April 4, 2017

SLITHERING SNAKE / FROM THE DESK OF BB













The ascension of snakes is old hat to us, son. Pres-don't Orange Manure can't fire us. We cuddly as fuck.
NONE THE LESS
It's no limit craziness from that "florescent shockwave" Shalo P and the whole Television For Ghosts gang. Fistfuls of courage to all our peace-loving angels.

Shalo P sent a postcard themed-up all "Jack The Ripper". It poured out crimson out onto the floor when it was handed over - serves him right for sending a gull to do his dirty work.
CUT TO THE CHASE
New books are in the works but we're also in the studio making music and working out these dang riddles 
Void Fox keeps faxing.
More "new" soon. We're part of the resistance that keeps singing freedom. We UH love UH freedom of UH expression and will UH fight for freedom of speech for every one, even the UH damn fools.
Well, this fool here thinks all life is one and that our only battle lies with the human heart. 
Open up and take freshness balls deep, bitch.
Reach out to your brothers and sisters and trans-community. Reach out real-life interesting friends.
Skip out and live with your beasties. Live in caves full of laughs instead of like slaves seeped in wrath.
Don't sink into the Beat-Off Generation, fingers clinging to the edge of a pool of endless "YOU", like Narcissus.
Forgive yourself for chasing those lying bastards' dreams, or any old wack shit, and join us. 
Meet us out in the Wilderness with a boombox and a bag of tape.
We just want a weirder stronger sexier gender-fluid tasty creative clever common conniving future for everyone. We're into optimism, cause that's the only thing keeping these little fists from just flying.
If I rip another dress or have to shave my legs higher than my fucking knees I'm gonna go kerzy. BUCK WILD (while also probably nude and rude to boot).

ANYHUH
We always believe in artists. THEM FUCKERS SELL PATCHES OF HEAVEN!
TELL YOUR FUCKING FRIENDS 'CAUSE ARTISTS LIKE US LIVE BY THE RICHNESS OF TODAY'S AUDIENCE.
SWEAT AND BLOOD MAKE THAT GREAT MUTHA'S MILK NOURISHING AND JIZZY GENIUS.
THINK ABOUT IT. BEING AHEAD OF YOUR TIME JUST MEANS YOU'RE SURROUNDED BY GOLDERN BACKWARDS SOMBITCHES. EGAD, SQUIRE.
ROLL THAT SHIT FORWARD AND BE A STEWARD FOR PURE INDEPENDENT MADNESS. LET'S LIVE IN THE FUTURE WHILE FIGHTING THE EMPIRE.
BE AN AGENT OF THE SENSUALLY ENIGMATIC. KISS THESE INTELLECTUAL TITS. TAKE A NIPPLE INTO THAT HEATHEN MAW. TASTE THAT?

From The Desk of SHALO P
"We make no truce with the uninteresssting."  

OH OH OH
That would be crimnal,

BB
San Francisco, California 





TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS : ZERO









TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS : ZERO


TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS: VERSION ZERO from SHALO P / TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS on Vimeo.









transmissions



February 14, 2017

FROM












"There is no such thing as love: only proof of love." - Jean Cocteau






















February 9, 2017

WHAT COMES BEFORE ZERO / SORTA A PORTAL






WHAT COMES BEFORE ZERO?
SORTA A PORTAL





THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND OF VENGEANCE.



.

A PRESENCE PRESENTED FROM PARLAY BETWEEN TWO SIBLINGS,
freely WILLING TO PARTAKE IN A fresh CINEMA ENDEAVOR FOR THE SAKE OF THE SAINTS (WITHOUT WHOM WE'D NOT BE OBLIGED TO INDULGE WOULDA WUZZA WUZZZIT)
THIS PARTICULAR MASTERPIECE IS BY JOHNNY ROGERS, PRODUCED BY SHALO P AS THE PRIMORDIAL SLASH BEFORE EVENTUALLY BEING ENVELOPED INTO THE ORGANISM CRAFTED IN STEELY SLICK VOID.
IT WAS PRODUCED BY SHALO P UNDER A CLEAN BET - OR A BARGAIN, STRUCK BACK IN THE COLD LAST DAYS OF "THE TORMENTORS" CYCLE WHEN HE PRODUCED AND PRESENTED "THE FIRST ROOM" TO YOUNG MASTER ROGERS, A VERITABLE MONUMENT TO WILDERNESS CONFINED IN THE SEAMS OF A DREAM, a bridge - the first. 








