OH OH OH
Still loving ya honey. DEEP AS DIRE FUCK.
VIBING. Don't lose faith in the bad ass.
Them sad sack requiems to awesome: trash that. Shine hard.
Love thy fellow fellows and follow no leader to squabbling steaming dung heap.
Watch, read, and expand. Take walks. Make friends.
Walk in the dark. LOVELY.
(We had a new group show and book released with others in goldern SASKATOON, along with new prints for sale at PRO ARTS GALLERY. BB also debuted a new VIDEO PIECE at FLEET WOOD GALLERY. Our outfit has been offline and low key, doing festivals and screenings while being bastards at not updating on the INNERWEB. Forgive us and Love us unconditionally, please. We're the shy type. We'll be releasing the fab, but hard work's the order of the day before the flood of enchantment is well on its way. If you do need to CONTACT US, well then please do [scroll down]. We'll be doing a subscription something or other soon, so keep reading and keep sharing our distinctly phantasmagorical triumphs in conceptual art.
UH, ya know, [whispered] hell prevails.)
February 17, 2019
November 8, 2017
The forest goes on forever.
Forgiving is hard. Accepting is really hard. Being kind is hard to do.
Coming back in an instant like an oiled steel scorpion is important too.
All fools are foes, ya know, and every book's a love letter.
Bring down heaven's hammer with higher goals set in pious poetry, delicious kicks, and a feral use of logic and jostling reality itself - if that ain't a blessed falcon punch of creativity then you can revoke my Birdwatcher's license.
The Hard Stuff is worth doing.
The Pleasant Stuff is pure sport. Be true to your school though - to them that don't harm, to them that love fierce and true blue.
On the horizon is another horizon.
Here, there by Tygers.
We've come back to kiss quiet country.
America is hitting one if its all time lows.
"The Shadows are here to dance, jack. The Shadows are here to stay." hissed the cackling checkered devil during the RNC.
We love you America, oh stinking in the unholy mires
of ole's scratch hisself - that snake.
Happy Holidays. Keep coiled and yuh nuh, solidarity between freaky dreamers and visionary wanderers - like on the streets of Compton, San Diego, Honolulu or Milwaukee. Thank you, wonderful assortment of minds. Our exam in moral truth has been afoot since the time that time stopped forgetting. Are we somehow collectively inhabiting an archived reliquary of our times, trapped in misstressed media amber? I'm not sure.
But I hope you kiss whoever your sweet heart is.
From thhheeee deeeeessss...
San Francisco, California
August 16, 2017
WE SAY NO
TO FASCIST PIGS
AND WHITE SUPREMICISTS.
WE SAY NO
TO LOVELESS BASTARDS
AND DICKLESS ANTAGONISM
FROM NAZI SLEEPER CELLS,
OR TACKY COSPLAY TYRANTS.
THINK AS YOU WISH, BUT ALL THOSE KKK DOLTS ARE ALL MERELY SCREAMING LEAVES IN LONELY MISERABLE AGONY, CHEWED TO BITS BY EXISTENTIAL ANXIETY - SO MENTALLY MALNOURISHED AND INSANE THAT IT IS CLEARLY BEYOND THE COMPREHENSION OF MOST TO PERCEIVE THE SHEER POVERTY OF THOUGHT THAT HAUNTS THEM. FOOLS FOR FOOLS SAKE INDEED, ENSLAVED AND EMPOWERED BY THE DEMON FIGURE UPON THE PULPIT AND PODIUM.
THE GUN OR KNIFE OR CAR IS NOT OUR WEAPON.
A MIND IS SWIFTER.
A PEN IS SHARPER.
A HEART IS STRONGER.
WE SEND LOVE TO THOSE FACING THIS WRETCHED STRUGGLE IN THIS DISTORTED, OTHERWORLDLY NIGHTMARE AMERICA. ITS NEXT PHASES INTO THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON MIGHT MEAN SOME NEEDLESSLY TAWDRY TOTAL WAR, BUT THEN AGAIN IT MIGHT MEAN EXOTIC RAINBOWS OF SUBSTANCE IF ONE WERE KEEN ON CARRYING PRISMS. WITHIN OUR CONTEMPORARY MANIC PANIC WE HAVE WIZ KIDS, OPTIMISTS, AND FEARLESS PUSHERS OF COSMIC ODYSSEY, WISHING TO SHARE THE NEXT STEPS TO HUMAN EVOLUTION WITH INTREPID THOUGHT.
IT'LL HAVE TO BE YOU AND ME, BABE.
WORLD WAR FOUR MAY WELL HAVE BEEN PREDICTED TO ONE DAY BE FOUGHT WITH STICKS AND STONES AFTER CIVILIZATION IS SQUASHED BENEATH NUCLEAR BOMBS AMID IRRADIATED FIELDS OF PELENNOR, IF TRULY FORETOLD BY EINSTEIN HIMSELF. BUT ALAS, MARSHALL MCLUHAN SAID IT BEST (WE FRET) THAT CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES PAINT THE POINT THAT THE IMPLOSION OF WAR AWAITS AT HOME.
