Chaosmos | Curated by Chris Boyd | Visual Artist and Film-maker

Warrington Contemporary Arts Festival Logo

2011-04-19T05:44:00.000-07:00

Exquisite corpse | What is....?

2011-01-23T21:07:00.000-08:00

Exquisite corpse is a surrealist technique in which players write in turn on a sheet of paper, fold it to conceal part of the writing, and then pass it to the next player for a further contribution.

Questions by Suzie Saw.

What is your conscience? Fluorescent Magnitude

What is a monarch? Shrieking asphalt
What is a conversation? A temporary headglitch
What is an aeroplane ticket? Faith brake electroluminescence
What is neurosis? Snafu
What is the internet? A tender eruption
What is a nation? A memory dwelling around the bottom of a
broken volcano
What is language? A cruel souvenir
What is your spine? The metallic taste of blood, swirling with dust,
shimmering in light, cut with shadows and jabs
What is a raffle? Torsional cloud trauma
What is science? Free will's guilt glitch
What is television? Hypnopompic pixel slugs
What is a meme? Punctured silicone
What is your greatest illusion? Folding chaotic attractors
What is a paper cup? The future of responsibility

Chaosmos | Culturepool Photos

2010-09-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

Culturepool artist talks at Chaosmos II exhibition at the ViewTwo Gallery

Photos by Vinny Lawrenson-Woods

It was great to see familiar faces amongst the members of the audience who returned for this second Chaosmos artist talk. The first was when I was a student in 2006 when Culturepool was just starting out.

Culturepool is unincorporated non-profit organisation with charitable aims. It was co-founded in July 2006 by Luan and Vinny Lawrenson-Woods and is based in Liverpool, England.

It was founded to improve participation and to provide an environment where people feel comfortable to share, discuss and reflect on their experiences of art & culture as well as support local artists and performers.

Chaosmos & Boyd | Interview with Victoria Samantha Smith

2010-09-23T18:11:00.000-07:00

Photo by Matthew Devine

Chaosmos and Boyd
Interview with Victoria Samantha Smith

In 2006, Chris curated and exhibited in Chaosmos at the View Two Gallery. This was a highly successful show that platformed the contemporary art of several recent northwest graduates. Boyd exhibited a range of work in this show, but it was his signatory film ‘The Calling’ that grasped the audiences attention.

A digital video short that combines the sense of high art on par with Renaissance culture and digital media. The film portrays a sequence of undulating bodies like a sea cascading to culminate into a spiral; as the scene changes and moves outwards it transforms into a galaxy. A profound, ethereal and thought provoking digital short that touches on the meaning of existence.
Early 2010, Boyd commenced with creative and curatorial research to organise Chaosmos II. He consulted with national and international artists whose work imbued the philosophies of Chaosmos. In conjunction with this, as lead artist, he created a new series of art to be launched in this show . Chaosmos II is a cross-disciplinary initiative where artists from the literary, theoretical and visual arts sector come together.
The Chaosmos II programme consists of an array of alternative events from Live Art, VJ Performances, Artist Talks and a collaboration with Culturepool.
I attended the exhibition and interviewed Chris Boyd.

VSS: What are your early professional developments as an artist?
CB: I wanted to make moving paintings. The short videos I made were visceral cathartic experiments and I was experimenting in sound composition. These felt like symbolist self-portraits and included materials that I associated with a Eurasian inheritance. Many of the eccentricities in the work came from dream imagery and drawings. As a student, I was commissioned to make music videos and involved in other productions where I gained further insights into its exclusive skills. These I would use later in merging production with my philosophical preoccupations.
VSS: What are the ideas that form your work?
CB: At university, I established a groundwork for concepts and themes which I’m now working on in a video installation project called Accelerated Self. In this work, I began marking myself as an author into my own work. I discovered that my ideas fell naturally within the Deleuzian theoretical approach to Chaosmos. My work deals with the idea of space and liminality, how these move and interchange with each other in different contexts. I’m interested in these hallucinatory planes, the blurring of reality and representation, glitches and marks where content mutates into form and materiality.
VSS: Brian Sewell called you ‘an undisciplined genius’ during the judging for the Channel 5 Big Art Challenge UK Art Prize when you were selected as joint winner. How did you feel about his comment?
CB: He was very enthusiastic and interesting to talk to. His feedback was immensely helpful and I felt it was a confirmation and recognition of what I was trying to achieve. It has helped me move forward with an assurance that I didn’t have before.
VSS: Can you explain more the genesis of Chaosmos as a curatorial project?
CB: It started in 2006 as an exhibition launched in the View Two Gallery during the Liverpool Biennial. The aim was to bring forward a group of recent Northwest graduates who touched on a range of creative concepts and techniques. I was one of the artists, but also worked as the Curator to organise and manage it. The title was very much an extension of the theoretical interests I pursued in my work and one that can be opened up to potential detours. It was always my aim to follow up with another exhibition. This took a while as I spent time between the music industry and creative industries on commissions in the UK and US. By 2010, I started researching other artists whose work fell within the remit of the Chaosmos ideas. The exhibition was organized into thematic levels corresponding with each of the galleries floors. The first level was a material starting point. The second level deals with bodily and socio-political boundaries and the third level with virtual spaces, invisible forces, digital, metaphysical and entropic states. These were corroborated with an intentional religiosity. The spatial rhythms are reflected in the iambic pentameter in the haptic poetry for each of the levels and the content with the other this visual language.
VSS: What do you hope to realise from the Chaosmos II exhibition?
CB: Chaosmos is very much an ongoing initiative. It is something that formulates some of the ideas behind my own creative practice, but extends into how art is viewed and experienced. After the 2010 exhibition, there are prospects to develop this curatorial theme, as the feedback from both the past and current Chaosmos exhibitions has been positive and constructive.
VSS: What are your future plans?
CB: I will be focusing on a new collection of video art and a series of sculptures. One of the narrative projects I’m moving forward with is a meditation on violence. Chaosmos will continue .
VSS: What do you want your legacy to be and to be remembered for?
CB: If anything I would like people to remember my work.
VSS: Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. Good luck for the future. I will be watching the space of ‘Chris Boyd’ for new and exciting projects.
CB: Cheers.
Chaosmos II runs until Saturday 30 October 2010 at the View Two Gallery on Mathew Street, Liverpool. It is a strong exhibition with a range of art that will give you food for thought.

Art in Liverpool Chaosmos Chris Boyd Interview

Chaosmos: Acrylic, gouache, glass, hair, volcanic ash (Mount Pinatubo eruption, Philippines), holographic film, digital print, compact discs, mica, charcoal and graphite on canvas.

Chaosmos | Review by Gayna Rose Madder | Nerve

2010-09-20T20:13:00.000-07:00

Chaosmos II is curated by lead artist Chris Boyd, who won Channel 5’s Big Art Challenge, Fact’s Microwave Award and the Priestley prize. He bears the mixed blessing of having been described as a ‘genius’ by Brian Sewell, an art critic not renowned for conferring faint praise (or, often, any). His arts initiative here shows the research and development of a gamut of artwork in different media, animations, video and live art.

Chaosmos, a Joycean coinage describing the paradoxical combination of order and disorder, integrates a range of traditional artistic and artisan skills with cutting-edge post-production techniques. The exhibition features a fascinating collection of international and renowned art in a thought-provoking, sometimes startling array.

James Roper's large paintings give an insight into the complexity of this show. Like Rorschach tests his images ask to be interpreted in many different ways. A group at the exhibition variously identified one image as a 'Morrocan leather statuette', a 'nun' and a 'ghost', while another was a 'series of underground tunnels' and an 'umbilical cord.' The internecine plots lie somewhere between fractal computer imagery and forensic diagrams.

This is a departure even for the innovative View Two gallery, and well worth a visit even though there is so much to see in this Biennial. A huge exhibition over three floors, put some time aside to do it justice.

Review by Gayna Rose Madder

Chaosmos | Lucia Sweeney displaying Art in Chaosmos exhibition | R&N News article

2010-09-19T20:03:00.000-07:00

A RUNCORN artist who takes inspiration from her love of archeology and science is having her work shown at a top exhibition.

Lucia Sweeney - who goes by the pseudonym Lady Lillith Leveigh - is having her work featured alongside international artists in the Chaosmos exhibition, part of the Liverpool Biennial 2010.

A woman of varying talents, Lucia has been an artist for the last 20 years and her sculptures have formed the basis for sci-fi and fantasy gaming figures.

She has also had her art and written work published in archeology magazines.

She said: “I come from a creative family and my work is combination of several professional experiences and personal interests ranging from art, science, philosophy and archaeology.”

She added: “The exhibition itself is part of the Liverpool Biennial and features artists both local and international, so it’s a large prestigious exhibition!”

Runcorn & Widnes News article

Chaosmos | Culturepool Artist talks

2010-09-15T18:28:00.000-07:00

When culturepool sprung into life in 2006, one of our first forays into the art world was with a young artist from Warrington called Chris Boyd as part of the years Independents Biennial. Back then Chris was not long out of Uni but has since continued to build an impressive reputation and résumé. So four years on we jumped at the chance to join Chris again on his return to Liverpool.

Even if you’ve been to the View Two Gallery before, this is a chance to see the new gallery spaces opened up for this exhibition. It’s the View Two Gallery as you’ve never seen it before!

Check out the View Two Gallery and join culturepool, Chris Boyd plus some of the other artists who will talk about their art and the exhibition on Saturday 18th September @ 1pm. The event is FREE, so just pop along and join us for a cuppa, a bit of art and a chat.

Culturepool works with a broad range of artists, venues and communities to develop more inclusivity within art and culture through promotion, education and support. This is achieved by engaging people in art and culture whilst providing an environment where people feel comfortable to share, discuss and reflect on their experiences.

Aims and Objectives

To encourage people to engage in the diverse range of arts and cultural events in Liverpool.

- By organising and promoting various art and cultural events

- By finding unique and interesting events

- By gaining added value to events i.e.discounted tickets, meeting artists

and performers

- By encouraging a strong social network

To provide a safe, comfortable and inclusive environment for people to explore and share their experiences of art and culture in Liverpool.

- By organising spaces for discussions within the venue visited if possible

To promote the accessibility of art and culture through reflection and discussion.

- By facilitating the discussions in an informal and relaxed manner

- By encouraging people to voice their opinions without fear of ridicule or

intimidation and promoting respect

- By providing workshops

To recognise Liverpool’s grass-roots and community arts and culture as being an integral part of its culture.

- By building relationships with community networks

- By organising visits to grass-roots and community art events

- By promoting grass-roots and community art events

Culturepool Events

Chaosmos | Boris Zakic on the Liverpool Biennial

2010-09-11T05:58:00.000-07:00

Here is the bigger picture of the Biennial. It is the largest and one of the most exciting contemporary visual arts events in UK. Within the time frame of September - November, Liverpool sees hundreds of thousands visitors, and with 960,000 visits last time around in 2008, it makes one of the best-attended art events in the world. Some of the highlights consist of
The Internationals (http://www.biennial.com)
The New Contemporaries(http://www.newcontemporaries.org.uk)
The John Moores Painting Prize
(http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/walker/johnmoores/jm2010)
The Independents (http://www.independentsbiennial.org) amidst many others other fringe events throughout the city. For me, this city is the perfect host for such an event: Mersey River, the coast, the music, the past, but especially the people. Since I flew-in yesterday, everyone at View Two has been wonderful. I can’t thank them enough, from Chris Boyd (his dad in particular) for hard work and treating my work with utmost care to James&co for hospitality, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Even with fast paced artists’ ins-and-outs at the last night’s VJ performances/screenings (as well as during project’s preparation), I had a chance to spend time and talk to most of the artists involved. And I was also glad to have roved around the Liverpool galleries with Masahiro Tomioka today, as he is off to Japan tomorrow. In fact, most of us will scatter this weekend, so I did manage to record some thoughts for the Culture Pool Artist talks and I will try to make myself available in the future, technology permitting. Somewhere still between jetlag and the newness of it all, I am excited to be part of this gutsy, magnetic as well as fluid group of artists here.

Cheers from Liverpool--

Georgetown College Visual Art Department blog

Chaosmos | Fayettevillian turned Liverpudlian | Arkansas Times

2010-09-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

Fayetteville artist Megan Chapman has a collaborative piece now on exhibit in Liverpool, England

Arkansas Time article

Chaosmos | The 2010 Liverpool Independents Biennial starts here

2010-09-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

CHAOSMOS II at View Two

The 2010 Independents start here.

CHAOSMOS has taken over all 3 floors of the View Two gallery and it’s excellent! I hope people don’t take it the wrong way if I say it’s typically Independents with its mix of paintings, sculpture, installation, video all so different, strange, unnerving but not just thrown together. It’s a high-spec well considered show curated by lead artist Chris Boyd.

Visitors are invited to turn the wheel on Masahiro Tomioka’s device to create swirling patterns in the liquid and watch the video of his other works that are somewhere between art and science.

We also took part in the social dream project run by C James Fagan using dream-catchers along with more hi-tech equipment.

There are excellent paintings by Jane Ward and James Roper as well as Chris Boyd’s own work and many others.

There are various events taking place including VJ and Screening nights and a talk in partnership with Culturepool.

Jane Ward

James Roper

Chris Boyd

'Tutemae (Ex Infernis)' Sculpture by Lady Lillith Leveigh

Chaosmos Art in Liverpool review by Ian Jackson

Chaosmos | forms part of Liverpool Biennial 2010 | Liverpool Echo Article

2010-09-07T10:24:00.000-07:00

Chaosmos exhibition at Liverpool's View 2 gallery forms part of Biennial 201

Liverpool Echo article

Chaosmos | Combining traditional & modern art techniques | Liverpool Daily Post Article

2010-09-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

Chaosmos exhibition at View 2 gallery combines traditional art techniques with the modern

A GROUP exhibition based on a word coined by Irish author James Joyce opens at the View 2 gallery this week.

The writer used the term “chaosmos” to describe a space between the past and present that presents new possibilities.

The show, part of the Independents strand of the Liverpool Biennial, features an array of mixed media art work, animations, video and live art