THE TORMENTORS WAS A STEADY WAVE OF FRICTION BETWEEN ANOTHER PAIR OF CURSED CREATURES THAT CAME TO FRUITION WITH AN FASHIONABLE EXHIBITION AT MERIDIAN GALLERY, WITH CRITICAL ACCLAIM ON A LUSH SPOT ON FOGGY NOB HILL. THAT'S SAN FRANCISCO, YA KATS. YOU CAN HEAR ITS VOICE IN ITS SPIRIT.








"WHAT WAS POURED INTO THE FOUNDATION LAID AT STAKE OUR VERY SOULS. IT WAS A RITUAL OF BLOOD, SCARLET FOOTSTEPS FRESHLY PADDED ABOUT EVERYWHERE."
THE MEDIUM WAS THE MESSAGE AND THE MEDIUM WAS AWFULLY MANGLED INDEED, DAWG. THE "TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS" OF THEN, WAS A SPY'S VENTURE, A SPECTATOR'S COLLATION OF A GREAT STORM'S MONUMENTAL TRANSGRESSION INTO THE PRIME REAL ESTATE OF THE ZEITGEIST, A VERITABLE SINEWED COLLECTIVE PSYCHIC BORDERLAND THE HUMAN RACE INHABITED IN ITS WANTS, WILES, AND WILLS.







THOSE YEARS WERE WROTH WITH STRANGE METAPHYSIC BREAKTHROUGHS, LIKE FIGURING OUT ABOUT FOOD STAMPS AND ENDLESS COFFEE REFILLS AT GAS STATIONS, AND WHICH BAKERY THREW OUT STALE BREAD EARLY. GLADLY, ONENESS WAS ATTAINED WITH SOME RESOLUTE QUIET IN THEM "INNER WOODS" INSTEAD OF JUST BLOWING A COUPLE OF TRUCK DRIVERS FOR MONEY LIKE THAT GYM TEACHER ONCE ADVISED.







ANYHOO
.
VOIDS OVERLAPPED LIKE SHEETS AND DRAPED SHADOWS ON LOVERS ENTWINED - VENGEANCE AND ITS WEAPONS WERE SEIZED BY THE DIVINE - SET TO DANCE OR PRANCE AS WE SOMERSAULT FORTH TO THE GATES OF TRUEST SOUTH

THE FIRST STEP WAS VENGEANCE. MIX THAT WITH A KNACK FOR BINDING IMAGERY AS ONE IN A RIVER TUMBLING HUMANITIES SACRED SYMBOLS INTO A BLENDER - THE ZEITGEIST DISPOSSESSED, REPOSSESSED, AND UNTETHERED FROM ITS MOORINGS, TO LUMBER FORTH INTO VAST NEW TERRITORY. 

THE ASSEMBLING / DISASSEMBLING IS A LIBERATION TO ITS CLATTER OF INTERPRETATIONS AS WE ALL DANCE TO A CLASH OF QUESTIONABLE INTELLECTUAL CREATION, MELDED HOT FROM MATERIAL IN THE MIND, SAND FROM THE DESERT OF THE UNREAL, CLAWING AT THE HUMAN SPIRIT, CHARRING THE INSIDES TO CINDERS AND SHIFTING THE STONE PUS CLUTTER FASHIONED TO FUNCTION AS A INHIBITER OF EXPANDING THE IRIS. WE WERE DOWN AGAIN FOR NEW PERCEPTIONS.
THIS HAD TO BE THE BEGINNING OF A DIFFERENT CINEMA, NOTHING LESS THAN CRIMNAL.









