Showing posts with label BB. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BB. Show all posts

November 8, 2017

AND ALTHOUGH WE HAVEN'T MET, OLD FRIEND











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...
(inaudible)
San Francisco, California


August 16, 2017

WE SAY NO



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?
WUZZA WUZZIT?
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. 



With Love For Heather Heyer For Ever


August 12, 2017

GLORIA GLORIA GLORIA




THANK YOU.
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 GOOD.
BE KIND.

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.
IT SINGS.

THANK YOU.
THANK YOU.
THANK YOU.

LOVE.
we here, doing our best. 


Television For Ghosts Aug. 2017
San Francisco, California




June 2, 2017

DREMME FRIDAY : ZESTY / LIQUID PANTS







NUWS ZOUNDS NIL

HI HI HI.
It's me.

HEY.
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.

HEP! HEP!

sp




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.

BB


FROM THE DESK OF DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO


...
loosely transcribed by Dordery Marks
San Francisco, California 


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 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,

VENGEANCE.

Dordery Marks (with notes provided by Shalo P)

San Francisco CA



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







May 30, 2016

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 awaysortaAnd 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