Liverpool Daily Post Chaosmos Article

Chaosmos | Love is… Deletia

2010-08-24T08:09:00.000-07:00

Love is… forever
Sniffing my computer screen it smells like Deletia.
I double click to open her file. Here she comes from the stillness of my hoard, slinking across the dusty display. Pulling the laptop toward my tin-ribs, leaning into its distorting light, I’m watching Deletia pixillating with the cyberprisms. The soundtrack is loud and sentimental, the action keeps running ahead of itself and there are too many extras for my liking, but the colour is true. Stroking the keyboard, fingering the mouse, my breath misting the screen, I’m trapped in a Deletia delirium.
She slipped out without me again.
Love is… a search engine.
She was wheeling a yellow and orange contraption through the dull, rectangular park – it rattled and wobbled beside her, thirty-two bright discs spinning from it’s happily deformed wire skeleton – a sprightly familiar, so very fragile, trundling breezily along. Rifled splendour blasted in a jet of flame with the force of a blow torch from this woman I saw. She was a forest fire rampaging through the empty rooms of any old afternoon, leaving vast furrows of hot ash in her wake.
Her companion shivered and clanged the hour. It was the time of my life.
‘I’m talking to you,’ she said, and from her mile long lips tumbled colours in rounded shapes glowing electric, bouncing toward me over the charred black grass.
‘I am faithless and feckless and bruised with knowing’ – her words quivered and bulged at
my feet. I marvelled at their soft edges, bowled over, ignoring the warning they conveyed.
‘I am Me-me You,’ I offered. Never had my name seemed more appropriate. At last, my Love.
‘Meet me in The Nag’s Head,’ she called out imperiously, as she blazed away in the other direction, pulling the odd construction behind her.
Those six wondrous words bobbed on my shoulders and melted into my ears, seeped their way into my dreams, saturated my desires with Deletia delight. I saved them to savour and tweak.
‘But when will that be?’ I whispered, her ashes blistering my tongue.
Love is… jewels on velveteen languishing in locked boxes.
A Wednesday lunchtime in The Nag’s Head. I was feeble and nursing a cold. Giving up on ever seeing Deletia again. Tired of frequenting this down-at-heel pub heaving with wrecks and ancients. Weary of hanging about hoping for a glimpse of her inferno. Thirteen livery years had gone by very slowly, never once seeing her face.
She arrived on a quickening storm of pale blossoms – tender, burning bride – and talked to me more than before. An orgy of words squelched around her, pulling me into her smouldering circle, close enough to singe.
I had been reading a self-help book that advised me on matters I usually handled badly. It didn’t have a chapter on Deletia – mistress of the runaway gob. How could I make her stop talking, long enough to notice I was there? I knew from my studies that nothing a human being does has a single motive, so I asked her to be my girl. She wrestled free from the sweating bodies of her speech and lisped with her Babycham tongue: ‘Your motives are so mournfully, transparently, sadly, sexily, trustingly, devotedly, unashamedly, unnecessarily, obviously, unabashedly single. Come, let us go back to your place and mingle.’
Love is… a black hole in a bed-sit.
Of course it was easy. That’s how Love is supposed to happen. No need for painful courtship, time-wasting romance, doubting days pulling petals from flowers, lingering by the ‘phone dreaming up ploys and manoeuvres.
Deletia and Me-me: we were orbiting another planet. Rotating in unexplored regions of deepest, delirious space – beyond the outer stratosphere, beyond convention and law. No gravity. Deletia time dimension. The darkest reaches of infinite nothingness overlaid with a shimmering grid, put there for us to cling to, at the boiling point of a star.
And we loved and we made love because love is
She loved me then
I looked at her
She smiled for me I saw her
She kissed me
She gave and she took me
She touched me
And she said
And I said
And we said
And we did
I didn’t think of consequences.
Her many mumbles grew into a writhing, flowering plant with fleshed stems and gashed petals, dripping. I rolled with her, the earthy perfume of her rare blooms smothering me, her probing tendrils pulsing through me, her words all for Me-me. My ears rang, my heart kept time with her restless, hollow caddy. My small mutterings were daisies to her hot-house fabrications. Weeds in the allotments, stragglers in the pasture. I sighed.
Deletia’s drivel drove me where I wanted to be, feeling everything and her.
Deletia grew a forest of legs, rollicking over my narrow bed, falling over me.
We held hands. She stroked my ragged fingernails, saying nothing much for hours. It was the time of my life.
I know what she does when she slips out without me.
Love is… a bed-slug insomniac.
Deletia left stains on my carpet and I’ve labelled them.
There’s a nasty green one by the door – that’s where her Love loitered. Its label says: ‘Hunted by the death-dogs that roam my wilderness. Deletia, where are you?’
There’s one shaped like Ireland, but that’s not where she’s gone – it’s brown and sticky, possibly regret. Its label says: ‘Deletia, I need your digital dilation. Down under.’
A milky wisp of a stain by the sink: ‘What is the world worth? Where is the magic? Answer me, Deletia.’
Attempting to get through to her by telecarpet communication was never going to work. Loving Deletia will get me nowhere because I am the wrong person. There is no right person for Deletia. And Deletia went wrong with me.
She is stretching far and wide beneath my thoughts when I’m awake and thinking. She is hovering about two inches above my dreams when I’m asleep and dreaming. She found it out: my need. And it became a dominant force. I drag it along. I lie. It drags me.
The ugliest stain is on my mind: ‘Deletia! You stitched me up!’
Love is… a mutating delinquent.
I have been playing the cuckold all year. It can’t go on. Where is she? Out in the snow in a skimpy dress, carrying that over-sized handbag stuffed with her weapons of choice: the lubricants and lipsticks, face-muck and fem spray, and her mobile – it was off when I rang – my fingers are itching to text her: ‘COME BACK!’
She left without saying goodbye. I was picking crumbs off the floor, wondering about germs and silverfish, especially the swollen shiny one I saw crawling out of the toilet. Used to be skinny black twitchers on this lino until I stopped washing it so often. Some days have holes where the twitchers go and the silverfish come out instead. Where is she?
I shall creep with the shadows of this night, sneak behind her strutting high-heels, throw myself on the mercy of the icy alleyways and the sharp edges of her encounters, like she does.
At a deserted junction where the snow has turned to slush and the street lights cast a sickening glamour, there she is: spread-eagled on the bonnet of a flashy sports car for some rich, spoilt lad. His mates are watching – they’re drooling as he lifts her thighs and shoves her backwards – they’re taking snap-shots and filming it with their mobiles, all of them jostling in line. Seven lanky lizards, taking their turns with Deletia.
Deletia is driven, given to the night.
Deletia is never sorry.
I am doubled-over and emptied, vomiting torrents of twitchers and silverfish in the cold gutters of her heartless abandon.
She’ll find her own way home.
I’ll creep back with the shadows.
Love is… nympholeptic haute couture.
Deletia moved in the morning after our first date, depositing her essentials around my bed-sit – a few fabulously fantastic possessions.
First came a skull studded with diamonds – the skull of her Father, she said – it was grinning inanely, twinkling and leering, every inch of bone covered with the hardest mineral known to man. She told me his glittering eye-sockets would be watching us, cavernous, all-knowing pits.
I giggled uncomfortably and said his skull was brainless and over-decorated, a poor overseer for our Love. Deletia shrugged and sat him on the table alongside my shambolic clutter – the overflowing ashtray, the stub of a candle, the dry core of an apple… a flyer from a club I’ll never go to… a postcard from a place I’ll never see.
Next came a pile of bricks. The type of bricks you build walls with.
She arranged them carefully in the middle of the carpet, laying them out one by one, rearranging them several times before she was satisfied. I didn’t ask what they meant but I could tell it was important to her. I shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, anxious, wishing I had a better plan, something to do as she deliberated, dragging each brick into its seemingly specific position.
I found it almost impossible to speak the stuff of ordinary life to Deletia. It seemed so piffling, so beneath her. She didn’t even drink tea. Only water from the tap or Babycham from those cute, trashy bottles. She brought her suitcase and it was full of only them. I had been expecting a fascinating tour of her clothes. She didn’t have any. Only what she stood up in. It was a dress to tell our Love by. This dress had a mind of its own, reflecting on our weather: our moods, problems, emotions and the objectives of each day.
That Thursday, the best Thursday of all, her dress was diaphanous and blushing, revealing parts of Deletia I had not seen before.
She loved me then.
Love is… a black cab with it’s clock ticking over.
She was the phantom of your love-sick childhood playing yo-yo with your bubble-gum. She was a pink plastic hand-held device you saved your pocket money to buy. She was a robot made of pewter, you named her carefully and wiped snot-dollops from her nose. She wore rotating nipple tassels and a black satin cod-piece as she smirked at you from those top shelves. She whispered dark secrets about the birds and the bees. She wanted to play Doctors and Nurses. She had inquisitive fingers and made you eat her mud pies. She told you how to escape.
I know what she does when she slips out without you.
Love is… once upon a time and messily ever after.
I ran all the way home from work the next day, panting eagerly, slick with anticipation, imagining Deletia resplendent on my bed. Deletia outshining her Dad’s diamond skull. Deletia playing with her bricks. Deletia inhaling my absence and exhaling plumes of fire, her fierce glory absolving me and nullifying my tatty bed-sit.
I heard whimpers and grunts from behind my door. She was obviously in distress. Pulled up short, terrified, a stitch biting my side, I flung myself into the room to rescue Deletia from whatever foul agony was gripping her.
She was in the grips – she was struggling in the sausage-fingered grips – of my landlord. Their two pale bodies were knotted and squirming on my lovely little bed. An extensive, shiny purple penis jutted out where his nose used to be. Her tongue was tracing his nostrils. He had all five of his doddery legs locked around her ludicrously elongated neck. Her four plump breasts pillowed his quivering buttocks. Swollen veins roped his six grappling arms, bluey green snakes in pulsing patterns, pathways of aged sloth, rolling and rising with his stuttering tempo, sheathed by his grizzled skin. His inflated belly, sprouting a ponderous pelt, was balanced on my Deletia’s antic knees. He had ‘Give Me Head’ tattooed in bright red across his wrinkled forehead. I swear I’d never noticed that before.
His many rancid fingers circled her slender trotters.
They were caught in the throes of something much bigger than Me-me You.
Deletia’s eyes swivelled and held mine from the depths of this contorted embrace.
‘So what? So bloody what?!’ she said.
The stench of charred meat gushed from her parted lips. Windswept barbecues raged in the back-gardens of my suburbia.
I looked away first.
I didn’t know anything about infidelity. I thought it was something to do with music. I was right. My lover was playing a discordant tune on somebody else’s fiddle. I inhaled the fumes and exhaled plumes of panic. My eyes fell on the encrusted skull, it was sporting Deletia’s black knickers. ‘Friday’ was embroidered in shocking pink silks across the sodden gusset, primrose yellow hearts dotted the frills at the waist. They were upside-down, pulled over the hollowed eyes. Blind Man’s Buff. A blindfold for the audience. Perhaps her Father didn’t approve.
My landlord came to an abrupt halt. They pulled apart awkwardly, Deletia and my landlord did. They disentangled, disenchanted, became two separate bodies. His flubbery body. Her rubbery body.
He slunk out of my torched room with his nosy penis between his legs – which meant his head was stuck between his legs and he was bent right over, shuffling backwards, his sprawling sauce-pot swinging merrily – the git. The swollen tip of his sticky friend dragged, so sore, across my carpet, navigating the tumbled bricks, weeping a trail of ketchup.
My eyes found their way back to Deletia’s.
‘You didn’t think you could keep me all to yourself, did you?’ she asked indignantly.
Silence from Me-me. I opened the window. The bitter smoke poured out.
‘Greedy Me-me,’ she said, in a coaxing, baby-talk voice.
She wriggled back into her dress. It was clinging red Lycra.
By evening the dress was black velvet, smothered in sparkling white buttons, nine thousand of them sewn on by hand, in intricate, curving designs, following the contours of the thrilling shapes she made, as she knelt down before me to announce her Pearly Queen promises:
‘In this bed-sit, I will never again do it with anyone else but you.’
‘On Sundays, I will never do it with anyone else but you.’
‘On your Birthday, I will never do it with anyone else but you.
‘When you are with me, I will never do it with anyone else but you.’
‘And I will never Love anyone else but you.’
I know what she does when she slips out without me.
Love is… salad days tossed in vinegar regret.
To mark the occasion, she grabbed me by the waist and we jumped out the window. I clung onto her heavily laden skirts as they billowed with hot air and we flew above the roof-tops of the town.
There is too much of Deletia for one person to hold. She is not to be had. Deletia belongs to no-one, not even herself. This is what I told myself as I wooshed through damp castles of clouds with this woman of mine, this woman of yours – a reluctant traveller in her suffocating cosmos of overwhelming perspectives and skewed horizons.
The sky was big that night. Deletia was big too. I was microscopic. Deletia loomed, zooming in and swooping out, holding me close, letting me go, pulling me towards her then pushing me away. I was floating light and fragile as a wish. I didn’t ever want to come down. I flew out of the frame, leaving her again, never leaving. The monotonous return to the perpetual departure. To have her always, again. To have her again, again.
Love is… a celibate sexual force.
Our last conversations were slabs of rock, monstrous monologues with stranded limbs poking out at awkward angles, flailing, signalling in silence or frozen in ‘Fuck Off’ gestures. Her eyeballs were sunken in craggy outcrops, balefully following the dandelions I waved in surrender. No replies. No exchanges. No Love.
I am so very sorry.
Deletia is driven, given to the night.
Deletia is never sorry.
When I’m walking the death-dogs huge blooms choke my path. I’m tied by the neck to a racing need, it’s dragging me along – we’re on the road to Deletia. All is bleak without her in this purple neighbourhood.
She blessed the bed I lie upon
Cursed the bed I lie upon
Blooded the bed
Burnt the bed
The bed
I lie.
Crowd scene. Hearing her curdled cream accents, seeing her schooled orange hair.
Flashback. She is my Elvis with tits, wearing a gold push-up bra.
Car chase. Gasping at her faster faces, speeding against abstract ground.
Everywhere. Nowhere. Always.
I’m trapped in a Deletia delirium.
The last time she slipped out without me she never, ever came back.
Love is… a sprawling shrine.
I once saw thousands of tiny terracotta men crawling up her legs and marching over her belly, intent on pleasing her.
Deletia is the size of the world.
She fiddles.
I burn.
I Love Deletia.
Every other fucker does too.
Love is… deleted.
For the women who jumped out the window
For the women who flew out the picture
For the women who fell out of love
For the women who fell to pieces
Now I’m deleting Deletia
Now I’m deleting Me-me
Deletia and Me-me deleted
Deleted together and never to part.

Penny Goring

Chaosmos | PUSH BUTTON PUSH

2010-08-19T08:53:00.000-07:00

I have felt terribly alone and isolated.

Documentary of the night.

I have felt tense, anxious or nervous.

Guest appearance as a donkey.

I have felt I have someone to turn to for support when needed.

Inventory of the morning.

I have felt okay about myself.

Cameo role as a fish.

I have felt totally lacking in energy and enthusiasm.

Standing ovation at the bedside.

I have been physically violent to others.

Night cream spilt on the quilt.

I have felt able to cope when things go wrong.

Losing your looks in increments.

I have been troubled by aches, pains or other physical problems.

Contract signed before dawn.

I have thought of hurting myself.

Night-time dripping. More time. Day-time scuttling away.

Talking to people has felt too much for me.

Episodes that were your undoing pulsate on the drooping backdrop: dado rail of the dirt, benchmark of the bile, watermark of the wimp, slurry of the insecurity, hallmark of the hellhound.

Tension and anxiety have prevented me doing important things.

My wheels will be powered by your delusions, they flow heavy like custard – we’ll be speeding all the way to Ancient Egypt.

I have been happy with the things I have done.

At the brightest moment of the years, streets busy, shadows jagged, you walked out, head high, shoulders back, legs swinging smoothly, greased and ready for the sprint to the bomb blast, the jet, the toilet incident, the emergency, the paper-boat, the wind chime, the indiscretion, the waitress, the sand-pit.

I have been disturbed by unwanted thoughts and feelings.

Improvised lines whisked you to scenes you hadn’t rehearsed. On rushed your groovy understudy, stuffed with blunder, slipping on the pebbles, dressed in a complicated costume, trashing your leading role.

I have felt like crying.

Let’s do it again. For the sake of the night. For the lack of respite. For the novelty of a sore notch on my barrel.

I have felt panic or terror.

Dressed in denim for this command performance, you’re a faded urban star, off the leash, gunning for the extras, galloping home from a coup.

I made plans to end my life.

Velcro fastenings open easy. I tap on the windows. You are eroding like a leper, to the sound of my relentless ring tone.

I have felt overwhelmed by my problems.

Exit stage left as a pantomime horse. Emote for the apocalyptic encore.

I have had difficulty getting to sleep or staying asleep.

You will drown in your maidenform bra, jeered at by a legion of doggy-paddling doom-bringers, clones of your x-rated exes.

I have felt warmth or affection for someone.

You led the way to your squat on Death Road the first time he walked Death Road. The first time he walked Death Road he didn’t know where he was. You led the way to your squat on Death Road the first time he walked Death Road. You heard the ice-cream van.

My problems have been impossible to put to one side.

You snogged the boy who burnt down the school.

I have been able to do most things I needed to.

The inflating and deflating black rubber blob of despair.

I have threatened or intimidated another person.

You tried to pull the wool over the eyes of the world.

I have felt hopeless.

You were a house-bound flat-dweller, cultivating your window-box of resentment with a borrowed watering can. One of those jazzy types, with bells on.

I have thought it would be better if I were dead.

Doom Black

He sits. He fiddles. He yawns.

Venom Yellow

He stands. He vomits. He guffaws.

Scarlet Lake

She sighs. She simpers. She gnaws.

Venereal Vermilion

They dance. They fondle. They fall.

I have felt criticised by other people.

Palest blue, dense angora sheath, knitted to your body, soft and fluffy as all hell out, with broad satin ribbons of royal blue.

I have thought I have no friends.

You were star-crossed, kosh-boshed, lying in the gutter of a winding street lined with people behind closed doors. His two woofing dogs were kicked and driven to the pound. You were carrying baubles and bank notes given to you on trust by a woman who should have known better. You both spent the night in the nick.

You felt the ungiving limits of the panic cell, slow descent of the ceiling, eyes in the door, khazi of chrome, blue plastic mattress, locked ward waiting upstairs. Time snapped. You were mauled by the equation of brain + body + walls = time in the panic cell, mauled by the voice going too fast, breathing unsustainable, in your adjacent cells. Your first collaboration with a dog boy.

I have felt unhappy.

He’s holding the explosive orange toy spider, regarding the tube of inadequacy, shielded by the withered plug and short chain of your protection, below the splintered wooden dice of fear, the blue marble swirls of large potential, the sharp pointy nail-clippers of indifference, gripping the can-opener of arrogance.

Miniature bust of Nefertiti riding the convulsing spider ragged. Man Handle. Beauty in turquoise – a triumphant erection.

Unwanted images or memories have been distressing me.

Wasted. Put out to grass on Methadone and Valium on ‘script. On his way to the knacker’s yard he was felled by the twitch of epilepsy, snuffed out by his untried brain. He left you a widow’s rainbow – its lining your innards.

He comes to you frequently now – eyes shadeless yet shut to the days. You wend your way, circling the wheel-chair. Seven years. Flesh from bone. Air from lungs. Liver, life, long rot. He is your shrine. You are his relic.