FROM THE DESK OF MARSHALL MCLUHAN
World War III is a guerilla information war with no division between military and civilian participation.
WAS THE WEB ALWAYS A WEAPON OR WAS IT WEAPONIZED?
ASK THE POISONOUS ORANGE SPIDERS IN OFFICE.
ASK THEM THAT HAVE TASTED THE FREEDOM OF FLIGHT.
NOTWITHSTANDING WE'RE STILL STANDING AFTER DEMOCRACY TOOK A BAD HIT LAST NOVEMBER WHEN A FASCIST NAZI SWINE WAS ELECTED WITH OPEN AID OF DUBIOUS RUSSIAN INFLUENCES ALONGSIDE.
LOVE AND KISSES TO THOSE THAT FACE THE STRUGGLE.
LOVE TO THOSE THAT RESIST THE INFLUENCE OF MINDLESSNESS.
LOVE TO THE KIND ONES THAT KEEP FIGHTING.
LOVE FOR OUR DEAD.
August 12, 2017
THANK YOU SO MUCH.
I'M SANCTIFIED BY YOUR LOVE.
YA KNOW LIKE A BLOW JOB FROM A NAIL GUN.
OH IT'S A HOLEY EXPERIENCE
TO FEEL SO TRANSPARENT
THAT SADNESS LEAKS FROM EXIT HOLES
LIKE GEYSERS TO HEAVEN.
WE ARE GONNA ARCHIVE MORE THINGS.
AND PUT MOOORE FUN IMAGES UP. REASSEMBLE THE WORKS. SOOONGS OF THE SOUND. YOU DESERVE IT. WE WANNA SHARE LOVE.
REDESIGN THE HOLE PLACE.
OTHER LIQUID COLUMNS AND CLEAR EXAMPLES OF FINE LITERATURE BY BB AND FRIENDS TOO. OOPS - KICKED OVER THE FAX AGAIN. SHALO P IS STILL HANDLING RESEARCH AND DEVELOPING THE GREAT LAST "SOUND AND VISION" CHAPTERS OF VALLEY FOR THE ONCOMING ROLL-OUT. MORE INFO FOR ANOTHER TIME.
THANK YOU TO ALL OUR FRIENDS OUT THERE, AND TO ALL THE KIND FOLKS THAT PERCHANCE COME TO VISIT US HERE.
KEEP HUGGING YOUR PALS. KISS YOUR FRIENDS ON THE CHEEKS. HOLD HANDS AND SING SONGS YOU LIKE.
BE GENTLE AND SUBLIME.
IF THERE'S A CHANCE THAT WE DON'T HAVE TO FIGHT EVERY NAZI TO THE FUCKING DEATH, THEN LET US HOPE IN OUR MAD HEARTS THAT WELL CONSIDERED, THOUGHTFUL LOVELY ART CAN INFUSE THE HUMAN SPIRIT WE ALL SHARE TO BRING THOSE ASSHOLES ONTO OUR SIDE INSTEAD. YOU CAN LAZER OFF A SWASTIKA TRAMP STAMP AND NIX THAT HITLER HAIRCUT WITH A TEMPERED GONG TO THAT COSMIC PIT OF A SOUL. REDEMPTION IS STRONGER THAN TRAGEDY.
PERHAPS WE CAN FIND FRIENDS SOMEWHERE UNPREDICTABLE IN THE ROVING FANTASTIC PHANTOM COUNTRY COMPRISED OF LOVERS AND TRUE FUCKING BELIEVERS OF MERCY AND COMPASSION, OF INQUIRY AND UNDERSTANDING, OF LAUGHTER AND UNBOUND CREATIVITY. THAT SWEET SPIRIT LIVES PEACEFULLY QUIET IN THE HEART OF MOST.
MAYBE IT DOESN'T HAVE A VOICE.
BUT IT SINGS.
we here, doing our best.
Television For Ghosts Aug. 2017
San Francisco, California
August 11, 2017
Smell the smelter. The iron works.
A charmed mind is resilient in its efforts to evade the rusted palaces, shoreside.
Had some π and coffee, thinking of that old mathematic mechanic cafe that used to be around here.
There was also a boutique that played songs with a stir of strings when it got lights out and late.
Washington Square could spare some more tales, a splash of port mayhaps for this salty dog.
It serves a dood draped in ox-blood any ole' time.
This goldern necronomicon got side-saddled stitching and was distributed by this zine distro out near where James Dean got wrangled in the reins of his Little Bastard.
In life's free-for-all explosions of emotions the question persists as well.
