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 

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?

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