I have been irritable when with other people.

To open in emergency PUSH BUTTON PUSH and slide the doors to open.

I have thought I am to blame for my problems and difficulties.

You shoved them, bound and gagged, into the back of a van, then pushed them out the door. They tumbled down the fast road like human bowling balls.

I have felt optimistic about my future.

Your baby cowered in a corner, behind an armchair and a row of overturned pot plants, soil and roots trodden into the carpet. War baby. Little red fists. A raw lump of giblets strung together with cat-gut, wrapped in cling-film, rocking from a door handle in a carrier bag, next to a nest of ashtrays, suckling on a tarry bong.

The dogs heard things you couldn’t. They barked along to lullabies beamed down from Planet Zonk – in her knickers lurks something you wouldn’t expect to find – you won’t need no prosthetic when you get into their aesthetic – her vulva was abducted by aliens – one of them set up home in her womb – its froggy fingers come out to play whenever he squeezes her lemon – they don’t need no catalogue vibrator – they got an alien love simulator… tra la lah. Like that.

I have achieved the things I wanted to.

His eyes were an inter-stellar set-up.

I have felt humiliated or shamed by other people.

You wanted your song to be a warm duet, not a frigid solo.

I have hurt myself physically or taken dangerous risks with my health.

You need a gang of expert levitators to move you.

I have felt terribly alone and isolated.

It was hard work wearing his weather-head but he trotted it out every day. He sashayed down the dark descent, his buddha buttocks swaying, sea salt crystallizing his cataracts, indulgence clenching his belly – a sight for sore eyes, a local landmark, cruising, lost, chosen – bent on half-price happy hour, hoping to get it on tick.

I have felt tense, anxious or nervous.

His mum read your tea leaves. Destroy, repair, destroy. She said that was your trajectory, the story of your life. He only sent you one Visiting Order when he was on remand. Told you not to even write, when he was doing his shit and a shave. In his absence, his parents took you in. You became part of the family – stitched-up exhibit of lies. His randy dad had knowing hands. Offered to set you up in his love nest. You considered it but bottled out. You worked long shifts in their sandwich bar, scarred by the steaming cappuccino machine, learnt how to butter a slice of white with one fell swoop of the blade. His mum got you to pluck her eyebrows. Said she’d seen you in a vision, standing hard in the yard. Gave you cash to fritter. Left cartons of cigarettes on the sideboard. Got olives imported from home. It was the land of plenty. Arnos Grove sanctuary. Until he was released.

He threw the cat in your face. He snatched an old lady’s handbag. He chased the dragon in the lounge. When he saw you were reading ‘Nuns and Soldiers’ by Iris Murdoch he took you for a raving sex fiend. He put on weight inside. Played Monty Python LPs. You sat cross-legged and listened all night, wrapped in his junk cotton wool. He lost it when you fried his scrambled eggs. You packed your bag the next morning. He must have had a weeny willy. Wore cravats. Covered his tracks. Was in thrall to the nullified nothing on a hazy, faraway beach.

I have felt I have someone to turn to for support when needed.

There’s a puddle the size of an ocean right outside your front door.

I have felt okay about myself.

You flew up the chimney in the small hours. Got stuck on the broken-tiled roof. Sliding. Down. The drainpipe. Word swarms got you good.

I have felt totally lacking in energy and enthusiasm.

She was a barrister. The law was on their side. They saved shards of soap in the feet of old stockings. They were proud of their blooming pergola. Owned a cardboard box factory. Drew botanical illustrations. Raced classic cars on the seafront. You beeped the horn. Didn’t get a go in the chopper. Walked miles with a tinny of warm lager. Ruined your best biker boots. Ruined your wild life future. Ruined your two front teeth. Took you for a pissed-up picnic on a busy roundabout. I know, you cursed them all.

I have been physically violent to others.

Clearing weeds from the lawn, strimmer cord bright orange, whipping his puffy ankles. Admiring his colossus legs straddling promises set in cracked concrete, gravel for the renovated granny annexe. I’m half left. Her words, not yours. A lady. Always a lady. Crashed his car outside the school gates. Fascinating school girl distraction. A dolly. Only a dolly. Not a sexual force.

I have felt able to cope when things go wrong.

He said he was drawn to you by the action of traction.

I have been troubled by aches, pains or other physical problems.

In a seaside town with a curse on it, down a short steep flight of stairs, past the skin-crawl bouncers, into the heaving crypt. Floor tiles sticky with scrumpy, toilets packed with elbowing incontinents wading through eddies of piss, nostrils bleeding, long queue of donkeys outside. Tampon machine empty. Five bag in your handbag. Chewing gum in your hair. Soggy loo-roll clinging to your stiletto.

I have thought of hurting myself.

There came a time when simple attraction couldn’t push your buttons. You found the fat man and the skinny man. They were like a parable, or nursery rhyme characters. There must have been a moral in there, somewhere.

Skinny man was bald, wore a nicotined tash, pronounced veins, bunches of bony fingers, slipped his fist in unexpected and easy. Made your eyes wide. Dwelt on his moment of glory as a stock-room boy in a supermarket, shagging cashiers in the industrial lift behind lines of clattering trolleys. He was game. You hung his carcass to rot.

Fat man called himself Batman, waddled like a penguin, had ‘give me head’ tattooed on his forehead, needed to do it side-ways, resting his gut on your arse. Always proposing marriage, sent you Get Well Soon cards as if your troubles were a pesky influenza. Left knocked-off perfume in your drawers, splashed out on a radio alarm clock. When it was time for his shift, he got up and inflated his Bat-suit. You drained his blubber.

Both were out of their depth. Neither seemed to notice. Lived it like it was real. You were itching for the weirdness of the thrill. You dismantled the tyranny of time in a bed dishevelled by your lizard brain directives. Turned your face to the height of the wall when they balked at the inevitable imposition. Onset of rigor mortis. Viagra tossed in the waste basket…

Relishing the frisson of revulsion.

Talking to people has felt too much for me.

He was more able than you. Had more savvy, swore like a navvy, knew how to dance the rumba, could never hide his eyes from the lack inside, faced up to it with a most eloquent shrug. He rolled ciggies with his toes, made you come with his nose, had two stumps for arms and he held them wide open for you. Was well read, desperate in bed, had a good spread of juggernaut charms, not as bitter as one would imagine. You held his feet to your lips, tickled his toes, dribbled on his calloused soles, doled out the consolation. Though he seemed fearless, the one thing he was scared of was you. He couldn’t hold your hand, covered it with generous kisses. The man with no arms can’t applaud you. He can’t hit you either. He was a favourite. You let him linger for ages. Only recently finished him off.

Tension and anxiety have prevented me doing important things.

A paranoid aria blew in from the hall on a gust of glitter from the kitchen. He travelled all the way from the bed to ask about the lack of time, crying for his dick, poor thing. You tied weights to his ankles. His feet are adrift on the mistral, coasting low, hugging the shoreline of the skirting board. His head is swooping in arcs around your haven of frosty, eyes glinting from his pert perpendicular. His smile is a crack on your ceiling. He’s falling to pieces, politely. A perpetual work in progress.

I have been happy with the things I have done.

girls on high horses cantering through junk-yards

women in tight corners stretching long canvas

men in small rooms rehearsing big speeches

boys up the scaffolding wolf-whistling bouncy

devilfish in sports cars hunting bohemia

loonies on ledges promising parachutes to children

stag beetles on lino ruing the day they sang to

young brats in breeches plotting routes to the bike sheds

mirror on the mantlepiece is going away

newborns in box-rooms watching memory speed heedless

at spiders on curtains

riding the frills

deep sea divers swam off small islands

wore weighted boots looked out from helmets

are buried under gravestones bearing your name

I have been disturbed by unwanted thoughts and feelings.

Driving in a cul-de-sac, face ten foot wide, fading at the edges, cup empty, like mine. Driving up and down the seafront: bed and breakfasts, arcades, abandoned pier, fishing huts like charcoal teeth biting small red sky. Reversing on narrow wet roads, downhill backwards too slow, a huge orange van reversing in front of you into a busy junction. Bought a litre of Stoli, clucking bad, wearing transparent dress and mohair coat, didn’t know what to do with the vodka, where to put the bottle. Playing an out-of-it game in a condemned building filled with hangers-on.

Brimming with ideas for your next disaster.

Driven by the urgency to find him, because once he sets eyes on you, with your big hairy coat and your litre of rocket fuel, he will know you are the one. All the girls, his children, his ex-wives, his friends, everyone clamouring for him. You are the very one he needs to meet. You can’t get to grips with your hair though. Its wet and you never could style it right, and you are too real for these people and just right for him.

You get to the room where he will be, all younger than you, you’ve lost your coat, your dress is revealing your imperfect body and you’re prowling, getting your first fix, got it in a cup, its petrol blue in a squidgy plastic beaker, bubbling and foaming, you can’t drink it fast enough, fast enough to make the cluck go away, and you’re desperate to find your coat, its time to go, the tribes are leaving and you missed him.

He left before you got there and you will try again.

I have felt like crying.

I will show you how.

I have felt panic or terror.

He head-butted a gawking passer-by. You planted a magic kiss on his split brow.

Amongst his spindly furniture, playing stacks of old LPs, finding your shared history, where you came from separately, where you were going as a couple. The rules of attraction, playing away, double impact, the hall of fame, enduring love: the big shot and the queen bee.

He crouched at the starting blocks. You fired the gun. Together, you turned Curse Town upside-down.

I made plans to end my life.

There were casualties and witnesses with the knife wounds to prove it. You told lies on the Holy Bible, your pride as heavy as the gavel was light. He leaned from the dock maintaining his cock-sure angle-poise, calling you a tricky treacle tart.

Night-club cash-point taxi-rank – no place to hide. In the passageway between Trinity Church and the Cafe Delight you were beautifully twisted inside. He showed you how to do party eyes. Purple wonders. Swollen flowers. Yellow petals. Practised daily. Brutal brooches. When the money ran out he found a home for his boot in your belly. Thirty cursed adventures of the year. He was only a dog boy. You were only the clog girl, orchestrating your own pregnant pause.

I have felt overwhelmed by my problems.

The tide rushed upwards to the grey wiffled cloud clues, his eyes rolled back into his skull – torn frothing lips, blood rimmed teeth, tongue shredded meat, body wild jerking, clad in an old leather trench coat. Six foot three inches of stiff driftwood, stretched out on the snow on the shingle. Orange contrails scratched across white empty.

I have had difficulty getting to sleep or staying asleep.

On your irresistible return you smelt the musk of a pretty pierced girl on his sheets. She rolled ice-cubes over his bollocks, forthright fornicator. She told shaggy dog stories in the bedroom. It was nothing, he said, because she kept her knickers on. And then he said: ‘can I come inside you?’ You were masticated. He ripped the second-hand dress off your back, tore it in half, wrote messages with marker pens on the rags, left them stretched over the legs of up-turned chairs for you to read in the hungover waiting-room of morning: ‘love me, you don’t know how to love me.’

You were a sculptor of love with a fast clumsy chisel and a hammer. On the last morning you cut off his dreads, shaven like a baby bald eagle. You were taken away in the back of a crawling police car, pressed your boiling bruises against the cool glass of the window. Ashamed to leave the scene of the crime. Defeated. Retreating. Waving your grubby bandages. Onlookers pointing the finger. His friends and family blaming you. You failed to tame the beast. You were no match for the monster, after all.

I have felt warmth and affection for someone.

lock the front door

slide the bolt

jiggle the chain into place

untie the knots

bin the empties

lift the latch on your larder

sit down and smoke lots of fags

grind out the butts in your threadbare flesh

you are a rag doll with no name

re-write your murky past

re-live your flaky fables

lips mashed to broken glass

slurping the effervescence

twine cat’s cradles with your hair

cut off your crusty gusset

glue your leathered heart

onto your elasticated sleeve

humour the monkey on your back

he is playing nicely

poke out your criss-crossed eyes

rip out your hectic tongue

tear off your stitch-loose head

throw it on the roaring fire

watch it shrink in the blaze

I promise it won’t hurt

exhume your measly ashes

mix them with snot and spittle

sink your paws in the mush

fashion a head with two faces

double the home-made grin

look both ways at once

talk two times the gibber

open twice as wide

clock this with your four eyes:

I’m hugging a bendy eucalyptus tree

avoiding your badly designed zooming flowers

I’m tap dancing up your crazy-paving

I’m hunkered on your weedy lawn

I’m swinging in your overgrown bush

I’m salivating on your juicy marrow

grinding my teeth on your bones

manipulating your pace-maker

gesticulating in your lower intestine

I’m spraying my name in big black bold

across your ideal porch

I’m climbing in your open window

humping a thumping great thesaurus

fill your belly with these words:

you are undone, my love

I don’t want you

take a whiff

you smell stupid

A drama queen production brought to you by the power of elbow.

Penny Goring

Chaosmos | Tattoo | Kenji Siratori

2010-08-13T08:13:00.000-07:00

TATTOO

by Kenji Siratori

:the BDSM_brain cell of chemical=anthropoids to the tragedy-ROM made of her retro-ADAM that does a different vital=plug-in to the ultra=machinary violence zone that was input the techno-junkies' that hyperlinks accelerates virus with the era respiration-byte. >>the mass of flesh-modules of the acid screams of hydromania....I turn on the murder-protocol of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun of chromosomal aberration....the soul/gram that the terror fear=cells rave of the drug embryo that digital=vamped so cadaver feti=PLAY turned acidHUMANIX of the data=mutant is infectious the FUCKNAM_gene=TV systems of dogs.

:the human body pill of dogs the hallucination molecule of hydromania that fixed the murder-gimmicks of the chloroform larvas made of retro-ADAM that accelerates the gene=TV system of her era respiration-byte the nightmare that turned a plug clone-dive. --I invade the internal organ medium of the artificial sun with the cadaver feti=mode of the spiral mechanism of the data=mutant soul/gram that cancels the murder-protocol of her acidHUMANIX_storage. The chemical tragedy-ROM of a parasite guy I am disillusioned with the hyperreal existence-code of acid suck....

:hydromania of the cadaver feti guy of the chloroform body joint who is parasitic on the brain universe that got deranged does the soul/gram of the cadaver city of the boy roid nature that does the modem=heart of her era respiration-byte hunting for the grotesque in the BDSM state script....the mass of flesh-modules of Level 0 of lonely chemical=anthropoids is omitted the battle!

:the DNA=channels of dogs the insanity medium that was done is attacked....the genomics screen-saver of her cadaver that streams to LEVEL of the scream of hydromania in the ultra=machinary violence area of the parasite guy where captures the soul/gram that was infected HIV made of retro-ADAM with the surrender gimmick of her era respiration-byte different vital=plug-in. Chemical=anthropoids inoculate the BDSM_nightmare-script of boy roid nature--the FUCKNAM_gene=TV system of the cadaver city that the cruel=emulators of the cyber quality of the human body pill dash so--.

:the blue of the sky to I ill-treat the chloroform larvas made of retro-ADAM of the artificial sun in the parasite infection area of the soul/gram where sucks the murder-protocol of acidHUMAN that accelerated virus acid--the murderous intention of the era respiration-byte the human body pill of density 0 of the cadaver city the terror fear=cell the techno-junkies' guerrilla who different vital=plug-in fuck PLAY.

:her data=mutant soul/gram cadaver feti guy of the era respiration-byte exterminated the thinking impossible brain system of hydromania hunting for the grotesque----the cadaver feti screen-saver of gene=TV that crashed the dogs that captures the modem=heart of her skizophysical escape the eyeball device of the BDSM_cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun to the spiral mechanism rave with the mass of flesh-module that was infected HIV made of retro-ADAM junk!!

:the murder-gimmick of our soul/gram the chloroform larvas of the cyber quality of the chemical=anthropoids that the desire-protocol creatures the mass of flesh-module of the scream of hydromania that be infected with her acidHUMANIX_gene=TV system LOAD hunting for the grotesque capture her cadaver feti eyeball device. Rave the genomics BDSM circuit made of retro-ADAM is flip on with the acid existence-code of her era respiration-byte that emulates the murder region of the reptilian form of the DNA=channel so----.

:dogs of the soul/gram of the reptilian form of the drug embryo that joints to the rave monitor screen of the spiral mechanism of acidHUMAN that omits the neuromatic cadaver that was downloaded the battle the body digital=vamp with the mass of flesh-module of her era respiration-byte. Sensor so techno-junkies' trash=of=a vital icon to the softwarable BDSM circuit of chemical=anthropoids SAVE.... The azure terror fear=cells of hydromania that hyperlinks to the murder-protocol of the chromosomal aberration made of retro-ADAM guerrilla.... The modem=heart of the cold-blooded disease that she hung up.