Is the internet about good or bad vibes?
Does hell prevail? Oh well, I'm not sure. The demon-haunted world seems undaunted - joyous, even.
But the kicks are getting higher than a legion of chicas' can-can.
Another fax came in with all the words - funny ones.
The end came with the question of when a joke is a joke or a funny statement a funny statement or just merely an actual inescapable position witnessed from afar.
Laughter draws blood into the lungs.
Singing is thrilling.
Singing is resisting.
August 9, 2017
I know of a day that stays in bed and runs around at night.
Damn fucker would steal a car and steer it into the bay if it could.
The pictures on the wall around this place are taped like messages from a kidnapper.
They say Shalo P suddenly disappeared somehow.
I can hear a humming through the walls and this place smells like an ashy furnace with its dancing swirls on the mottled surfaces - more messages. At the foot of the fax I found an old coin with lewd marks in its face. Penny for a thought.
I'm not aware if any creature so low-down could be up for transubstantiation. A tricky creature knows all forms of tricksey, if ya listen close to quiet ones rowing their little boats along the shore of their subterranean bog.
I'll leave some cookies here. I'll step on the poor little things to not spoil the artist with pomp or pristine.
I'm told that broken shapes ease even the foulest of moods.
I'm tempted to leave a fire within the wall to smoke out the saint, but I reckon that title is already held by another, elsewhere.
Somehow, I imagine a fire smoldering still from once when I pitched a chewed stogie into one of the whispering mouths along the hallway.
Perhaps it's just a small game of a door and her sisters.
In this match we connote a fractured window by the desk with perhaps just some poor lazy cousin made with feet. Grainy prisms mark where the glass was reinserted into the kicked-in pane.
I can't stay in this room too long. I'd just keep dancing here and bopping away the witching hour until it switches night for a midnight morn. That's the place, consequently - my home town.
The room just melts out of shape when I feel that manic panic tug at the socks.
There is unknown music somewhere in this place.
July 29, 2017
July 27, 2017
took a look.
there's a room of animals.
there's a room with drawings all over the place.
oh yeah, another hole in the wall now looking greasy along the edges.
IT'S A MESSAGE.
did something disappear within like a sick animal or is this another calling crevasse?
more faxes came in. the pile is a pattern. too much damn profanity in it. it mentions some orange chump whose name rhymes with CHUMP.
it's abominable stuff, the work of this creature and its minions. Yuck.
there's also a love letter to trans people.
we aren't slowing down for shit.
it's just a bit of quiet civil war that we beloved artists are facing. will we give up? HAH.
fuck, i got a high-five last week for yelling at some pig in his patrol car. fucking pig sped up at me at a crosswalk on the stroll home. lousy stinking swine then goes all Biff Tanner with sly mocking "watch where you're going..." like some fascist scum out of a movie. The pig was dark-skinned; pig traits travel along all the pathways of the body to taint its souls. It's a nasty power trip that seemingly attracts weak characters and unpleasant bullies into its service here in the good 'ole USA. His eyes were brimming with menace, the frustrated eyes of a murderer with free time on his clenched fists.
I yelled back, "you're supposed to look out for us" and then called the pig "the proverbial" as I turned to leave. he stayed in his squad car, angry as a beaten back rapist.
FROM THE DESK OF SHALO P
honestly kids, fuck the pigs.
this won't make news. it won't set the world on fire, but an old Italian fellow followed me into the store I'd ducked into for cover and shook my hand with love and spirit.
he said "good work, they should be looking out for us, but that just isn't the case".
his smiling eyes were a pep.
keep love in your heart and don't let those pigs get to ya.
transcribed by Dordery Marks and laid down here by a kind creature...
July 14, 2017
June 2, 2017
NUWS ZOUNDS NIL
HI HI HI.
It's UH found below.
FROM THE DESK OF DORDERY MARKS
Look up or just below blow me push the red button. Lock up or jest below me push the red button.
A song sorta felt right for sharing today.
THIS JUST UH.
It comes with a very uh special transmission from UH YA KNOW and WE HERE amid the squalor of democracy clashing with those filthy sombitch alt-nazzies and scumfuck patrol of narrow-headed bumpkins trying to send this country to hell in an armpit. Dead America at night is a frightful sonovabitch to encounter at cold dusk. I tell ya true.
DEVASTATE, BUT FORGIVE.
AND AND UH AND.
FROM THE DESK OF SHALO P
UH YA KNOW I KNOW
why hell prevails...
Have ya read the news?
That march might get to goose-stepping, but brother and sister I gotta tell ya that I'll SLIDE ELECTRIC this motherfucker to oblivion before then.
Ya see, I got this system.
Tippity-Tap, and that's outreach.
You got to learn to let it go.
You got to know when it's all over.
And upon that horizon lies another in the haze of some morning.
