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 

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 

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 mouth. And 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