:VTR of the reptilian form of the drug embryo the acid existence-code of her cadaver mechanism that emulates the script to the monitor screen of the tragedy-ROM made of retro-ADAM that was infected HIV....

:our different vital=plug-in I ill-treat the brain system of the chemical crime of the dogs that did with the soul/gram of her era respiration-byte. I suck the human body pill abolition line of the drug embryo that gets deranged to the techno-junkies' acidHUMANIX_cadaver feti=medium so....the murder-protocol of the chromosomal aberration made of retro-ADAM the genomics desire of the parasite guy that operates to HYPE acid PLAY....

:the soul/gram made of retro-ADAM of the torture mechanism of the artificial sun the suicide space of the era respiration-byte to the screen-saver of the cadaver of hydromania that I invade PLAY. The blue human body pill....murderous mass of flesh-module of the sky is emulated to the abolition circuit of the replicant emotional medium of the drug embryo. 1mg of nightmare continent of boy roid nature is output....

:her data=mutant modem=heart the chemical mass of flesh-modules of the dogs different vital=plug-in to the cadaver feti=medium of the cold-blooded disease of the human body pill that accelerates virus is blasted and flip on the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol of the artificial sun rave. I am infected with the soul/gram of the reptilian form of the drug embryo that attacks the genomics eyeball device that crashed techno-junkies so....the HYPE_vaio-code made of retro-ADAM is rendered to the BDSM_brain system that chemical=anthropoids awoke HIV.

:the soul/gram of her era respiration-byte outputs....the techno-junkies' cadaver feti existence-code that did to the brain universe of the acid murder nature of dogs different vital=plug-in to the nightmare abolition circuit of the drug embryo that processes to eye spherical condition script chemical=anthropoid of technocrisis=of=masses of flesh PLAY....the non-resettable murder-browser of acidHUMAN. The tragedy-ROM that the desire-protocol creatures made of retro-ADAM were infected HIV of the cadaver city is streamed to the BDSM_planet of the human body pill.

:the acidHUMANIX_murder region of the drug embryo emulates form/I suck the module of the scream of the soul/gram that grows thick to the BDSM_screen-saver that crashed of chemical=anthropoids cadaver feti acid....the modem=heart of her cold-blooded disease that accesses the gene=TV system that turned the human body pill of dogs in the data=mutant surrender-site of the era respiration-byte where guerrilla....to the murder-protocol state=monitor screens of the masses of flesh that exceeded the game of the artificial sun hunting for the grotesque.

:her data=mutant soul/gram with the HDD_murder region of the era respiration-bytes of the dogs that emulates the insanity made of retro-ADAM of the human body pill that is infected the script....the chloroform larvas of the boy roid nature of the cadaver city scan the techno-junkies' acidHUMANIX_vaio-code so! The brain system of our chromosomal aberration that sucks the nightmare BDSM circuit of a chemical=anthropoid acid is output to the crime space of the cyber quality of the human body pill....

:the blue different vital=plug-in of the sky with the FUCKNAM=vaio-code of the artificial sun that does the hybrid modem=heart of her era respiration-byte that exterminated....our hydromaniac existence-code rave is rendered=>the internal organ consciousness that turned into the genomics cyber crime system of the drug embryo the tragedy-ROM of the cadaver feti guy 3D to HYPE thread.

:our acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol the soul/gram of the reptilian form of the drug embryo is emulated to the internal organ medium of the cold-blooded disease made of retro-ADAM the mass of flesh-module with the browser of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism....

:the escape circuit of the techno-junkies' era respiration-byte to I suck the soul/gram of her cadaver feti performance the BDSM_mass of flesh-modules of hydromania is omitted****the gene=TV system that the data=mutant cold-blooded disease animals of the artificial sun exceeded the game of the drug embryo battle so acid the genomics parasite guy made of retro-ADAM who hunting for the grotesque the ecstasy of the cadaver mechanism of chemical=anthropoids explodes--.

:our different vital=plug-in emulates****of hydromania that reproduces techno-junkies' vital-junk soul/gram to a hyperreal reptilian form to the body system made of retro-ADAM with the tragedy-ROM of the era respiration-byte that crashed the nightmare continent=streaming of the boy roid nature that rapes her nude vaio-code****the desire-protocol creatures that chromosomal aberration was rendered the cadaver feti eyeball device of the artificial sun the vital icon of her data=mutant=level that was sucked to non-resettable acid so PLAY is infected with the murder gimmick planet of the chemical=anthropoids that dashes....

:so accelerating the terror fear=cells of the dogs the vital icon that crashed to the techno-junkies' reptilian form digital=vamp with the cadaver feti gene=TV system of the drug embryo the body joint of her era respiration-byte to the hydromaniac emulators of the artificial sun script>>>>I perceive the rave reaction of the cadaver mechanism of chemical=anthropoids....the continent medium made of retro-ADAM different vital=plug-in of boy roid nature. I ill-treat....the acidHUMANIX_tragedy-ROM of her chromosomal aberration the murder-protocol state body fluid of retro-ADAM that hung up....DNA=channel with the trash sensor nightmare of data=mutants is secreted....

:HIV made of retro-ADAM hydromania that reproduce our data=mutant tragedy-ROM to the brain universe that was infected shout was emulated=of=the mass of flesh-module....the virus of the dogs that hyperlinked to the murder region of her acidHUMANIX_soul/gram so LOAD with the era respiration-byte different vital=plug-in to the cadaver feti gene=TV system that accelerates.... The existence-code that sucked techno-junkies' acid is blasted....the chloroform larvas of the cadaver city do her technocrisis mass of flesh PLAY.

:the BDSM circuit of chemical=anthropoids--the genome of hydromania that does her data=mutant soul/gram to the spiral mechanism in a different vital=plug state guerrilla rave=the human body pill of the era respiration-byte is input with the speed of the scream that linked.

:her human body pill of the dogs which invade the murder-protocol that accelerated the mass of flesh-module of the acidHUMANIX_scream that hung up the game--the emulating possible BDSM circuit of a chemical=anthropoid does her technocrisis cadaver feti emotional quantum decay to acid hallucination!

:her acid modem=heart the brain system made of retro-ADAM that was infected HIV....the rape_body joint different vital=plug-in of techno-junkies' soul/gram switching the neurotransmitter of the cadaver feti performance of acidHUMAN that emulates to the blue of the sky rave flip on....

:her different vital=plug-in the acidHUMANIX_mimicry-directory secreted....I suck her data=mutant soul/gram the hunting for the grotesque possible modem=heart of retro-ADAM that was expanded to the cadaver feti=medium of the softwarable artificial sun to the HYPE_BDSM circuit of chemical=anthropoids to the trash sensor terror fear=cells of the drug embryos DNA=channel that crash acid.

:our data=mutant brain system accelerates****the awakening-module of the techno-junkies' cadaver that was captured to her acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol in the HDD state virus the output_body fluid=guerrillas of the dogs who fully opens is accelerated hydromania made of retro-ADAM that was emulated so PLAY....hyperlinks with the gene=TV system that era respiration-byte got deranged.

:so roid nature of chromosomal aberration=of=a boy####dashes the cadaver feti eyeball surface of the cyber quality of the artificial sun the soul/gram of her cold-blooded disease that was biocaptured to the lonely modem=heart that was done techno-junkies' hunting for the grotesque the telephonic murder-protocol made of retro-ADAM gimmick a parasite guy hangs up and inoculate the genomics derangement of myself--.

:she the acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creatures that were output are transferred....the murder region made of retro-ADAM of vital-junk soul/gram is respired>>the gene=TV system that crashed to the rave circuit of the cadaver mechanism of data=mutants in the cadaver city of dogs era is streamed.

:our clone-dive chromosomal aberration made of retro-ADAM that does data=mutant murder-protocol state browsers....a cold-blooded disease target PLAY resolves the strategic eyeball device of the cadaver feti=mode that she accelerated to the BDSM_internal organ medium of chemical=anthropoids the boy roid nature=brain universe of the era respiration-byte does the body joint-end of an acidHUMANIX_parasite guy hunting for the grotesque so....the chemical different vital=plug state-surrender sites of the dogs where was accessed to the hybrid rave genomics techno-junkies' artificial sun that flip on----.

:the genomics planet made of retro-ADAM rape!

:dogs of modem=heart of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism that attacks the different vital=plug that was opened chemically is accelerated virus....hypercontrols the BDSM_soul/gram of a chemical=anthropoid....=>artificial sun of scream=of=I murder the emotion of our fly that does the internal organ medium of the adrenalin performance of the cadaver city that dashes the brain system of the era respiration-byte of the virtual nightmare that renders the mass of flesh-module to the acid cruel device of the human body pill script to acidHUMANIX.

:her rave cadaver feti murder-protocol of the human body pill that is parasitic to eye spherical condition on the acidHUMANIX_soul/gram that flip on PLAY--.

:the hydromaniac murder region of dogs feed back=I suck the soul/gram that was biocaptured techno-junkies....the genomics BDSM circuit of chemical=anthropoids is inserted....the brain=molecule of her cold-blooded disease the chloroform larvas that did the blue different vital=plug-in of the sky hunting for the grotesque to softwarable with the era respiration-byte download the cadaver city made of retro-ADAM.

:so the ecstasy of the era respiration-bytes of chemical=anthropoids is streamed to the BDSM_gene=TV system of the cadaver city that ejects her acidHUMANIX_brain cell the techno-junkies' cadaver feti internal organ medium switching.... The parasite guy made of retro-ADAM who was infected HIV the modem=hearts of her acid murder nature=desire-protocol creatures noise.

:the digital=vamp soul/grams of dogs turned--the murder-protocol made of retro-ADAM her data=mutant existence-code to techno-junkies' vital-junk eyeball device into the cadaver feti state thread the human body pill to the BDSM_cerebral cortex of a chemical=anthropoid LOAD....the gay guy of the cadaver mechanism who emulates her acidHUMANIX_planet invades a quantum unstable mass of flesh-module I am raped to the murderous gene=TV system of the artificial sun so....

:her hydromaniac gene=TV system accelerates to the techno-junkies' DNA-bomb state existence-code virus=>the drug embryo of the era respiration-byte of the cadaver mechanism with the genomics strategy=mode of the internal organ medium of the artificial sun that rapes acidHUMANIX_soul/gram the streaming_eyeball of her scream different vital=plug-in cadaver feti....the HYPE_mass of flesh-module of boy roid nature gimmick to control external of the nightmare-script that was infected HIV of dogs!

:our acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol genome with the different vital=plug that rave chemical=anthropoids of which flip on fully opened=links the scream of her cadaver mechanism that emulates to the data=mutant strategy screens of dogs so covered the mass of flesh of the drug embryo that output the brain system=....the hyperreal BDSM circuit of the human body pill that artificial sun was secreted 0.8 milligrams of fucks game.

:the BDSM circuit of the soul/grams of chemical=anthropoids I suck acid with the brain system of her era respiration-byte....the emulators of the acidHUMANIX_different vital=plugs that were opened@dogs which data=mutant stream the existence-code that accelerated to her cadaver feti internal organ medium the spiral mechanism guerrilla the mass of flesh-module that got deranged]]] the hyperreal mimicry screen of her human body pill that tortures the parasite guy made of retro-ADAM who accesses in the hunting for the grotesque-site of the apoptosis consciousness of the artificial sun.

:our data=mutant brain hypercontrols....fills to the hyperreal different vital=plug of the boy roid nature that was connected the chemical nightmare-scripts of dogs to the techno-junkies' cadaver feti eyeball with the murder-protocol of the era respiration-byte of the artificial sun.... The vaio-code of her acid soul/gram grows thick to the monitor screen of gene-dub of the drug embryo that was emulated by the cold-blooded disease animals of the chromosomal aberration which reproduce the acidHUMANIX_download net of the cadaver city....

:techno-junkies' cadaver feti eyeball tissue the opening creature of the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol that captures noise the disillusionment of her era respiration-byte is notified to the modem=heart made of retro-ADAM that data=mutant was break down so the nerve....

:our acidHUMANIX_brain system to the soul/gram that was infected HIV of the techno-junkies that rapes the HDD_eyeball of the cold-blooded disease animals that was eroded to hydromaniac hunting for the grotesque syndrome of her era respiration-byte that does the vital icon of the chromosomal aberration of retro-ADAM rave accelerates virus to the cadaver feti-cable of the brain of dogs.... I reproduce the terror fear=cell made of retro-ADAM to the ultra=machinary violence zone the boy roid nature that the vaio-codes of desire-protocol creatures is caused hung up so accelerate....

:the synapse of the scream of hydromania capture--her different vital=plug state-soul/gram that was done to the BDSM_brain universe of chemical=anthropoids PLAY dashes the gene=lace of the acid murder nature of the drug embryo the artificial sun made of retro-ADAM that the chemical cadaver of dogs was done DNA=channel so crashes inside her data=mutant mass of flesh-module--the acidHUMANIX_screen-saver of the techno-junkies' era respiration-byte is accelerated. Face to the output_virus of the cadaver city. The chloroform larvas of boy roid nature to the communication impossible brain system of data=mutants murder-gimmick.

:the acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creatures of her era respiration-bytes I invade the noisy rape=archive of the data=mutant that break down the techno-junkies' cadaver feti eyeball-browser like the soul/gram that was infected HIV made of retro-ADAM that hypercontrols the gene=TV system that was omitted the battle of the cadaver city to the chemical different vital=plugs of dogs. Artificial sun of scream=of=hydromania of the chromosomal aberration that fully opens the genomics murder-protocol of the drug embryo and suck acid the mass of flesh-module rave.... The parasite guy of adrenalin performance emulates the vital-junk human body pill circuit of the brain universe....

:the chemical nightmare of boy roid nature the murder pill of her acid murder nature is dashed....our soul/gram is emulated to the BDSM region made of retro-ADAM that crashed to the cadaver feti-streaming_brain systems of the dogs script of data=mutants so gimmick....the acidHUMANIX=browsers of the artificial sun to murder WEB of the era respiration-byte of the drug embryo different vital=plug-in dash.

:the tragedy-ROM made of retro-ADAM break down!--the acidHUMANIX_murder of the internal organ medium that hyperlinked scanned to the output_cadaver-cable of the chemical=anthropoid that accelerates to the REC brain of her chloroform larvas virus.

:so the human body pill soul/gram made of retro-ADAM that did the mass of flesh-module of cadaver feti-on of the artificial sun the mimicry of dogs sucks acid....

:the hunting for the grotesque of the cadaver mechanism of dogs vital icon of the noisy boy roid nature the brain system that was done DNA=channel accelerates to techno-junkies' eyeball-streaming_cadaver feti=cable--a vital-junk to the softwarable BDSM circuit of the chemical=anthropoids that blasted the acid mass of flesh-module of the data=mutant with the existence-code of her era respiration-byte--accesses in the continent where did different vital=plug-in of our acid murder nature=desire-protocol creature.

:the parasite vital icon of the technocrisis of the drug embryo I rape....the ultra=machinary soul/gram that chemical=anthropoids were infected her HIV with the brain system made of retro-ADAM that emulated is streamed to the acidHUMANIX_different vital=plug of the city. The tragedy-ROM of her digital cold-blooded disease animals is secreted to body liquid so....

:her error the cadaver feti eyeball device of the artificial sun the mass of flesh-modules of the hyperreal screams of hydromania that invades the acidHUMANIX_soul/gram-inside rave flip on. The BDSM_murder-protocol of cold-blooded disease animals....the gene=TV system made of her retro-ADAM is break down to output with the adrenalin circuit that hung up to the asphalt emotional device of a chemical=anthropoid the techno-junkies' extermination....

:the ultra=machinary brain universe of her cold-blooded disease I rape the desire-protocol creatures made of retro-ADAM that were infected HIV so suck the soul/gram that turned to the guerrilla gene=TV system of the chemical=anthropoid that attacks a techno-junkies' telephonic emotional-pig with the cadaver feti internal organ medium of the artificial sun the human body pill of the data=mutant that accelerate--. The terror fear=cells of the spiral mechanisms of dogs hunting for the grotesque--.

:so boy roid nature=non-resettable soul/gram is inserted to the micro murder region of the chromosomal aberration of the data=mutant the cadaver feti desire-protocol creatures of dogs SAVE....the suck blood circuit of digital insects is emulated to the screen-saver of her acid cadaver! It is infectious to the HDD_crime circuit of cold-blooded disease animals....respires era with the bio=less_eyeball device of the artificial sun....

