Stills from Mozart, a short film made on short notice concerning incestuous, downward mobility and the everlasting Iggy cult. An expansive project - time to start a band that only performs in karaoke rooms, howl into echo heavy mics, butcher kitsch classics.
Stars: @detherealc@vacavache@earth.death
Tongue piercing lab rat: @acristalgirl
Riso poster: @exceptergram
Frank voluntarily removed his head for his portrayal of John the Baptist & Madison interned at Langley all summer to better embody the manipulation of Salome's desire by state power. RIP Frankie, the only method actor.
I travelled an hour each direction to photograph and record Tamio Shiraishi’s inexhaustible blues wail in duo exchange with a rush hour MTA screech. The man conjures alien overtones until his lungs give out and then tells stories about demonstrating for Palestine in the 1970’s. The maximum time you have for someone’s attention on here is 47 seconds, so while the complete document will be uploaded elsewhere, I’m posting as intervention in the scroll rush hour.
Eugene. Not much info about this knucklehead. He’s the best part of Decline of Western Civilization and he pops up in Lexicon Devil (the book of books for those into mind control, lumpenprole millenarianism, self-destruction, the limits of culture, and beer). An LA Weekly article from 50 years ago explains he’s a 13 year old orphan, the mascot of the HB Skins, and that he squats a vacated pediatricians office in Hollywood with his GF. A life that could be either a Wes Anderson or Gregg Araki movie and he’s still a footnote to a footnote.
He now lives in a squat in Germany and plays folk music. Maybe. It tracks he’d get out of here and stay out. America is a harder and harder place for people that survive on what they can get away with. And I doubt Eugene would be into writing emails for a living or delivering Seamless to those that do (yes, these are the only two jobs now.) Maybe it’s a mistake to think of what punk was in the 1970s as a style of decadence. A truer sign of decline is when the destroy bit of the dialectic flatlines and malcontents like Eugene don’t get the space to flex.
Video stills from the @__hot_cheese & @dancegrifter choreographed “my apocalypse,” a chamber play about how shitty jobs make love impossible and wreck the environment. Casting true to the title, the production features two dancers with 11 toes, both from 3 mile island.
