“I think there’s something you should know
I think it’s time I stopped the show
There’s something deep inside of me
There’s someone I forgot to be
Take back your picture in a frame
Don’t think that I’ll be back again
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man ”
George Michael RULES!
>>>>>>>>>BEGIN TRANSMISSION:
outside a woman wails(stop)
pleading her case for the way in(stop)
(now night in the city of brotherly love
during the holiday of hearts)(stop)
ouija board keystrokes
the machine a conduit for
human thought. thought. thought.
communication face to face existing
in pockets of commerce and daily
interaction hindered by technology
we can relate(stop)
a man across an ocean can
look into a screen and see her
holding his infant son to the screen,
faces staring and blinking back
at him while his brothers are dying
in arms against men of another faith.
it's beautiful and the only time they can
see eachother but it's nothing like
the real touch of a loved one.
the real touch of a stranger
in a throng of a musical concert
sweat drenched bodies glisten in
communion with each other in the
a shared commitment to one group
of people that they can connect to
outside a woman wails(stop)
pleading her case for the way in(stop)
(now night in the city of brotherly love
during the holiday of hearts)(stop)
handshakes and pardons in
busy streets to propagate
human thought. thought. thought.
they are trying their best
to wear the new technology and
communicate that idea to each other
we can relate(STOP)
:END TRANSMISSION<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
man up ladies
man up men
and the ladies do whatever the fuck they want
they are selling a mouth
or some eyes
or some cunt
but she collects men
like the ears around the neck
of an indian killer
whose moral code is more than lacking
The transmission series still needs to be finished. Here is number 8:
>>>>>>>>>BEGIN TRANSMISSION:
plastic bag wreathed trees(stop)
reaching with great care to touch the city(stop)
(water frozen in action from foun-
tain heads in little italy)(stop)
a dull and mild winter
suffocating the inhabitants
men and women continue on tracks
into submission. submission. submission.
we are forced into them like
a submissive into a wooden box
buried under dirt and tied
delicately with synthetic twine
we have roles(stop)
there seems to be a shortage
of what nostalgia deemed men and women
perhaps because there never really were any
and we only play ourselves if we can
but she says that if that's the case
then how did we move out of the cave
into buildings that touch the sky?
(0r)the sexes we force ourselves
into are the roles played
by generations before and our
parents dead relatives now
made irrelevant by current times
plastic bag wreathed trees(stop)
reaching with great care to touch the city(stop)
(water frozen in action from foun-
tain heads in little italy)(stop)
nature is not made by man
who only plays a small part
in the spectrum of many parts played
from submission. submission. submission.
there is a gray cloudless sky
over city dwellers' heads
uncaring what they've perceived
to be forced into
we have roles(stop)
:END TRANSMISSION< <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Fashion show or mystical event? The LaBolds at their finest.
Look at the set here:
LaBOLD
www.flickr.com
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