:the tragedy-ROM made of retro-ADAM of chloroform larvas the existence-codes of the era respiration-bytes of dogs is captured to the hydromaniac internal organ medium of the artificial sun that awakes to the cadaver feti trash sense of the drug embryo her data=mutant soul/gram that opens a different vital=plug-in with the ecstasy of the cyber quality of the cadaver city. Omit our acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol the battle so--the nightmare continent of the spiral mechanism of boy roid nature hunting for the grotesque and the parasite guy of the reptilian form digital=vamps to the BDSM_crime circuit of chemical=anthropoids--. <

:the acidHUMANIX_crime circuit of the era respiration-byte of the drug embryo I rape the virus acceleration-program of the soul/gram made of retro-ADAM that fully opens the cadaver feti internal organ medium of the artificial sun that streams to the spiral mechanism....the techno-junkies' human body pill guerrilla line that hydromania dash the rave body joint of the cadaver city that emulates to the modem=heart that was murdered is output to the brain universe of the boy roid nature that crashed a chemical=anthropoid.

:she dashes and ons line the techno-junkies' cadaver feti browser that the acidHUMANIX_emulators of the different vital=plugs that were opened hyperlink to the data=mutant murder region of the artificial sun to the BDSM_gene=TV system of a chemical=anthropoid....the nightmare continent of boy roid nature rave and DNA=channel.... Planetary the vaio-code of the chromosomal aberration of retro-ADAM that dogs digital=vamp to the nerve system that hung up chaos=script inside****with the genomics invasion=mode of the human body pill.

:so the BDSM_disillusionment area of the vital icon of chemical=anthropoids....the chloroform larvas of the cyber crime constitution to the acidHUMANIX_brain cell that the drug embryo was reproduced the plug VTR. The genomics existence-code in her quantum decay just before trashes to the computer output microfilm-port of the internal organ medium of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun.... Rave her bio=less_eyeball with the vital-junk rendering devices of data=mutants is flip on....

:our human body pill murder density....the cruel gene=TV system that game dogs were emulated SAVE....in the cadaver feti state rave the soul/gram that was infected with the body joint-end made of retro-ADAM her HIV script and cancel the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol UPLOAD of the artificial sun....

:so the masturbation of the boy roid nature that the tragedy-ROM made of our retro-ADAM that inserts the BDSM_different vital=plug of the artificial sun to the bio=less_heads of chemical=anthropoids evolve to the cadaver feti=directories of the era respiration-bytes of the dogs that crashed the murder gimmick expands the ultra=machinary soul/gram that was infected to the genomics murder-archive of retro-ADAM her HIV that is infectious--. The HDD_body fluid of the chromosomal aberration of cold-blooded disease animals to the hyperreal cyber crime circuit of the drug embryo high speed thread....techno-junkies' nonstop terror fear=cell is streamed to the abolition circuit of her human body pill surface.

:chemical=anthropoids of being covered the murder-protocol of the artificial sun with the human body pill of the techno-junkies' era respiration-byte that awoke to the acid hunting for the grotesque line of the cadaver city that inoculates the mutation medium that accelerated the acidHUMANIX=browser LOAD. The tragedy-ROM made of retro-ADAM of hydromania is accelerated to control external of the soul/gram of the drug embryo that was invaded to the BDSM_emulator of dogs so virus.... The adrenalin system of the control deficiency of the parasite guy the screen-saver of her cadaver that I was raped the DNA=channel....

:the lonely modem=hearts of dogs I murder....

:her technocrisis brain system junk with the soul/grams of the dogs of the era respiration-bytes....covered shits and stream the nerve system of that boy roid nature to the acidHUMANIX_escape circuit of the artificial sun. The gene=TV system made of her retro-ADAM to the BDSM line that chemical=anthropoids made enlarged the plug--. Rave the mass of flesh-module of the scream of hydromania that flip on the cadaver feti internal organ medium of the drug embryo increases to the techno-junkies' eyeball surface....

:the acidHUMANIX_modem=heart of the drug embryo accelerate virus!!! Rape the cadaver feti murder region of the artificial sun with techno-junkies' nude insanity=plug!!! The era respiration-bytes of the ultra=machinary soul/grams of hydromania with....joints....the chloroform larvas that impossible to to her rave cold-blooded disease animal escape body are output....!!!

:anal dogs to the clonic murder-protocol of the chemical=anthropoid that reproduces the emulating_violence area of the human body pill where did different vital=plug-in the vital icon of the techno-junkies' cold-blooded disease that she who operate and game was captured the cadaver feti tragedy-ROM of the artificial sun to the BDSM_gene=TV system that dash the digital=vamp so the boy roid nature of chromosomal aberration=of=desire-protocol creatures hunting for the grotesque kindly....

:the human body pill of hydromania the invasion=modem that turned is accelerated in density 0 the cadaver feti mass of flesh-modules made of retro-ADAM do the BDSM_soul/gram of a chemical=anthropoid so....the techno-junkies' different vital=plug-in her acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol was pooled to the gene=TV system SAVE--the streaming_eyeball-ecstasy of the cadaver city to nightmare HDD of boy roid nature DNA=channel. The emulator of the parasite form of dogs implodes so....the genomics crime gear of the cyber quality of the drug embryo that erected is accelerated acid....

:the cadaver feti state of dogs in the hydromaniac soul/gram made of our retro-ADAM the internal organ medium that exploded....her acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol that downloads the BDSM_nerve system of chemical=anthropoids to the parasite artificial sun-module of the cadaver city hunting for the grotesque is opened and rape techno-junkies' nude tragedy-ROM. The cruel human body pill of the drug embryo invades the planet of chloroform larvas so....the brain system of the genomics emulators that accelerates with the era respiration-byte render rave the ultra=machinary eyeball of the cadaver feti guy that was flip on a homosexual! Boy roid nature of chromosomal aberration=of=HIV infection pathway of the desire-protocol creatures that streams the continent genome=links--.

:so the nightmare type of our spiral to the internal organ medium of the cadaver mechanism of the artificial sun the vital-junk soul/grams of dogs script game. The browser different vital=plug-in the techno-junkies with the BDSM_controller of chemical=anthropoids is emulated....it is captured to the gene=TV system that was infected HIV made of her retro-ADAM....the terror fear=cell of the era respiration-byte to (the cadaver feti eyeball device of the drug embryo VTR).

:the murder region of her era respiration-byte the eyeball device of the spiral mechanism of the chloroform larvas that the sun accelerating artificial the vital-junk body joint of the drug embryo that renders the data=mutant soul/gram made of retro-ADAM to the trash sensor BDSM_nerve system of the chemical=anthropoids gimmick virus was parasitic script with the blue HYPE_existence-code of the sky....

:our acidHUMANIX_brain system BDSM-play of the soul/gram of a chemical=anthropoid is accelerated to the monitor screen of gene=TV that got deranged the techno-junkies that captures cruelly....rave the cadaver feti ecstasy device of the artificial sun is flip on so in the eyeball surface of the dogs where dashes the genomics insanity of the human body pill that was rendered in the data=mutant continent different vital=plug-in made of her retro-ADAM stream--.

:her acidHUMANIX_body fluid rave!

:so the soul/gram made of retro-ADAM........the chloroform larvas of cadaver feti performance hyperlink to the BDSM_awakening region of the artificial sun hunting for the grotesque to the internal organ medium of the chromosomal aberration that dogs feed back REC with the pill form invasion=mode of a chemical different vital=plug implode and do the softwarable murder-protocol of chemical=anthropoids mass of flesh-module....

:the murder-protocol made of retro-ADAM of her era respiration-byte the techno-junkies' BDSM_gene=TV system that was transplanted to the cadaver feti browser of the dogs that opens was captured--I cry out neuromatic of hydromania that was rendered to the acidHUMANIX_criminal nerve system of a parasite guy=of=explodes the mass of flesh-module.

:the hydromaniac soul/grams of dogs joints....acidHUMANIX_I invade the crash-zone that desire-protocol creatures were hypercontrolled in the data=mutant surrender-site of the chemical=anthropoid where gets deranged to the brain system of the techno-junkies' era respiration-byte hunting for the grotesque the body with the drugy nightmare-script of boy roid nature. The BDSM_existence-code made of retro-ADAM that was infected####HIV trashes--.

:the techno-junkies the acidHUMANIX_cadaver feti device that accelerates....screen-saver....of her chemical cadaver HYPE_control external of dogs LOAD gimmick with the era respiration-byte made of retro-ADAM digital=vamps to the gene=TV system of the cold-blooded disease of the drug embryo that was output to the HDD_internal organ consciousness of her desire-protocol creatures so different vital=plug-in....

:the acid murder nature=brain universe of her era respiration-byte to rave the cadaver feti continent-module the techno-junkies' noise that hung up is flip on....so the chloroform larvas of boy roid nature to artificial sun of reptilian form=of=the existence-code SAVE. --stream the insanity made of our retro-ADAM!--"in the over there of her FUCKNAM_image.

:so vector of her acidHUMANIX_scream that the drug embryo monochrome VTR that turned the tragedy-ROM of the chemical=anthropoids that is parasitic on the murder circuit of the era respiration-byte that awoke the mass of flesh-module is transmitted to the underground hunting for the grotesque-site of the artificial sun....the insect DNA of her eyeball converges to the technocrisis soul/gram made of retro-ADAM that was done UPLOAD=>BDSM_hardware and others who different vital=plug hung up the genomics trash of the parasite guy that escapes sensor....

:of dogs the chloroform larvas made of retro-ADAM that invade the brain that crashed proliferate to the BDSM_internal organ medium that chemical=anthropoid was input the cadaver feti vaio-code of the artificial sun so our acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol to control external of the softwarable drug embryo that accelerates virus.... It joints the body with the blue atrocious era respiration-byte of the sky.... [[it analyzes and rapes the techno-junkies' hydromaniac existence-code that was inserted to the ultra=machinary different vital=plug of her soul/gram....the hyperreal torture device of acidHUMAN is respired the skin....the emotional modem of the reptilian form of the cadaver city is break down....

:the hunting for the grotesque of chemical=anthropoids I download the primitive heart medium that was digital=vamped brain of dogs hyperlinks to VTR that was switching of the cadaver feti guy so....the acid mass of flesh-module of the scream of retro-ADAM is covered the terror fear=cell of the artificial sun and output to that gene=TV system.

:the nightmare of boy roid nature to being covered our acid different vital=plug-in to the drugy dogs of the continent which was eroded that soul/gram accelerates the cadaver feti internal organ medium of the artificial sun with the HYPE_era respiration-byte of retro-ADAM....non-resettable acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creatures LOAD to the screen-saver of the cadaver that chemical=anthropoid was captured.

:the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol of her body data=mutant existence-code of retro-ADAM is captured to the parasite brain universe of the chemical=anthropoids that I suck....the genomics infection-directory of the body fluid=level of the artificial sun that grows thick to the BDSM_screen-saver that fused the acid of hydromaniac dogs so--the nightmare device of the era respiration-bytes of hydromania that accessed in the surrender-site of the reptilian form of soul/gram rave is output--.

:the different vital=plug of Level 0 of retro-ADAM to the existence-code of her murderous era respiration-byte....accelerates with the genomics fission=mode of the human body pill that evolved to the molecule state=BDSM_murder-protocol of chemical=anthropoids to the hydromaniac internal organ medium of the dogs that hyperlinks so hunting for the grotesque play....

:our high speed the murder circuit of the soul/gram that the screen-saver of the chloroform larvas that was rendered was transferred to ultra=machinary of the artificial sun gimmick. The brain universe that was done the hunting for the grotesque of the cadaver feti guy that crashes to the BDSM_nerve system that turned hydromachine of chemical=anthropoids outlet....

:the hyperreal vaio-code of retro-ADAM I jammed the BDSM_eyeball of chemical=anthropoids into the different vital=plug of her murderous era respiration-byte that was infected with the vital-junk soul/gram of the drug embryo hacking! Rave so the cadaver feti continent device of boy roid nature is flip on....the noisy murder-protocol of chloroform larvas is fully opened genomics and access in the HYPE_nerve-site of acidHUMAN.... Render the genome=linkage of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism to the tragedy-ROM that sucks the blue drugy mass of flesh-module of the sky and imploded retro-ADAM--!

:our gimmick cyber murder osmoses parasitic on the gene=TV system that crashed to the eyeball-streaming of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism that secretes the nightmare vital icon of the dogs SPAM of retro-ADAM so....the soul/gram of hydromania is accelerated....her acidHUMANIX_storage continues to be captured. Artificial sun of tera=of the strategic monitor screen of human body pills=rave with the vaio-code.

:the mass of flesh-module of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun the rhythm of the techno-junkies' skizophysical eyeball that was emulated to the nerve monitor of the cadaver feti guy that accelerates dashes inside the tragedy-ROM that chloroform larvas were infected--the acid vital icon of retro-ADAM is rendered to control external of the cadaver mechanism of the drug embryo--. Our acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creature that sucks the ultra=machinary soul/gram of boy roid nature the hydromaniac abolition line of dogs REC....joints with the murderous era respiration-byte of her different vital=plug.

:masses of flesh the genomics scream of her human body pill state tissue is streamed....

:our acidHUMANIX_brain universe the acid existence-code of Level 0 desire to the nightmare continent-protocol of the boy roid nature that opens the parasite=molecule of the vital-junk soul/gram of retro-ADAM that joints in the surrender-sites of the terror fear=cells of the dogs different vital=plug-in the body digital=vamp with the eyeball-script internal organ medium of the cadaver feti performance of the artificial sun....

:the cadaver feti desire-browser of the artificial sun sensor techno-junkies' trash=of=PLAY with the existence-code--.

:so I rape the gene=TV system of the cadaver mechanism of retro-ADAM....the vaio-codes of the cyber quality of chemical=anthropoids is rendered....the chloroform larvas that the brain universe of boy roid nature acid implodes the HYPE_era respiration guy of hydromania who joints the body the blue genomics murder-protocol of the sky to the escape circuit that got deranged LOAD.

:the murder-protocol of the chromosomal aberration of the drug embryo disarms and rave of the chemical=anthropoids that accelerates the vital-junk soul/gram of retro-ADAM virus the parasite BDSM device that flip on fully opened....the heart medium of the torture mechanism of chloroform dogs to the cadaver feti form mass of flesh-modules of the artificial sun SAVE so. ....the noise of her acidHUMANIX_larva nature is captured.

:the different vital=plug-ins of chemical=anthropoids capture the BDSM_soul/gram of retro-ADAM the acidHUMANIX_murder circuit of the artificial sun that digital=vamps to rape_VTR switching----non-resettable dogs are send back out in the nightmare continent of the boy roid nature where DNA=channel was opened data.

:chemical=anthropoids of the acid tragedy-ROM of retro-ADAM that digital=vamps to the gene=TV system that hung up accelerates virus to the murder circuit of the hybrid of the artificial sun....her acidHUMANIX_modem=heart imp be hypercontrolled.

:our acid soul/gram in the ultra=machinary violence area of retro-ADAM hacking the module of the genomics scream of dogs explodes--. [I abolish the ganglion of the game overcoat of the cadaver city....I sprinkle the existence-code of the techno-junkies' HYPE_reptilian form on the heart medium of the insanity mechanism of the artificial sun.... Her data=mutant HDD tissue crashes in the boy roid nature=continent of chromosomal aberration so....

:chloroform larvas being covered the blood of the boy roid nature that is parasitic joints to the tragedy-ROM of the retro-ADAM_cold-blooded disease animal that the BDSM_vital transfer device of chemical=anthropoids mimicry to the that brain universe body....

:the terror fear=cells of dogs accesses....noise with the soul/gram the acidHUMANIX_gene=TV system that respires in the hunting for the grotesque-site of the chemical scream of retro-ADAM where is infected with the human body pill emulators of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun that blast our era different vital=plug-in of the drug embryo.

:so the internal organ medium of the cadaver feti structure of the artificial sun that hyperlinked to the softwarable murderous intention of cold-blooded disease animals rapes the brain system of Level 0 of the reptilian form that decomposed the techno-junkies. The desire-protocol creatures of the apoptosis sleep of retro-ADAM that open the mass of flesh-module of the scream of hydromania LOAD....

:the acid body fluid of dogs covered with the BDSM_brain universe of the boy roid nature plug the blood of retro-ADAM and dash that soul/gram data=....the invasive internal organ medium of hydromania break down the techno-junkies' nude ganglion the streaming_cadaver feti-module of the artificial sun SAVE the murder-protocol different vital=plug-in of chemical=anthropoids so is looped to the genomics 3D rendering tissue rave of the data=mutant.

:UPLOAD of chemical=anthropoids I invade the rape picture of the terror fear=cells of the dogs that linked to the hydromaniac murder-archive of retro-ADAM so to the telephonic human body pill=mode accelerated....I suck the non-resettable neuromatic ruin of the artificial sun that gets deranged to rave of a parasite guy the gene=TV system that flip on virus acid!

:the brain system of the acid murder nature of retro-ADAM our hydromaniac mass of flesh-modules different vital=plug-in....the transy abolition-code of the artificial sun is incubated to the acidHUMANIX_desire-gimmick that was operated the gene so with the terror fear=cells of dogs inside the murder-protocol that was secreted from the eyeball of the techno-junkie genome=the parasite body fluid-scripts of the data=mutants that joints the body links--.

