Tuesday 9 June 2009
Zombie Robots from the Future
(a man in a suit benignly watches us & his watch tick tock)
Steve's dream interpolated: Zombie Robots: From the Future.
(a) hTe future folk art exhibit shifted on the walls of the animated building.Swim Suits strangled the performers into a sort of unconsciousness. Having a dream, a rubble base filled with unanimated humans,the concert was going to begin in about 30 days prior to the present one. "Take a pancake", said the facelift. It shaved hair into his milk.
And so it was sickly,the sun rolled up over and behind the Eyedrum building and the musicians sat down. A row of chanting phases and conversations looped back on themselves. An awful smell bubbled in anticipation of the improvisational notes. "Did you bring anything to party with?" Electrical wires swung in the air,touching in random bunches,still transfering signals. Their sparkling shadows lit up most of the night sky. Pink skin in the grit. Most of them were young,like ticks.
-Kiki Blood rocked the house naked and shimmied within her skin,dead as a philosophy book to the world,she repeated the sound that included all sounds.Punk rock cowboy hats and a hose filled with engineers. A yellow and blue barber shop hung zebras on the walls. Far way and to the back of the Eyedrum gallery: Oblivious and happy the walls of the gallery moved again,shifting the muddy ground and moving the performance into the space that would not occupy Wonder Root in 178 years.
(1) A finger was lead out of the earth,fingering itself it became as if sentient, and felt for an anticipation of experience. A skill saw or a guitar string,it cried a sound. Muddy in the yard,women climbed telephone poles and street signs and spoke Finnish or Spanish. Don't write or talk about me,nerd. I despise you.
On they marched some getting further,most closer."What is topography?",thought the crowd of gears rusting and clicking heels. The zombie robots spewed fire and flowers,telling stories from their naked bodies as they travelled,giving birth to wriggling infants as they circled the earth. The sky was blue with big billowing white clouds now. Answering machines and beepers reigned the land like cherry blossoms.it was their season,shared with radar detectors.
"Do you know what time it is?" A zombie robot asked a ghost reading a book.it ignored him.
Outside all of this looking in with careful crawling legs,a tick climbed across time and settled on the shell of an egg covered in text. It sat outside of the shell giggling and expanding from zombie blood. Her naked body did vaguely please the Zombie Robots philosophy of television and capitalism.
"Do butterflies fart? They do eat dead things,you know?" asked the lead singer to the crowd in reverb. The paintings muddy and gooey ran colrs into one another,creating a theme of all things and no-thing. It meant a great bog something.
"We dont have to touch that now" said a voice.
Baby children in swim suits charged the gallery,thinking it was City Hall. The police turned back from inside, outting themselves in some snoopy dress-up doll way. An old photograph gained color and ,as if in reverse, flew backwards into the hand of a robot that had dropped it. The robot liked the paintings.
A grey scale of din,plastic bathing suits with lawyers and yellow and blue Ikea hoses, listed on the side of the air,floating across a name of a band and ectastic were the fan bases. They stood at a comfortable distance,the paintings shifted again and one of them let out a last sigh and fell from the wall. Steve still had his dream about the police,but they became bigger. Giant police having to arrest their own intestines dove within themselves and disappeared.
The rock music carried on at Eyedrum. Etiolated Williams smothered the paintings and gathered its death burning rubble up in her arms,whispering creative things into it as they became one,transparent and walked away through the nearest wall of the gallery.
The distance of the sound shifted again and as you read this, the text is now written in an understandable manner. The link posted goes to a blog about the art festival,the machine that brings this to you, and Etiolated Williams, has applied a tourniquet to truth.
"That's an outright LIE!" screamed the painting as it became one with Etiolated. They hid in the wall between the mainstream and the avant-guard. An older woman looking for the substance to her fast food order, barked questions at people close to her,as if mechanized and stuck on repeat.
The truth lies in a place beyond where this story came from. The art on the walls told the story better and the music from the band seemed.
"It was endless and it was al a lie." Etiolated screamed this from within the walls. Ghosts of robots she had designed for her great grandfather shambled by. They were members of the band. They played a Christmas song that Jeff Dahlgren whistled in his twenties.
From the ground where the sun had gone down, they rose again. Zombie Robots called in a phalanx strand of saliva unit,it strafed the sea,hesitating levitating on a recipe and carrying remote controls.Swimsuits jumped on people and began beating them.
"This is all a LIE" said Etiolated Williams,hearing nothing she knew that meant the Zombie Robots were not. far. Stockholm Syndrome Zombies marched past City hall,singing songs from the concert and waving naked pictures of Kiki Blood,covered in mud.It had a flavor but nobody would ever know.
Far above a glass ceiling and then further beyond that ,it stared from within its own eyes- at a generality of the happenings. The music was not specific and the destruction it had created was beautiful. Cash symbols burned in its glowing side,the animated Zombies stomped to the beat of its breathing. They handed out pamphlets on the movement called "Itism",attempting to recruit new Itists. Sleepy calibrations caused feedback,making it where the crowd couldnt hear themselves-only the music.They thought they screamed about the lies.
(#)The band, Female Blood Blowout, took the stage and started throwing copies of their album "In a short skirt" at the Zombie's ghosts before they showed up. The paintings rolled over each other chanting a nice thing. Gears grinding and leaflets flying, peace,systematickle a chandelier the size sampler peach fancy
the wrangler asian fantasied reliefs on wall sized doberman intergers.
Television screams told the truth under the truth of the fact that this is inspired by Artnews listserves sitting in their underwater waiting for a baby to grow up.
Etiolated Williams locked the door to Eyedrum and walked over to her car.She put a cigarette out under her foot and then couldnt bring herself to leave it onthe ground. She threw it inthe trash to her left. Tthe last to leave that night,Etiolated knew the place was a wreck.A silent promise ot herself to come in tomorrow inthe morning. Maybe somebody(or somebodie) were sleeping on a couch in there somewhere,but she doubted it.The crunch of gravel under her feet tothe car echoed,as if some quick memorty of the vibrations from all night were back. But the night was clear and quiet. Everything was closed. Did the entire city now sleep? I t wa so still.
Then in the distance,a sound of a siren.Somebody's night was hurried and possibly in danger she thought,almost able to see the ambulance driver's face and the people in the back. As she rolled up to the gate it opened. She rolled out and down to the exit and saw Steve Seaberg standing there naked.
WHAT WILL YOU DO?
If you think you think you should heed the warning of your mother and sister and not risk uncertain sorcery,turn to page 25
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