Morning breaks some where, every there like an egg as the doom dawns, love.
There something mysterious and compelling about the mix of oxygen and sentience.
And if I hang by my words - when I'm alone and its dark, choked up and sensual - then I pray I get my kicks in too.
I hope you sweethearts are keeping to being speculative and zesty.
Reach into your pants and pull out a libertine.
Tell BB to keep her heart in the shadows of the black cape and her hands off my magazines.
I'm in UH hiatus. High Ate Us as one of my forlorn swore companions states as we take turns wrecking the wall and sneaking in to use the fax.
I slept beneath trees once and swam in some hot springs.
There's a big ole' rock on the California Coastline that smells like Mammoths.
Don't tell any one.
I BELIEVE IN FIRE.
I BELIEVE IN IMAGINATION.
I BELIEVE IN LOVE AS THE LOVE OF BEING FREE.
I do my best to make an effort (lest any truculent wretch flip my record) to show it rather than just say.
I'm a miserable prisoner of this unending passion for life.
See you sooon.
AND that's what was in the fax thing.
AND there were other sorta stuff that Void Fox sent. Most of it's schematics and maps.
AND now back to the program, starring a stalwart scythe of a brittle babe.
FROM THE DESK OF BB
Doo-Wa-Diddy Diddy-Dum Didddy Doo
OH OH OH
An Aside from Glowy. She ran onto the balcony and was last scene leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Poor girl didn't know the forest from the cold steel breeze.
Plus, we're getting a P.O. Box for correspondence ASAP but that stingy piece of shit fink of a MAN is on our back with paperwork. Frankly kids, fuck the fucking system.
LOOK I'M A TROUBLED LADY and life isn't getting any, ya know, koolr.
Oh no not me. I'm actually koolr than I think sometimes.
I take it in STRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE PART TWO - this time it's personal.
I'll never let the bankers bankrupt my soul.
Without at least a smidge of free-thinking independent loveliness, the world would soundly plummet into infinite darkness.
FROM THE DESK OF DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO
loosely transcribed by Dordery Marks
San Francisco, California
May 25, 2017
OCCULAR EYEPLUGS Third Action ::
KNIFE / EYEBALL
Occular Eyeplugs is an ongoing series of films and videos from local to international artists, video makers, and other esoteric time based media presented at various locations throughout the Bay Area. This show brings together almost a dozen short works plus a live A/V performance by Cyborg Eye from Italy.
CYBORG EYE presents “They Know We Are Here,” a found film with an accompanying soundtrack which were found as a pair affixed together in bloody gauze in a back alley dumpster of Rome, Italy.
CYBORG EYE is an amalgamation of visual, aural, psychedelic and perceptual structures of B roll horror, faux fact/fiction cinematic tropes of entropy, chaos, humor, and death.
CYBORG EYE uses abstract narrative, proto-science fiction, offering up a dystopian archetype of symbology, amalgamated bodies, “zombies”, abstract light and sound and the subtle registries of fear in the human brain.
Videos on the program include:
By The Light by Philadelphia’s Moor Mother, described as “Sandra Bland Returning from the dead with a Hatchet.” Strobing cacaphonic images flicker of the artist educating the listener with visceral and powerful words and image. City lights and stars pale in comparsion with the weight held in a single word. https://moormothergoddess.bandcamp.com
Trapped from ZEEK SHECK is a five minute glitched out tour de force with surreal psychedelic rhythms of shifting and amalgamated faces, bodies and unknown beings mutating in space. We are all going to die. We are all going to die. We are all going to die. Trapped steadily builds up to and morbidly repeats the rhythms of the assembly line of consciousness, as faces and bodies shift into bodybags and Rubik’s Cube mind alterations of living and non-living beings. http://www.cannermefe.com
Chiquito Bendito by Las Sucias observes cult and esoteric rituals involving bloody head in a blender style collage, with strobing skull misanthropes, that goes behind the scenes of the artists tale of castrations and justified violence on the patriarchy and cat-calling no brains zombies. https://sucieria.bandcamp.com
Punch A Nazi, Fuck Richard Spencer by Anti Art Collective. Meticulously edited videos of deliberate violence enacted against agents of oppression a la the police and Richard Spencer, edited for hypnotic brainwashing techniques of anti authoritarian agenda cut to WOLF EYES, THREE SIX MAFIA, METALLICA and more.
Other featured artists:
AH MER AH SU
The “Danger To The System” series is curated by Malocculsion, Pro Arts curator in residence.
Pro Arts’ Curatorial Residency Program is funded in part by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.
April 4, 2017
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).
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,
San Francisco, California
February 14, 2017
February 9, 2017
WHAT COMES BEFORE ZERO?
SORTA A PORTAL
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.
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.
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 SACRED 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,
Dordery Marks (with notes provided by Shalo P)
San Francisco CA