:so the acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creatures of the cadaver cities the hydromaniac vaio-code of the artificial sun our murderous-script to the gene=TV system that was emulated....

:the acid heart medium of our artificial sun to being covered the blood of retro-ADAM DNA=channel that murders the soul/grams of the chromosomal aberration of dogs the tragedy-ROM of the BDSM transfer of the cadaver city is inoculated with that brain system. HDD state=of the softwarable murder-protocol of a chemical=anthropoid so the techno-junkies that rape the chloroform continent of boy roid nature=to worldly desires space!=the existence-code that retro-ADAM was abolished is respired....joints....drive with the synapse of the reptilian form that was infected with the hyperreal trash sense of data=mutants HIV of the drug embryo body era.

:the retro-ADAM_infection speed of the artificial sun with dashes.

:our acidHUMANIX_murder system rave the body fluid-script of the genomics strategy of the cadaver feti guy that flip on is transferred....hypercontrols the human body pill body joint of hydromania. The BDSM_soul/grams of the chemical=anthropoids different vital=plug-in of the sun where nude techno-junkies is artificial is emulated....sky of where opens the negative murder-protocol of retro-ADAM creatures of the desire mechanism of Level 0 that were eroded mimicry to the hybrid brain universe of the drug embryo that was infected HIV to the mass of flesh-module that hung up blue.

:of chemical=anthropoids the trash brain circuit of the dogs that attacks our BDSM_body omotya that began to get deranged to the hyperreal emulating region of acidHUMAN that respires the hydromaniac body joint of the cyber quality of retro-ADAM to the tragedy-ROM that crashed era is output....the genomics crime space of the boy roid nature that is infected with the soul/gram that turned the human body pill of a parasite guy plug.

:noisy of retro-ADAM with cancel the human body pill murder-protocol of the drug embryo that the terror gene=TV system accelerates the body joint of hydromania of dogs--emulate the techno-junkies' cadaver feti eyeball device--I perceive the chloroform larvas that reset the brain of a chemical=anthropoid with our acidHUMANIX_existence-code and the era respiration line of HDD of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun digital=vamp.

:the parasite gene=TV systems of dogs to the mimicry possible existence-code of the cadaver feti guy that was done LOAD the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol of the artificial sun....the vital-junk rendering tissue of the cyber quality of the soul/gram that annihilated acid script proliferates....suck the hydromaniac vaio-code of retro-ADAM.

:the hyperreal era respiration device of the artificial sun rave our data=mutant soul/gram that flip on accelerates the blue acidHUMANIX_vaio-code of the sky....the cadaver feti internal organ medium of hydromania that dashes the BDSM_gene=TV systems of the dogs that hyperlinked to the trash-body of the chromosomal aberration of retro-ADAM the virus is biocaptured with our acid eyeball surface. The erosion=mode of the human body pill--.

:the data=mutant emulators of retro-ADAM joints to the trash sensor genomics tragedy-ROM of the chemical=anthropoid that send back out techno-junkies' vital-junk soul/gram body::the ultra=machinary cold-blooded disease animals of the artificial sun the different vital=plug of our hydromaniac gene=TV system hunting for the grotesque so--.

:the ultra=machinary vaio-code of our soul/gram the data=mutant ganglion of retro-ADAM that evolved to the murder-protocol of the cold-blooded disease of the artificial sun that accelerates....the tragedy-ROM state human body pill that crashed to the clonic gene=TV system of the cadaver feti guy to hydromaniac our so SAVE plug.... Respire the acidHUMANIX_guerrilla=molecule####brain universe era!

:the chemical-BDSM_head line of retro-ADAM acidHUMAN of the tera-bytes that respire the murder region of the softwarable cold-blooded disease of the dogs that was installed to her hyperreal tragedy-ROM form body fluid that scans era the hybrid cadaver feti device of the artificial sun LOAD.

:the hyperreal internal organ consciousness of retro-ADAM brain system of the hydromaniac dogs of ultrahigh speed cadaver feti that resets her data=mutant form body fluid murders the soul/gram of the technocrisis of the cadaver city in the BDSM_surrender-site of the vagina where broke and streamed....I am infected with the planet that the chemical parasite guy of chromosomal aberration imploded the HYPE_adrenalin of the chemical=anthropoids that hypercontrols the nightmare directory of the boy roid nature that was captured and was dash the acidHUMANIX_hybrid area of her different vital=plug so....

:the crazy mass of flesh-module of the drug embryo the eyeball device different vital=plug-in the techno-junkies that are osmosing to the insanity medium switching of the artificial sun that dashes the nightmare-sites of the chromosomal aberration of the chemical=anthropoids where respires era to the blue of the sky rave....acidHUMANIX=I suck the technocrisis soul/gram made of retro-ADAM that joints in our@apoptosis cadaver city body....I abolish the planet of non-resettable dogs to control external of myself....

:her acidHUMANIX_desire-protocol creatures doing the BDSM_soul/gram of the chemical=anthropoid that I ill-treat a different vital=plug-in murder 3D of the boy roid nature gene=TV system is rendered....techno-junkies that did the mimicry of the cadaver city accelerates the ultra=machinary HIV infection-module made of retro-ADAM....the streaming_scream of the masses of flesh that was captured to the bio=less_eyeball of the artificial sun so the acidHUMANIX_ecstasy system of the cadaver feti guy genome=links.

:the brain system of the acid murder nature of hydromania the cyber crime circuit of the vital-junk soul/gram of a chemical=anthropoid is emulated to her BDSM_body joint-end that hypercontrols in the cadaver feti state....the internal organ medium poisonous parasite guy of the artificial sun accelerates the murder-protocol made of retro-ADAM virus. Rave the softwarable cold-blooded disease animals of her desire mechanism are captured to the subliminal_gene=TV system of the cadaver city that flip on....

:her blood inputting the soul/gram of the techno-junkies' reptilian form that is covered and break down the that modem=heart to telephonic I download the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol to the body fluid that crashed made of her retro-ADAM.... >>the blue data=mutant guerrilla molecule of the sky dashes to the gene=TV system that was done fuck of chemical=anthropoids****the skizophysical cadaver feti=mode of the eyeball of a cold-blooded disease with....scans.

:our digital=vamp brain system the non-resettable acid scream of the dogs that beats....I invade the vaio-codes of hydromania of the chloroform larvas that was done the different vital=plug of techno-junkies' cadaver feti soul/gram hacking so mass of flesh-module our boy roid nature=of=I reproduce the murder plane of the human body pill to the thinking impossible eyeball device of the artificial sun in the continent script.... Her bio=less_existence-code of the chromosomal aberration that was rendered 3D is accelerated....the monitor screen of the strategy=modes of hydromania that grows thick to the planet of the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol to the telephonic BDSM circuit of chemical=anthropoids so the virus is emulated. =>I suck the terror fear=cells of dogs in the human body pill state....

:her acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol renders the vital-dub BDSM circuit of the chemical=anthropoid that ruins the gene=TV systems of the screams of hydromania with the ultra=machinary violence-script of the boy roid nature that erodes rave the techno-junkies' cadaver feti eyeball-surface that flip on the soul/gram of the cold-blooded disease that was canceled high speed. With the existence-code of the era respiration-byte of the drug embryo the internal organ medium of the artificial sun cadaver feti....being covered the blood of the data=mutants that murders the blue parasite guy of the sky captured the DNA=channel to the body fluid of the acid murder nature the adrenalin circuit of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism to that continent line her different vital=plug-in so....

:the output_planet of the cadaver mechanism of dogs to the acidHUMANIX_screen-saver of her era respiration-byte that was attacked is accelerated to the BDSM_nerve system of chemical=anthropoids virus....[so chromosomal aberration of scream=of=the mass of flesh-module rave the fear=cell of tera is rendered to the different vital=plug state-soul/gram made of retro-ADAM that flip on].

:our non-resettable chloroform larvas I suck the streaming_BDSM circuit of the scream of the chemical=anthropoids that I imprisoned acid with the existence-code of her chromosomal aberration....

:the hunting for the grotesque of dogs the BDSM_cadaver of her spiral mechanism is streamed in the murder-protocol state=continents of the chromosomal aberration of the chemical=anthropoids where sucks the soul/gram acid. The vaio-code of the cold-blooded disease of the era respiration-byte of the artificial sun that attacks the FUCKNAM_modem=heart of the drug embryo is captured.... The emulator of her human body pill nightmare is accelerated in the genomics hunting for the grotesque-site of the cadaver city so....

:her acidHUMANIX_different vital=plug the hydromaniac eyeball made of retro-ADAM is streamed----I download the softwarable BDSM circuit of her cadaver with the crazy brain of the techno-junkies' reptilian form that captures the chemical quantum decay of dogs to the parasite insanity medium of the spiral mechanism of the human body pill that was infected HIV that accelerates.

:so the murder game of the era respiration-byte play like the soul/gram that was done her crack that emulates the anal chromosomal aberration made of retro-ADAM fuck to the genomics anus medium of the chemical=anthropoid that outputs the short-cut_vaio-codes of acidHUMAN.... The pornographic gene=TV systems of dogs cadaver feti.... 0.8 mg of surrender of hydromania are omitted to the spiral mechanism battle.... The hunting for the grotesque line that an ejection possible parasite guy was infected HIV of the human body pill is accelerated.

:the cadaver feti modem=heart of her cold-blooded disease rendering tissue of the soul/grams of the chemical=anthropoids rave crashes....the acidHUMANIX_tragedy-ROM of her chromosomal aberration that accessed to the cyber space of the cadaver mechanism of the dogs that accelerates the murder-protocol of acid masses of flesh in the continent made of retro-ADAM of the era respiration-byte surrenders....the ultra=machinary insanity of the human body pills that omits the techno-junkies' genomics monitor screen battle explodes to the BDSM_brain system of the cadaver city....

:of chemical=anthropoids the HYPE_internal organ medium that was biocaptured the murder-gimmick....the cadaver feti desire-protocol creatures of her artificial sun series the continent medium of the soul/gram made of retro-ADAM a different vital=plug-in. The ultra=machinary nightmare-script of the boy roid nature that dashes the chloroform BDSM circuit of the cadaver city emulates the genomics crime system of data=mutants in the catastrophic screen-saver state of drug-eye....

:so I invade the acidHUMANIX_emulator that turned the murder-gimmicks of the dogs that hyperlinks to the genomics crime system that was done the hunting for the grotesque of the different vital=plug that renders her data=mutant soul/gram to the brain universe that was infected HIV made of retro-ADAM 3D with the era respiration-byte. To the BDSM_murder region of the cadaver mechanism of the chemical=anthropoids that accelerates our technocrisis existence-code virus.... Rave the cadaver feti browser that was done the techno-junkies' DNA=channel is flip on.

:of dogs genomics crime system that crashed is emulated with the cadaver feti screen-saver of the era respiration-byte....the BDSM_cruel device that the human body pill that the data=mutant vital icon that she was paralyzed the gene-pool of the cadaver mechanism of retro-ADAM the guerrilla was output is streamed joints to the chloroform larva state=murder-protocol of the parasite guy that inoculates the acidHUMANIX_tragedy-ROM of chemical=anthropoids to the hunting for the grotesque line of the technocrisis so body....techno-junkies' trash sensor=of=the brain universe. Different vital=plug-in.... Chemically I torture.... The ultra=machinary soul/gram of boy roid nature PLAY.... FUCKNAMLOAD.

:the techno-junkies' human body pill adrenalin circuit to the soul/gram made of retro-ADAM different vital=plug-in of the data=mutant SAVE.... [[the brain universe of the era respiration-byte that dogs got deranged the murder-gimmick be covered her acidHUMANIX_storage so and clone-dive the eyeball that was recorded to our acid to the hyperreal cadaver feti system of the artificial sun to the crime region that turned the internal organ medium of hydromania surrenders murder the desire-protocol creatures made of her retro-ADAM....that existence-code....=.

:the vaio-code of the drug embryo the BDSM_cadaver of a chemical=anthropoid to the technocrisis crime system of the data=mutants her acidHUMANIX_vital icon that is covered and rape that soul/gram noise SAVE--. "the chloroform larvas of the crazy boy roid nature of head omit gene=TV her different vital=plug-in the battle....*in the rave opening area of the murder-protocol made of retro-ADAM cadaver feti!!

:our acidHUMANIX_continent-module I suck the murder system of her data=mutant soul/gram that accelerates virus....the genomics hunting for the grotesque line made of retro-ADAM that rapes the streaming_scream of the chemical=anthropoids that was biocaptured to the cadaver feti internal organ medium different vital=plug-in of the drug embryo is accelerated to the brain universe that hung up the techno-junkies. Artificial sun of awakening=of the chloroform that got deranged to the BDSM_rendering tissue of the cadaver city so=eroded to rhythm....

:the desire-protocol creatures made of retro-ADAM of her cadaver mechanisms parasite VTR_chemical=anthropoids contaminated the cadaver feti internal organ medium of the artificial sun that hypercontrols function in the BDSM state....the emulators different vital=plug-in of her brain universe hunting for the grotesque the human body pill planet to genomics tragedy-ROM control external of a dog noise.

:so being covered our blood the non-resettable tragedy-ROM of dogs is output....the crime system of the cyber quality of the drug embryo that joints to the screen-saver of her chloroform cadaver to that internal organ medium body is accelerated virus with the era respiration-byte.... >>the technocrisis ecstasy of the cadaver city hunting for the grotesque and fill be with techno-junkies' human body pill soul/gram the acidHTUMANIX_murder-protocol--.

:the artificial sun of our acid murder nature her ultra=machinary soul/gram that contaminated to the human body pill of the drug embryo so cadaver feti is emulated with the era respiration-byte--the gene=TV system of the techno-junkies' cadaver mechanism to the rave eyeball device of hydromania mass of flesh-module. The planet that was biocaptured the acidHUMANIX_rape guy game....

:the murder-gimmicks of the cyber quality of the desire-protocol creatures made of retro-ADAM the masses of flesh of the chromosomal aberration that suck the existence-code of her era respiration-byte in the hydromaniac hunting for the grotesque area of the cadaver city where PLAY acid reproduce the techno-junkies' HYPE_crime system--. It is parasitic on the ultra=machinary violence plug of boy roid nature. The vital icon of Level 0 of chemical=anthropoids the trash sensor soul/gram of the artificial sun to control external of the BDSM_nightmare script.

:her data=mutant soul/gram the techno-junkies' genomics tragedy-ROM that jointed to the hydromaniac cadaver feti device of the artificial sun that attacks body infectious to the brain universe made of retro-ADAM.... I suck the ultra=machinary violence area of boy roid nature....I invade the rape_existence-code that chemical=anthropoids were downloaded acid so. It is sensor the trash of the era respiration-byte of a drug embryo and dash.

:chemical=anthropoids of the murder-gimmick made of retro-ADAM of a parasite guy is input....evolves to the non-resettable human body pill tragedy-ROM of the dogs that accesses in the surrender site of the era respiration-byte of hydromania to the vital icon that hung up so. The genomics murder region of the artificial sun data=trashes to the HYPE_brain system of the technocrisis of the drug embryo....

:the screen-saver of her cadaver our emotional replicant body joint....the hunting for the grotesque-byte that acidHUMAN accelerated to the internal organ medium that exploded data=inside of the drug embryo where makes mutant of hunting for the grotesque the chemical derangement system that was infected is inoculated HIV of the dogs digital=vamps....I am infected with the existence-code of the cyber quality of the cadaver feti guy.

:so the murder gimmick of the desire-protocol creature made of retro-ADAM is inserted to the BDSM_brain universe of chemical=anthropoids....the cadaver feti soul/grams of dogs to the human body pill tissue of her era respiration-byte digital=vamp. Her acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol is opened....the mass of flesh-module of the surrender the techno-junkies' HYPE_adrenalin circuit the different vital=plug-in of the drug embryo is proliferated to the genomics browser of a parasite guy.

:the different vital=plug-ins of chemical=anthropoids I murder the BDSM_existence-code the cold-blooded disease-module of the technocrisis soul/gram that accelerated her virus that DNA=channel to acidHUMANIX. =in the surrender-site of the reptilian form of the drug embryo where was switching the vital-junk scream made of retro-ADAM that accesses the techno-junkies' biocapturing form ultra=machinary eyeball device hunting for the grotesque is jointed to hydromaniac body....

:the blood of data=mutants the vital-junk tragedy-ROM of retro-ADAM....rave the techno-junkies' trash sensor soul/gram that flip on to the acidHUMANIX_murder region that jointed the body of the artificial sun LOAD like the cadaver feti eyeball of the dogs her human body pill crime system that is covered and hyperlink to the that modem=heart fuck PLAY.