SHALO P REPORTEDLY STARTED THE DEAL UP TO SET A MENTALLY CONCEIVED "DEDICATED ROOM" - the prototype - TO BE EXTRAPOLATED UPON AND SHARED UNTO FUTURE TRAVELERS IN THE AS YET-TO-BE STORIES AWAITED A HORIZON UPON THE HORIZON AWAY. SHALO P ELABORATED WITH A ROOM FURNISHED WITH A BEVY OF MELTED CEREAL BOXES, DECREPIT AND DESECRATED WITH IMMOBILE FIERY SPIRES FLASHING OUT, AND CUNNINGLY CUT PAPER FLAMES SPILLING FROM ITS COLORFUL SHAFTS. THE PAINTED MOTIONS WERE CRAFTED IN PANCAKE-THICK DRIPPY COLORFULNESS, A PAINTER, A POURER, NONE POORER THAN THAT RICH BITCH. SOME OF THESE SCULPTURES SEEMED TO BURST, CAPTURED IN THEIR FROZEN CARTOON TIME, YET ROTTING LIKE ABANDONED PLANTS. THE ROOM WAS PEPPERED WITH BALLOON SCULPTURES TOO, ALL SWIPED FROM A SWEETHEART. THAT LIL' NOOK SHOOK WITH ZEALOUSY CRAFTED FROM CEREAL BOXES BLEEDING BRIGHT SMOLDERING COLORS ONTO THE FLOOR. THE GLITTERY GLAM GATES OF HELL HAD BUT A WORD OVER ITS GLISTENING SEAL - REJOICE.




THE MOUTH OF HELL OPENED WITH A HANDSHAKE. IT WOULD EVENTUALLY BE AN IMMERSIVE TALE WOVEN OUT OF WILD VOLATILE FABRICS - REPRESENTING A GENRE UNTO ITSELF - A DRASTIC TAKE ON FUN CELEBRATING SORROW IN THE SARED FOOTSTEPS OF HAPPINESS.

OUR CINEMA VENTURED TO WRESTLE WITH ITS UNBALANCED NUMBERS / ONES AND ZEROS, LIGHT, INTEGRITY, A JOURNEY BETWEEN PIXELS, AND THE CAPTURING OF DECONSTRUCTION - WITH GLITCHES IN THEIR NATURAL HABITAT - CRAFTING A SHADOW LANDSCAPE REPRESENTING HUMANITY'S DYING FROZEN GRINNING FACE AU NATURALE WITHIN THE ONSLAUGHT OF THE INFORMATION AGE'S SELF-MADE BLISS. A GREAT UNFATHOMABLE STORM WAS CASUALLY RUMBLING FORTH ACROSS MENTAL PLANES WITH A BOOMBOX STASHED IN FRAPULOID FOLDS OF VOID OVERLAPPING SYNERGISTIC ECSTASY, SETTING THE STAGE FOR OUR SINGULAR SONG.





THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND OF VENGEANCE 2.0.
IT WAS VITAL TO CRACK OPEN THAT PROVERBIAL CASK OF AMONTILLADO AGAIN TO LURE ALL OUR FRIENDS ON DOWNWARD TO A QUAINT UNDERGROUND CELLAR SCREENING WHERE THE DISEMBODIED LIGHT BUSTS ALL THEM BRICKS WITH ITS DIVINITY-GIVEN CINEMA SPIDER LIMBS, A SORT OF CONSCIOUSNESS IMBUED TO PROVIDE HONEST DISCOURSE, AND AN IMMERSIVE COFFIN FOR THE PESKY EXPECTATIONS OF THE WORLD BEFORE. 
THIS IS ONE OF THE FIRST TASTES OF TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS - A RESPONSE TO JOHNNY ROGERS, PRESSED INTO VHS BACK WHEN THIS OFFICE WAS SET IN THE WOODS, PLAYED ON THE WEDDING NIGHT WITH THE VOID TO CHIME IN OUR FIRST REAL DAYS WITH THE MYSTERY COMPANY - TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS, A NEARLY AGELESS ENTITY THAT ONLY EXISTED IN LEGEND AND TAPE.





FOR THE FIRST FEATURE "PRODUCED BY SHALO P" JUST MEANT THAT THE STORY WAS HATCHED UNDER DURESS FROM THE COUNT OF DEFCON FAB, WITH VENGEANCE PERSONIFIED WRITHING IN WRATH, AND A JOURNEY SOMEWHAT CUT SHORT PERHAPS,
MORE LIKELY ENVELOPED IN THE WARMTH OF THE VOID. THIS SECOND CAPITULATION WAS CARVED FROM THE DANK BLACK STUFF ITSELF.
SO SINK A TOE IN THIS BLACK RIVER TO STROLL ONWARD TO THIS SECOND INCARNATION WITH KIND RESERVE OR PERHAPS ANOINT SOME UNHOLY CHAPEL SINCE ITS A BIT OF A UH LOVE LETTER.

THE ALLUSION IS THE ILLUSION AS MUCH AS THE ROSE IS THE RUSE.
YOU SHOULD PROBABLY HEAD ALONE BY YOURSELF FROM THIS POINT.



