StRippiNG tHe MoBiuS

officially leading into the pit. taken down to the puddles to drown. mercy fillings in the streets. sipping through the cracks. splinters drifting in the vapor. sideways through the mirrors. crushed between the astral panes. every glance partitioned father into the past. tumbling away forever down the corridor of ourselves

ZiNE FiEND SeeN

* Ubernoo crawls back under the table at the
   P-Land Zine Symposium !
* this sat - sun : 11:00 - 17:00
   two afternoons only !!
* our offerings include, but are not limited to: 
   zine varietals featuring drawings, photography,
   remixed media and textual textures.
   fine hand printed matter. dada folk art.
   surrealist propaganda.
* shun for the whole family !!

‡
 special weekend seance to conjure
Marvin's dearly departed Jackson  
‡

~ Semper Absurdunce ~

~ ‡ HoLeY SaLiVaTioN ‡ ~

succubus dreams running off the neck, 
blood dripped honey under cloying lysergic tongues.
reparations. preparations. into the madding crowd. a vast throng taken to the streets. marching from outer-space to greet the hungry onlookers. seeping under bridges, spilling from the alleyways to crush the waters edge in a fleshy wave of sweaty brows and flinging extremities. flashing finger bangers reach down from the sky through swirling blue neon gunpowder bees and octopus smoke signals dancing behind a drifting curtain of fire and wails. sparking flowers into the black to send up our revolts, higher still beyond the flabbergasted scopes of our martian divinings. 
longer than anyone can remember. exploding through optic nerves, sapphic laughter, acid raindrops and nubile traffic jams. skirting the rails with shrieks from the blundering busses. distilling the early night's cotton candy air. transcendent perspiration to lubricate melting kinesis. flying from thirsty hands to the night's glowing void. residual glimmer from a savage journey to the heart of our smoldering visions. from the altar of the halter, pantry of the chantry: speaking the tooth of the holey-reamdreamer. 
in the year of our hoard, two nothing, and one five 
 

‡ ~ ‡

    

FeAsTeR MoNdAy

... a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down ...

season's feedings
from

the church of holey salivation

‡ ~ ‡

BaCoN BiTs...

* chromogenic print

on view at 

Bullseye Glass Co. 

Portland Resource Center Gallery

dec. 1 - jan. 31

* chromogenic print

burnt offerings. human sacrifices. seared flesh. occupational hazards. hot licks. fire kissed. factory fingerprints. solidarity through suffering. shaving down the mountain. Sisyphus was a foundry apprentice. you must make a stone before you can roll one. cultivating a grasp to choke the whole world down. spirits exfoliated by the karmic hammer of our carefully chosen subconscious smolderings.
perdition for the proletarian soul.
people who live in sand castles shouldn't grind bones.
people who live in log cabins shouldn't burn fireplaces.
sliding metal fingers down the mouths of tiny volcano faces.
digging out kaleidoscopic pearls to be smashed down and swallowed again. what the fire consumes also consumes the fire. smashes the ashes...a gust for the dust...and death took a breath.

...how to handle a shovel...
...a sense of savage brutality that re-assimilates us to our true nature. a jellied inferno squeezed through callous hands made into petrified flames...hardened and lifted up so high that when it's finally let down it breaks into a million pieces. ground down so tiny and scattered so far, we'll never get them all back again. sometimes beauty is pain. and sometimes pain is beauty.
a sharp edge to cut yourself on.
a way to get hurt.

* chromogenic prints, glass, zinc hex bolts/nuts, 

rubber baby buggy bumpers

CoNNecTiNG tHe BLoTs...

  

ghosts in the garden

* 24 pg.

* 5.25 in. x 4.25 in.

~ zine ~

* an assorted collection of two volumes in one !

* special translucent vellum cover !  

* available indefinitely

* postage paid

* will ship internationally

...like a boat adrift in the ocean never knowing it had been cut loose from it's moorings. faced up it's always the same view. the sky is one sided. shells floating into the galaxy...waiting to be smashed. machines hurling into the universe. cosmic trash. space junk. strangers buried in the sand without realizing the ground sank beneath while they watched the sun burn out. at the top of the highest mountain waits the longest road back down. all mighty rivers wash out and empty at their ends. psychic mailers bleed through ether envelops on rain beaten telephone poles stretching to nowhere. pining for their lost selves when the sound still moved through their arms and fingers dug deep. reaching down to get higher. smelling aged papers. remembering aural landslides. blinking with eyes closed.  
displaced carbon.
electricity spent.
mortal uncoiled.


...lost subsequently, like everything too carefully put away...
- Roland Barthes 

HoDgEPoDgiNG

 

!!  Special Event  !!

one day only

Synesthesia transforms your foggy notions into art, music, writing, philosophy and some of that good ol' fashioned stimulation. 

come for the head-food. stay for the back talk...