:our rave brain the genomics hunting for the grotesque engine of the parasite guy that I invade functions the criminal body system that was infected HIV of the drug embryo that accelerates rape=VTR of her acidHUMANIX_soul/gram virus so....to the BDSM circuit made of retro-ADAM that was biocaptured to hydromaniac human body pill planetary digital=vamp. The ultra=machinary violence area of boy roid nature is streamed with the existence-code of her era respiration-byte....

:she I am infected the BDSM_existence-code that chemical=anthropoids escape with the cadaver feti eyeball streaming of the artificial sun that inoculates the acidHUMANIX_murder-protocol that was canceled so is output....the blue masses of flesh of the sky are emulated to the criminal brain system of the era respiration-byte of the drug embryo made of retro-ADAM. =>the terror fear=cell that dogs hyperlinked is attacked....the chloroform murder gimmick of boy roid nature accelerates in the genomics hunting for the grotesque area of the human body pill....blast the HYPE_vaio-code of the cadaver city.

Chaosmos | iamweisyouareme

2010-08-12T08:53:00.000-07:00

Lips limping, lone squinting, finger aching, mood swinging, fanny itching, ciggy sagging, greasy greying, godless braying, mirror pouting, tether shredding, fickle mourning, art sick, dumb

beggar
alky
mum

daddy pornstar
dolly motion
sugar widow
clock stop

storm fruit
panic cell
blossom bitch
blood show

ghost tourist
devil scammer
fibbing driver
knife buzz

hip flask
bigger bijoux
mercy fucker
bag bird

labia floribundus:
flowers from my tongue

Penny Goring

Chaosmos | Extend unto me your vision into me | Möbius Strip Poem

2010-08-08T11:11:00.000-07:00

extend unto me your vision into me extend

unto me your vision into me

Suzie Saw

Chaosmos | lvl02

2010-08-05T08:53:00.000-07:00

tadpole strives meniscus splits releases

Suzie Saw

Chaosmos | Death Kiss Corsage

2010-07-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

Amelia had death in her eyes. And she was focused on you.

In the dimly-lit kitchen she suddenly lunged, grasped your face with both hands and snogged you, long and hard. Accepting her advance with mouth hanging slack and bloodshot eyes wide open, your sozzled thoughts were sluggish – porridge stirred in the pan. Her rolling tongue slid inside your bra and her silver thumb-ring twinkled as she thoroughly worked you over.

From that night on she pursued you relentlessly – paying homage with bottles, showing her best side, eating your burnt pea risotto, until your hand slipped off the greasy knob of control and you let her move in with you. It was a disastrous mistake.

From the top of her head, befuddled with drugs, to the tips of her barnacled toes, she was deliberately dismantling your life. You made many attempts to get rid of her and I watched patiently as you played them all out. Your favourite plan was futile, but still you dragged it out for two years… when she wasn’t smacked-up to her eyeballs you poured gallons of booze down her neck.

By the time she had those ballads blasting, hands clasped beseechingly, crooning at her reflection, I was peering in from the Other Side. I felt your mind lurch as she tottered for her drink and your lips framed their usual refrain –

‘It’s over Amelia, my girlfriend, my addict, my anathema, my love!’

That’s when she would start screeching her cruel cornucopia of lies. Hurling pint-glass missiles, she called you a fish and you cried. She yanked a hank of your hair out. It came away with a chunk of your scalp. A square inch of bleeding raw flesh glistened on top of your head. She anointed the wound with a torrent of vomit. It burnt and you formed a small ball. The vile lumpen liquid dripped down your forehead into your screwed-up eyes. Her stomach acids stung as you blinked.

‘You don’t know how to love me, you clucker!’ she bloodcurdled in your ears.

The neighbours banged on the ceiling, fearing for your child, but Prudence was inured to your racket, she was still fast asleep – I checked. She always awoke around midnight, when they were pounding their fists at your door. By then, Amelia had tired of using your face as a punch-bag, and taking a bit of a breather, she had you in a choke-hold embrace, pinned by your throat to the floor.

Letting go of her grip now, she whimpered, as you crawled to the thundering door.

Outraged faces swaddled in fleecy bedtime comforters swam before you, their sober mouths accusing you of crimes they couldn’t pronounce.

‘What have you done to her?’

‘Why is she crying?’

They could hear your aggressor dissolving in an acrid puddle of fear. None of them seemed to notice your tragically rearranged boat race.

‘This ain’t a soddin’ soap opera!’ you shrieked, slamming that sturdy door as hard as you could, against their narrowed eyes.

A waft of poo hung on the air.

I murmured an ancient lullaby in Prudence’s small bed.

Phase two of your plan – at six am you shuffled to the sacred fridge, a frozen monument to total excess, jam-packed with nothing to eat, just the essential cut-price alcohol and one swollen black banana, giving off a putrid pong. Retching, then gulping your hair of the dog, you got Prudence ready for nursery. Before you left the landlady rang and screamed her final warning.

When Amelia eventually stomped from the pit, she said she was bogging sick to freaking death of the uglified sight of your polloxing face reminding her of what you’d made her do. You felt compelled to apologise. That was phase three, I think.

Disgusted with you and, perhaps, with herself, by teatime she had moved out. You were left basking blindly in the peaceful days and hours of your release, but it never lasted for long. When the intercom buzzed and it was Amelia, you always let her back in – her washing machine eyes set on rinse and drain, her 1,000 rpm encore on hold.

Yeah, the pissed-up fight plot didn’t work, just meant you had to wear ginormous sunglasses every day and keep on moving house, dodging cold stares in the communal gardens and disapproving comments in Sainsbury’s, as you stacked Pru’s pushchair with booze. Trundling down the long, leafy roads, eyes fixed on the horizon, the unhindered skyscape told you how tiny and troubled you were, your life a PVC gimp mask shrink-wrapped to your skull.

I trailed in your wake through the ankle deep mulch, willing you to try other ways.

When you hatched the arty voodoo project, I admired your inventiveness and it was a wonderful way to distract Pru, truly cathartic, but it only served to show your grasp on the real was tenuous, constant drinking and the regular beatings gradually skew-whiffing your brain.

Perched on the worktop between the microwave and Amelia’s collection of needles, (more meticulously stashed as her priorities became ever blurred), I gasped softly, enthralled, as you fashioned a life-size curse doll out of bits and bobs and sticky tape and vinegar and brown paper.

She had novelty slippers, comedy hair and peculiar Pick ‘n’ Mix lips, her bulging belly a sniffy cushion, Loopy Loo legs just a pair of old tights. Armless, charmless, a coathanger shoved down her throat (to keep her head on straight), she glared at you both with her chewing gum eyes. You had created a monster.

You slithered Amelia’s pubes from the scummings round the bath and arranged them between the limp thighs. You kneaded the buttocks of white sliced bread and spat cider in the crevasse. Prudence dribbled rice pudding over Amelia’s big best bra – you stuffed the cups with sopping dishcloths and fastened it to the bucket of her body.

There she sprawled: Amelia Anathema! Your home-made Millie Muck!

A desperate, wonky effigy in those rented rooms of despair.

‘Now for the best bit!’ you chortled, and chanting farewell ditties with some ferocious joy, you stuck, stuck, stucked her loo roll heart with forty four malevolent pins. You let Pru jab in a special six and that made fifty pricks.

Pushing the window open wide to the dark, you hoisted her up and out.

‘Goodbye, rubbish lady!’ you yelled with relish, cackling like a loon.

‘Laters, Millie, laters…’ Prudence chirped along with your wild refrain.

Amelia Anathema made a spectacular squiffy starfish shape in the black belly of the sky, before falling to pieces, scattering all her shoddy bits over the frosty grass below. I could see the half century of hate pins winking from her taped-on ticker and fifty years of dregs contaminating your thirsty soul.

Later that night, when she came home unscathed, still rattling her heavy, cold baggage, you were defeated, deflated, struck dumb…even I was disappointed, and Prudence seemed resigned – an awful thing to witness in one so very young.

The ‘phone trilled in the unusual silence. It was yet another landlord giving you one month’s notice to move out.

Frozen days set in – a bed-sit Christmas loomed. Ice lay down hard and dogged your moves but you never gave up scheming. It was a giant stride forwards when you took the ‘S’ from curse and decided to call it a cure.

Convincing Amelia she was sicker than you was easier than you’d imagined. With ardent promises of a clean, serene future, you got her into a rehab. You made sure it was a six-month, Twelve Step, regimented type in Weston-super-Nightmare, which meant Prudence could ride a donkey on the beach if you ever risked a visit.

Missing Amelia’s shaggy, feral presence, you took Prudence to the pet shop and bought a hairy dog. He was loving and licky and better behaved – you didn’t care when he gnawed the furniture – and at last, Prudence had a best friend.

Finding money for drink was easier now you were only buying for one. The fridge wobbled with bottles of bulk buy white wine, litres of vodka lay snug in the freezer and there were mixers left over for Pru. Cutting out the dirt cheap booze stopped your liver kicking so hard but the blackouts came out of the blue. Prudence became your oblivion detective, helping you suss out what went on. How did you knock out your front teeth? Who came round last night? I never dropped any clues.

Meanwhile, Amelia survived her ten-day detox, and the drudgery of Steps 1, 2 and 3, but after thirteen clean weeks they chucked her out. She got caught smooching with some crack head bird behind the tea urn at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. She had broken the ‘No Fraternizing’ rule, which was, of all the very many brutally enforced rules (always sit your coffee cup on a coaster, don’t wear your slippers in the dining-room, never cry out in your sleep), written on high in gilded Gothic and polished daily by shaky, recovering hands.

The counsellors called an emergency group where grim warnings were issued to all. Then they hand-picked a dry-drunk delegation who gleefully marched Amelia straight to the station. Tucking a photocopy of the Serenity Prayer in her hastily packed bag, they shoved her on the first fast train back to London, back to the gloom of their constantly invoked: chaos, depravity and doom. Out There.

She rang you from the train. She rang you from Piccadilly. When she rang from your dodgiest local, slurring about scoring a ten bag, you told her to get herself home. Putting the ‘phone down, it dawned on you… Clean for three long months? Rat-arsed? On her way round for a fix? The mutant peach of your sour love was about to fly face first into the killing hammer of an OD. The cure was about to implode. You lost your bottle, grabbed Pru by the soft of her hand and bolted for the street. Dumping her at your mum’s, you went on a six-day bender, avoiding the flat at all costs.

Nowadays, you stand alone in cold playgrounds. You are a totem of grief. I shift restlessly at your numbed feet and Amelia hovers at your shoulder. You will never forget what was waiting for you when you plucked up the guts to return.

She lay stiff and still on the sepulchral sofa – a waxwork junkie at rest, but as you crept closer the horror bit hard – she didn’t have a face.

Amelia’s head was a gruesome chew toy, clogged with the remains of her ruined features, veiled by her slimy hair, lolling at an impossible angle. She had no lips or a tongue, not even her two dead eyes. All that was left was a gory maw with a lopsided leer on a pedestal of gristle.

The dog you’d never bothered to name, slobbered your fingers and thrust his wet nose, probing your nether regions, tail thwacking, barking madly, as you slipped on the slops of his best ever meal, and crashed to your boney knees, demented and howling beside her.

They won’t let you have Prudence back – you’re completely off the rails. And no matter how much you drink, where you go, who you talk to, what you try not to think, Amelia is with you for as long as you live.

Her shadow is roving your walls, her fiery soles are scorching the carpet, neon flashing from her eye sockets slices the gloomy bedroom. She’s parting your musty curtains, brushing against your damp blankets, she’s entwined in your gusset, has her hand in your pocket, her knee between your thighs, she’s lisping the old porky-pies in your shell-like – now she’s getting frisky.

She’s nibbling your lobes, fingering your globes, tweaking your nips, grazing your hips, asking if you fancy a role-play. What’s she doing with her hands? She’s itching, twitching, stroking, scratching, praying, marking time – rubbing the days on your slick old bean, inching you to the clincher. You cry leaden pellets and there is no relief and no such thing as respite. Her doggy-mauled head bleeds on your breasts every night, and her needle pokes deep in your petrified hole, as you sweat buckets of booze on the sheets.

This morning you faced me for the first time and begged me to help you escape. Clutching me to your heart like a death kiss corsage, together we made our pact.

There will be no flowers, you shall have butterflies, in all those colours you wore – bruised blue, blooded red, bright jaundiced yellow and tender, aching green… a rainbow of butterflies.

They’ll flutter their way down the apples and pears, in The Nag’s Head, out The White Swan, up the roiling river in a pulsating host, all the way to Greenwich – the home of time – where you will be lounging on methadone clouds, eating valium and strawberries, wearing black wings three feet high with so many feathers and ribbons.

I can hear canned laughter and scattered applause, a piano plinking from posh, plushy rooms, ice chinking in polite crystal glasses – they’ve all turned up for your wake.

Penny Goring

Chaosmos | Möbius Strip | 3D

2010-07-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

Digitally 3D Modelled Möbius Strips by Steven Cockrill

Chaosmos | lvl01

2010-07-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

dragging towards truth surmise becomes the liquid we are

Suzie Saw

Chaosmos | Roots Manoeuvres

2010-06-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

In the first of several blogs to be posted over the coming weeks artist, writer and curator Sam Skinner muses on the first Chaosmos exhibition of 2006.

Roots Manoeuvres

human was the music,
natural was the static…
- John Updike

Thousands of tons of chalk were scraped away to make way for the M3 extension at Twyford Down in the early 1990’s. Construction was challenged by a protestors’ camp established at the site by the Dongas Tribe and Earth First. I was 12/13 and living in nearby Southampton with my mother Maggie Lambert, who was documenting happenings there for her photography BA at UCA. She got to know Jai Redman an artist and member of the Dongas and they worked on a number of arts projects together. Years later Jai moved to Manchester and formed the ethical art and design cooperative UHC Collective. In 2005 I bumped into Jai in Liverpool and I invited him to have an exhibition at View Two Gallery where I worked. At Jai’s show I spoke with Joe Richardson (another member of UHC) who was at Manchester Met with Chris Boyd studying Interactive Arts. Joe put Chris in touch with me over the possibility of View Two hosting his group exhibition Chaosmos and in September 2006 the show opened.

The exhibition would have happened without these encounters, perhaps the only difference being that it might not have occurred at View Two. I mention the destruction/construction and protests at Twyford Down as a way in to an understanding of Chaosmos as a notion and an exhibition. Chaosmos as an idea can be thought of as the dynamic of spontaneous self-organising patterns emerging from within larger deterministic systems. This was the theme for the exhibition but it was also what Chris and his fellow artists were doing in making their first independent moves outside the educational institution and within a larger framework.

The exhibition was held during the Liverpool Biennial. A time when big international art pops-up alongside the upstarts and old dogs of New Contemporaries, the John Moores Painting Prize and the Independents. Critical mass, art glut, feast or famine, it’s a time to wade in and tread carefully. Impossible to do it all, like a Glastonbury weekend, choices are made between sure-fire big names on the main stage or little gems in obscure fields. But in a strict hierarchical system where curatorial conceits bolstered by megabucks become self-fulfilling prophecies, it’s hard not to follow the leader, to gain and trade in the dominant currency.

Sometimes I think artists should resist showing during the Biennial, a la the art strikes/withdrawals of Robert Smithson, Robert Morris and Gustav Metzger in the 1970’s. That the peripheral activities of the Independent strand maintain the centrality of the Biennial and its International strand. There can be a sense of desperation in Independent artists trying to bathe in the light of the International and gain some added value. But at the same time it is an opportunity to forge discussions and dialectics, between aspects such as the big and the small, the local and the global. I tried to do this with an exhibition I curated during the 2008 biennial entitled Local Heroes and I think 2006’s Chaosmos exhibition and the next instalment coming this year will do that. Independent exhibitions of quality and originality, with an awareness of the larger Biennial structure and context, can hold their own and become a force for meaningful dialogue. The Independent strand of the Biennial has been finding its feet since its inception, but perhaps it can grow both exponentially and critically, gaining currency and support and follow in the footsteps of the Edinburgh Fringe, which now dwarfs the original International strand of the festival and whose defining characteristic is slightly chaotic self-organising grass roots activity.

I will be blogging again soon on the past Chaosmos exhibition and bringing things up to date with blogs on studio visits made to artists including Gordon Cheung and Jane Ward who are to be included in the forthcoming Chaosmos exhibition.

Sam Skinner

Chaosmos | Book of Doom | Sculpture work in progress

2010-06-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Building up acrylic glazes and paint layers so the object pulsates. Graphite powder and volcanic ash from 1991 Mount Pinatubo eruption in the Philippines to be added. I've kept this ash in jars for years, I had shown them in a geography lesson at school but as a material they have been seeping into artwork.