.

WITH LOVE AND KIND REGARDS,

VENGEANCE.

Dordery Marks (with notes provided by Shalo P)

San Francisco CA



February 8, 2017

FAX FROM HUNGRY TIMES PRESS / STABBER



FRIZZ UNFURL / FAX FROM HUNGRY TIMES PRESS / NOTHER EDITION / DODO

There was a strange turn of events last month. I saw it myself. There was a hole in the wall, big enough for a brute.
It came outta nowhere and led nowhere too, deep into the walls and in-between what's between them



DOWN DEEP. 
We're patching it up with stucco but also thought of using the yogurt in the break room before it all goes "off".
I saw his ghastly office door, now gone awol, all haunty and shit - that one mentioned in the first fax from Void Fox, leaning keen at the laundry mat up on Grant Street beside a folding machine that mangles kids to bits (just guessing). There's a bench in the park that had the door there leaning onto a glinty red dewey Madrone at an angle, as if furniture were practically Fonz.
These things came at inopportune times, so I put it into song and ignored texts asking about the boss and its whereabouts.
BB was already handling that stuff. She's culpable.
Where he went was deep and where he is now ain't any mind to this Minnie, not since I saw the bare dusty footprints strutting up on the walls and on the ceiling.
I got faith in freak.
Good ole' naw naw's UH numbwhere



UH ANYWHO 
Come on sisters and brothers, Trans, daddies, mamas, nanas, num nums. Get close and send your monetary gifts in form of checks mixt with lil' presents to our new PO Box mailing address (COMING SOON). Mail Art and Friendship Peace Gangs are cool with us. Let's be pen pals, but above UH all pals, asshole. I accept nothing but love and likewise my love is rough as sandpaper, but true as sweet rain.
The printers are humming hot, more news coming soon. We might have a subscription-based bargain with the devil that will be made available soon for new works from TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS and our MUTANT BOOKS projects - POST-VALLEY - fathoms deeper than death. Shalo P wanted me to personally convey that- Wait. Wait. Wait. UH.

Just got an urgent fax from Hungry Times Press:

WHAT COMES BEFORE ZERO?







January 26, 2017

FROM THE DESK OF BB / ZOOP!





FROM THE DESK OF BB / SPECIAL EDITION / DIFFERENT STROKES

The boss just went (OH NO), sent to face the doc over a tooth looking like a melted mushroom. Frankly, the child needs an exorcism, or a time-machine abortion where we steal his mom from his sweet daddy beforehand.

ANYHOO (to loan a term)

His wide white eyes were pale as pigeon poo on the shoulder of Pallas.
That mound of ashes mentioned Latin, smoke creeping at the corners of his sensual mouthAnd I said "No Hablo Ingles" and stepped on his fingers to let him go.

So he sent these images from his death bed (probably just a rickety chair, maybe he's gone electric). I feel electric already and that's just some leftover heaven through a window.

All I know for sure is that coconut oil is kind to supple skin and slipping off a cliff.
I'm speaking from experience, I've seen his will - it's weak, and I get EVERYTHANG.
He should get Lasick but probably would end up opting for lazer eyes HISSSSSELF - the snake.
OH OH.
A daughter of serpents gets to know a whole lotta mystic secretessss...




We're coming alive to thrive with creative fun from the offices of DUM DUM DUM - TELEVISION FOR GHOSTS.
We'll keep celebrating Christmas 'til next year - down on your knees praying all intense as frosted leopards lick them feet.
Give one shiver of fear for a gang seriously run by love and raw feeling.

FROM THE SHED OF DORDERY MARKS :
UH, I was jerking off my boyfriend ya know, and he says to use the other hand 'cause he don't like lefties. Too bad.

Who doesn't like lefties?
Well, I technically do, I guess, but I'm really sorta totally selective. IT'S CRIMNAL. 

FROM THE DEATH BED OF SHALO P :
Unhand me, you damn dirty doctors!

OH ON ANOTHER NOTE - Diagonal Walkers: WHERE DO THEY GET OFF?

It's BB's Bach like Sebastian playing that tune that sounds like Phantom of the Opera, ya know, the serial killer and not the musician.
I'm figuring shit out with the printers to share some mutant books and mutant works for Good Uns and Camouflaged Saints.
Bright colors will come from the chameleon messiah. Absorb life through every membrane. Merry Christmas, you loathsome heathens!

JUICE!

BB