SuGGeSTivE REaDiNg

honor plague

* 18 pg.
* 4.25 in. x 5.5 in.

~ zine ~

* a marvin jackson joint

* available indefinitely

* postage paid

* will ship internationally

 

 

GeT PaStY aNd CuT...

 

scream 

and 

stop

* 14 pg.

* 5.5 in. x 4.25 in.

 ~ zine ~

* a marvin jackson joint

* available indefinitely

* postage paid

* will ship internationally

!!   bringing you all the news that fit to slit   !!

since 2008

... an ongoing project for a collaborative re-mixing of the media. gonzo reporting brought to you from the front lines of surrealist propaganda! concieved from the accidental dada divining of the shaman party game practiced in the name of Junctiores! coffee table twister with a razor blade, scissors, paste and slow potions. more nutrition than the leading brand's dose of morning fix! an exquisite corpse is part of the manufacturer's recommended breakfast!
distilling the swilling. to spit, not swallow.
the everyone's disreputable journal of clues.
what are those rag stains really saying.....

 

 

Supposey, um..

* Ubernoo + Absurdunce haunt the P- Land Zine Symposium !!
* this saturday and sunday: a brief window of opportunity
   will open between the hours of 11:00 - 17:00
* our offerings include, but are not limited to: 
   zine varietals featuring drawings, photography,
   remixed media and textual textures.
   fine hand printed matter. dada folk art.
   surrealist propaganda.
* special guest: Marvin Jackson's other half will be on hand
   to take questions and blow smoke at the reaper.  

gutenberg never got his rocks off like this...

Absurdunce. forever.

Ether Elegies For Justin Allen Liebe ~ Semper Absurda!

 

* chromogenic print

 

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.
- Hunter S. Thompson

Take this deafening thunder down
Take this bread and take this wine
Your passing is not what we mourn
But the world you left behind
Well, do not breathe, nor make a sound
And behold your mighty work
That towers over the uncaring ground
Of a lesser, darker world

- Nick Cave

MiRAgED MuRMuRiNgS...

voices dripping through the dark. pulled up slowly from the ground to be drunk and spilled. muddying the path.
sighing through the cracks of subconscious windowseals.
calling softly in dreaming streets.
the echo of wishes coming from inside the well.
crossed fingers for curses and cures.
even vampires have to knock on wood.
nothing stays out if the door never shuts.

soft serve ~

* pencil on paper

drawing back the vermillion flange of cupid's bow, every sugar mouth is full of rotting teeth. a painful, costly sweetness. a white picket fence for the face, delicately hiding the danger of the tongue behind it. and like aeons of atmospheric cruelty wash the proudest mountains away into sandy rivers, so too a penchant for sucrose gently melts crystalline calcium phosphate crowns into alabaster memories of erosive somnolence. in hushed gnashing the human body's hardest substance becomes a secret lollypop for our own bad habits. the mind is weaker than the flesh. a specious specimen. a silken cream dream pillow. a wild-eyed cyclone tempest of weightless whispers and blood-lust screams. a flashbang violence of deafening color whirling out of the funbox. ooze it or lose it. like a funhouse that's wondrous and delightful until you're lost and terrified, running in circles down the same familiar hallways. like the carnival attraction that's fun to ride until you're sick and falling out of your shoes. everything inside of you, poured out onto the pavement. a series of cascading blurs. a cup runneth over. even candy tastes bad in reverse. a calliope tilt-&-whirl vortex of blinking lights and shrieking where eventually ' something breaks and people die.' 

if we're lucky we'll find replacement parts. 

even our inescapables sometimes manage to elude us.

if unrelenting flux is the universe's only true constant, remaining the same is the only true revolt. the final stand against omnipotent fate. a sisyphus mutiny, grinding destiny's curse. a last resort to defy the deities. a quantum mechanic's middle finger in the face of the law. a last ditch resistance against the great fatal inertia. as natural as gravity. weighing our heads. invisibly crushing us over the span of a hunched lifetime. bending us over inevitability. until one day it finally pulls us back down into the earth. another mound of crumbling minerals. broken down electron tapestries. weakened bonds. dead roots. cold dirt. smudged across drunken foreheads. marking beasts with star rubble. smash wednesday. 

even god is a one liner.

smugly outlasting the fire of your prophesied ashes, your teeth are still waiting around to complete a grin. to sort out another smile from the pile.  the last thing standing between you and another faceless doe in an endless sea of dead people. 

your own nature's last laugh. a frown upside down. 

a sneer. a jeer. a leer. a maw. a smirk. 

even after you're dead, your smile is still the only thing keeping you alive.

You speak in tongues

Tremors that warn us of ourselves

- At The Drive In

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

- Kahlil Gibran