch.)

ANYHOO
we're overall enthralled in purposefully languishing in all fiery tongues the naked eye doth perversely recall, and from the nude mind do we find solace and embrace in caresses of clever and kind souls.

love,

SHALO P
San Francisco, California
"America's Favorite City"
May 2016

PLUS

A QUICK NOTE.

BB is off to make her best in life; on her own, and we congratulate her for the aspiration to skin the face off the world and wear it like a mask.

She's taking a break before she's back to break all our faces in a row with that ole' sledge hammer in her paws, sez SHE.

Her efforts in the "articles" below are at best, fabulously nebulous and meekly vague, like a Beethoven sonata played by fudge-dipped chihuahuas - a subtle melody gnawed on by wild rats with ruby rouge eyes.

Notwithstanding, The Youth was an utterly eternal blessing - until the animals started to shudder in her company with the eventual precipitating reports of neighbors panicking in her presence taking preference over her usual weekly duties, in essence.

After all, her resume described The Faun as "a young women emerging from the carnage of a beechcraft bonanza crash-landed in the crusty cornfields of calamities' caress". She'd state this aloud every so often as well, always coming out in a windy lustful drawl, moaning out like some ancient fuming Japanese Devil (although mostly unbeknownst to most That Kind Light doth shone def Onibaba, tenderly 'neath her snuff milky smoke murky ostrich egg off-white oyster-sized pink pill-box-hat exterior, and by that; when a young pillar of fire spoke: oh by G why N - it's BB's deep awesome truths)!

She left with arms outstretched - hands making double-dosed peace signs...

FROM THE DESK OF BB : 

"My name is BB and I approved this message!" 

Well, the message is love, and the candidate is sympathetic to harsh student loans. 

Before cleaning out her desk we found a little note to DD in a tin with a confederate flag scratched off its top.

The note read: 

"(illegible) ...didn't douse a dank doobage deed, smoking poorly burning pre-roll before the SFMOMA.

The wages of sin being cinders for any fellah making fly on the by and by, instead of eh'vry day like Nate Dogg, per se.

The professionals party all the time, sez never them that live nay-say." 

AND THEN SHE WAS GONE.

We love her and wish her the best on whatever massacre she's planning. We are Charlie Hebdo, in some obscene sense, and that could really boost numbers with some prime-time publicity, as long as she just sorta wings the boss during her spree.

See you in the funny papers (ours, preferably).

P.S. HINT HINT - GAMES FOR MAY 2016 is gonna be a quiet one. It'll still be totally totally "madness flipped".

(if not the sort alluding to the fabulously dementia-null, then mayhaps fabster rebuttlin' quarrels of straight shootin' self-denial).

GAMES FOR MAY 2016 / A MOMENT WITH SYD

GAMES FOR MAY 2016
is a sleek beast not on the internet (sorta / yet),
but it's a fun twist on madness flipped, nonetheless. 

heart emoticon 

heart emoticon 

heart emoticon 

For all my very fearless friends and those that have truly inspired new steps in the dance of fire and life. 

This is done in frightful adoration to the spirit of Syd Barrett and the countless lovely mad ones glowing in their dark despair. 

You just can't beat Love, Friendship, Sharing A Vital Discovery, and Discovery itself: four corners to a round house. 

heart emoticon 

Have a lovely May and play your games sweetly.
From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best.

heart emoticon 

Shalo P

http://www.theguardian.com/…/nick-kent-pink-floyd-syd-barre…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syd_Barrett
http://www.sydbarrett.com/