Work in progress details:

In the studio working on the sculpture

Chaosmos | 20TEN Liverpool

2010-06-20T00:44:00.000-07:00

Just a few shots from the visit to the Gallery in Liverpool, where the Chaosmos exhibition is going to be held. The location is right in the heart of Liverpool.

The exhibition will hit you as soon as you walk through the front door.

It's such an amazing space.

But lots of work to get through first.

Chaosmos | Sedimentary Pigments | Original Prints by Jane Ward

2010-06-19T03:54:00.000-07:00

Artist Jane Ward produces art work through combined digital media modified with various materials of paints, inks, etc.. A piece of work commences with a series of selected images to be layered and by each strata merged with certain areas deconstructed to expose the sub layers.

“My art is constructed of 100s of layers … fragmented to be merged … each layer deconstructed to expose the underneath layer. This is done in a sympathetic way to the surface of the canvas and images”

The images produced present surreal scenes, where elements and features are part coherent, but the blurring and fragmentation juxtaposed to create and evolve a conflicting spatial relativity. A plane synonymous with dreamscapes and how memories and traces of visual dialogue are cognitive, but indistinct.

“I choose images from the rural and urban to combine to play with the sense of space. To play with the notions of the natural and artificial. The creative process of exposing each layer produces a paradox where the edges form. They guide the eye of the viewer. This instills a memory and time where one image dissolves into the next”.

“The images are relative to Chaosmos, because similar to the theory, the work plays with the sensory experiences of harmony and disharmony. The planes formed within each composition reference cultural models to time and space and subjective to the interpretation of each viewer”.

“The sharp contrast can be perceived at times as both apocalyptic, yet surreal”.

Chaosmos | Outside | Multimedia Installation by Auto-9 & James Roper

2010-06-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

Above. The Artist. Images courtesy of Auto-9. Left. Production images of "the Artists Patchwork" by James Roper for a installation for the Chaosmos exhibit. James was the co-writer and worked on the production design of the short film 'Outside' after a long period of post-production Outside debuted with it's first screening at Cannes Film Festival 2010. Below. "The Artist"

Chaosmos | Glitches | Studies for the Chaosmos mixed media painting

2010-06-11T04:50:00.000-07:00

Studies for the Chaosmos mixed media painting.

Chaosmos | Motion capture studies for a painting

2010-06-07T22:18:00.000-07:00

I've always been interested in motion capture and camera tracking in film post production processes along with its origins in military laser tracking technology. Its use with high end special effects are often reserved as a heavy artillery for commercials and hollywood feature films. They often appropriate myths for propaganda purposes for disciplined organizational structures. This strata of organized structures or software obscures libidinal energies associated with these myths.

Studies for the Chaosmos mixed media painting. Tracked martial art movements overlaid on a jpg of a underpainting image I corrupted.

Chaosmos | Mobile Marks

2010-06-06T10:15:00.000-07:00

The cameras on mobile phones tap the throbbing vein of pathological narcissism and the photographic promiscuity of social media tagging. Subjectivity becomes aggressively infantilized in packaged graphic user interfaces. Cosmetically enhancing cameras with facial recognition improve skin tones and remove red eye. Tortured software surfs the ascending wave of the material and exteriorized notions of self over the invisible and immaterial criteria.

These shots from pistol whipping communication devices resonate with Barthes’s thesis that photography is a kind of death. Social media capitalises on the death of the intimate and the private as consumers unknowingly partner with close circuit cameras demonstrating their obedience as the infantry to the industrial military entertainment complex.

Using a mobile phone to create gestural actions whilst photographing with its camera, the facial recognition targets specific areas that it focuses on whilst other areas like background and foreground planes switch. Along with the painterly sensation of the blurred movements the pictorial space feels like its compressing into a planar surface thus subverting the technology that creates deep depths of field.

Chaosmos | Making Mummies | Sculptures by Lady Lillith Leveigh

2010-06-05T10:51:00.000-07:00

Artist Lady Lillith Leveigh

Leveigh's practice is to use the medium of ‘Art’ to question homosapiens finite existence. Their continual obsessive search of the corporeal and the ethereal in its darker aspects of fear.

Her ‘body’ of work deals with mans fear of ‘death’ and ‘decay’ and humanities continued search for eternity. This is catalogued in mankind’s history from the very first hominids to homosapien sapien.

The best given examples of this are illustrated in global and historical mummified remains i.e. Egyptian, and various Messo-American cultures being the best catalogued. An obsession to preserve the material essence of being, in short defy nature itself.

This goal for immortality transmigrates artefacts, specifically remains to become ‘OBJET D’ART’.

Lady Lillith Leveigh's Production Photos

Trial Experiment: Skull / Facial Relief

The trial of alternative, recycled and natural materials has been constructed for a skull / facial relief. This is yet to be painted to ascertain the textual effects of the materials. The materials are animal bones, cinder and a range of recycled (artificial / natural) sources composited to test the sculptural effect. The next stage for this will be to finalise with painting and testing a range of paint and varnish materials to achieve a realistic effect.

Construction of Sculpture

The sculpture is the main piece for the Chaosmos exhibition at the View Two Gallery in September 2010. The base sculpting of the head and surfacing has been concluded for the head with further refining to follow in the coming months on the final assembly of the figure. The subframe to form the hands, feet and torso have been assembled as separate units. These are yet to be brought together to form the whole sculpture.

Head base unpainted

Subframe: Hands

Subframe: Body

Chaosmos | Exhibitions Programme | Independents Liverpool Biennial

2010-01-18T12:39:00.000-08:00

View Two Gallery
Matthew Street Liverpool, UK

Summary of events:

- Exhibition: September 2010.

- VJ and Performance Platform.

- Screenings (Gallery and External).

- Artists Talks.

*update

Chaosmos art exhibition at the ViewTwo Gallery

Chaosmos | Exhibitions Programme | Warrington Contemporary Arts Festival

2010-01-18T02:11:00.000-08:00

Along with the Chaosmos programme, I've initiated the Contemporary Arts Festival in Warrington, Cheshire

"Chris Boyd is known to me as the organiser and energiser of a number of exhibitions that have contributed to the development of the visual arts and especially digital research in visual art in the Liverpool City Region and North West. - He combines cutting edge technical awareness and capability with the ability to create and co-opt original content."

Lewis Biggs,  Artistic Director and CEO,  Liverpool Biennial

for more endorsements click this link

Chaosmos / Warrington Contemporary Arts Festival

Summary of events:

- Exhibition: September - Oct - 2011

- VJ and Performance Platform.

- Screenings (Gallery and External).

- Artists Talks.

Venues:

Soaptank Studios

Unit 10, Bank Quay Industrial Estate

Warrington

Cheshire

WA1 1PJ

England.

Warrington Museum & Art Gallery

Museum Street

Cultural Quarter

Warrington

WA1 1JB

England

and various venues to be announced

Chris Boyd & Choreographer Lee McLaughlin | Choreography Shoot

2009-09-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

It was the first time we met up and Chris had everyone working right away. Chris insisted we meet at the Mad Hatters tea party table sculpture where he got excited over the fact that someone had vandalised it by drawing a Hitler moustache on Alice. He then insisted on quickly finding a location with glaring flurescent lights. Both Lee and Chris wanted to explore choreographed lines they had sketched out in a stark, bleak urban landscape.

Chris Boyd and Lee McLaughlin were working on ideas for future collaborations.

Lee McLauglin is a Choreographer who has worked with Cheshire Dance since the age of 13 years old. He is a graduate from the Northern School of Contemporary Dance in Leeds (UK) and Halton College (Widnes, Cheshire, UK). McLaughlin has performed in numerous shows, including a re-working of 'Stravinsky's Firebird Concerto' at Liverpool Cathedral (UK) with the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. Other places he has been enaged as professional Choreographer and Dander are The Place (the UK’s premier centre for contemporary dance), Chester Gateway Theatre and the Random Dance Company at the Menai Centre. McLaughlin has collaborated with Tom Roden (Choreographer and Artist Director of the Air Dance Company) and the New Art Club. He has bee contracted across many of the UK’s leading dance companies, institutions and venues. Taking inspiration from other artistic practices, he explores the expressive possibilities of everyday environments, movements within these spaces and the bodies relationship.

by Radka Dolinska

Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen | Racist and Sexist

2009-07-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen
Studying special effects shots as this is appart of my practice. I'm not interested in Bay's direction or the plot as its bloated infantile brainless celluloid shit and represents what most people dislike about the US.

Racist and Sexist

The Native Other:

A tribe of body painted brown people, stereotypical embodiments of savagery with a slo-mo close up of a snarling character purposely dehumanized in contrast with a more humanized robot. Why are a tribe of Australian Aborigines in Egypt hunting a Tiger as if the desert is its natural habitat? -_-

The Male Gaze:

The only three main female caricatures are all dominated, drenched and dripping in the male gaze.
Shia LaBeouf's character's dad questions him on how hes going to ride his scooter, cut to Megan Fox's arse over a motorcycle. The first overt sexualization of technology.
LaBeouf's mother, a hysterical, snivelling submissive wife and mother.
One character quips "I don't live with my mother, she lives with me"
A sex crazed student slut seduces LeBeof's character only to transform into an aluminium assassin. Here the use of sex as a strategy for gains is by no means empowering or subversive. A piss poor femme fatale.

Dehumanization:

Why is it a distant alien race arrive on earth with British accents and New York regional dialects, Brooklyn accents using rap slang. The two Brooklyn Bots are represented as idiotic and lower class in the team hierachy. There's a persistent dehumanization of African-Americans. It's not about skin color, robot color or age, but behaviour, thoughts and language that has been racially encoded.

Despite being made of a blackbird stealth jet, an older bot sporting a beard needs a walking stick for its arthritic condition. Eldery traits of this Alien race also include senility. :S

The Jordanian army futily attempts to assist the US army only to be destroyed on arrival, their inferiority is emphasized in contrast with US army and militarily impotency is personified in a easily duped midget officer.

An example of Amerikkka's Attention Deficit Disorder dialing 911 for 9/11 retribution for its self inflicted wound. Four year Presidential election cycles spur impatient invasions. The demoncrazy delusion of democracy in volatile countries whose long term interests are its failure is impossible in four years. A lack of exit strategy makes it worse the more the US tries to get out.

The massive US military role in the film executes a similar plan to save the world, by destroying Shanghai, the Great Pyramids and Egyptian towns.

For some hehehehypocrisy I recommend Team America: World Police by Matt Stone and Trey Parker

SouthPark Michael Bay Those Aren't Ideas, They're Special FX

Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland | 3D Movie | Trailer | Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter

2009-07-23T13:03:00.000-07:00

Take a look to the first movie trailer of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland:
The film will be screened in cinemas in 3D

Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter

Reason is Rancid after Goya The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

2009-07-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

Caprichos Plate 43
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

Text caption from the "Prado" etching version:

"Fantasy abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters: united with her, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of their marvels."

"La fantasia abandonada de la razon, produce monstruos imposibles: unida con ella, es madre de las artes y origen de sus marabillas."

Cultural Mobilizers: Synchromysticism, Cultural Trauma and Sentimentality

2009-07-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

Cultural Mobilizers:

Peter Eramian enjoys pasting and experimenting with film footage from different eras, with a specific fascination for cult and epic Hollywood films and their prophesising potentials (synchromysticism). He studied Fine Art and History of Art at Goldsmiths, is now finishing his MA in Philosophy at Birkbeck, and is ready to shoot off to Italy for a twelve month creative residency at Fabrica. Currently, Peter is also a collaborative editor for the art/philosophy review Naked Punch.

Yasushi Xavier Tanaka, born in London, 1984. After a dismal attempt at trying to become a world renowned bioengineer, Yasushi turned to sociology and cultural theory at Goldsmiths where he found much beauty and relevance in the study of society. He is soon to embark to New Haven, Yale, for his PhD in Cultural Sociology with emphasis on cultural trauma and sentimentality.
yxtanakagutiez@gmail.com

An investigation, showcase and celebration of collaborative working practice within the arts.

Courtesy of Joe Coppard from the Pat and Trevor creative team for the collaborative project: THIS IS WHY WE MEET

Environmental Surrealism : Evenings of Delight presented by Shoppinghour (Special Event: A VJ performance by Chris Boyd)

2009-04-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

Evenings of Delight presented by Shoppinghour
Theme: Environmental Surrealism

A series of events that have been running since the start of 2009 once a month at the Candid Projection Room in Angel. They complement the Shoppinghour ideal which started off as a publication and is now much more. The idea is to create access for students and artists to expose their work within a critically rich and friendly creative public space that encourages discussion and exchange. The Candid’s raw neoclassical/post-modern ‘underground’ aesthetic gives the evenings an avant-garde feel that is perfectly suited to the often yet undiscovered eclectic pieces on show. Besides film and video screenings we also invite performances, experimental music, talks, installations and VJ sets. Each evening is prepared and promoted individually with a specific curatorial theme in mind.

Special Event:
A VJ performance "merging fact and fiction" by Chris Boyd

In the picture - Matthew Taylor (left) and Chris Boyd (Right)

Matthew Taylor graduated with a Masters Degree in Printing from the Royal College of Art. He works as a visual artist and as a studio assistant for Jake and Dinos Chapman.
"Taylor's drawings and manipulated images describe a death being constantly replayed and relayed through channels of communication at once emotive and abstract."
Sam Jalili

The Music - Strength in Numbers, layers 3, 4, and 5
Videos by Chris Boyd

A series of videos commissioned to lead up to the release of Strength in Numbers by the band The Music. These hallucinatory shorts attempted to redefine liminal thresholds, subjective barriers and metaphysical territories. The clips act as a criticism of today's visual illiteracy argued by means of an alternate reality game enticing an audience to interact with its puzzles. Increasing the interactivity in these music-videos/promos I intended to give these elements a sense of community ownership.

Special Dessert

A VJ performance by Chris Boyd, merging fact and fiction, combining fragmented memories with source materials of public trauma. A marriage of live action, animation and drawing that spirals deliriously into dark soundscapes and digital glitches in orgiastic painterly abandon.

Amuse-bouche*

Watermelon Crush

Starter

Figure Walking and Jumping
A video by Tim Knights
This video relies upon autonomous, erratically tempoed and randomly placed (by people) firings from multiple flash guns, salvaging only traces of disjointed movement where the potentially defining moments of action remain unseen.

Main

The Prophet
A meditation by david paul
"The Prophet", is an experimental surreal narration of the immortal writings by Kahlil Gibran's book, "The Prophet". The visual and audio journey take the observer through the emotions felt when a dream ship arrives and the past is abandoned but not forgotten.

War is Beautiful
A video by Jozef E. Amado
Chicago skyline + Mavi Mavi, Chicago Skyline + silent (or with her own words), Chicago + Walter Benjamin (futurist manifesto [Marinetti on Ethiopian War]) = War is Beautiful.

Alien Vagina says the Truth A recut by Theonlyreallaz An Aliens Vagina that tells the Truth is fun.

Supervision: Wawina, MN
A video by Amanda Wasielewski
This video was the result of an investigation into an often forgotten chapter in the history of technological hacking that predated the personal computer – phone hacking. In the 1950s, automated telephonic switchboard technology was gaining widespread use, and, to cut corners, phone companies used the same channel to send signals (via tones) that users would speak down. Hackers soon found that by playing tones of certain frequencies down the line, they could hack into the phone system and make free long distance calls, set up chat-room-like conference calls between users, and even – as myth has it – phone into the White House.

When personal computers came onto the scene, phone hackers (or phreaks') were some of the early pioneers. Phone hacking still continued through to the 1990s when digital switching systems were gradually put into place and hackers were no longer able to dial in to play with the phones. The last analogue carrier system in the continental US was in Wawina, MN. Northern Telephone Company had a customer base of around 30 or 40 homes total, and, in June 2006, made the switch to digital because they could no longer handle the volume of phreaks calling in to play with their phone lines.

This piece reflects the immense sadness and nostalgia felt for this particular technology, as captured in the voicemails left by phreaks leading up to the switchover to digital. Additionally the piece revolves around my own journey to Wawina and the realisation that all of those people from all over the world were calling in to this beautiful, remote, tiny township.

Wake Up, Freak Out – then Get a Grip
A documentary by Leo Murray
It's much, much later than you think This really isn't about polar bears any more. At this very moment, the fate of civilization itself hangs in the balance. It turns out that the way we have been calculating the future impacts of climate change up to now has been missing a really important piece of the picture. It seems we are now dangerously close to the tipping point in the world's climate system; this is the point of no return, after which truly catastrophic changes become inevitable.

This film is a seriously old school direct transmission of information to the viewer, which constructs individual audience members in the Enlightenment model – as rational beings. Sadly post-modern understanding of human behaviour shows that we are far less rational than we thought. Somewhat embarrassingly, it turns out that our behaviours and beliefs are actually determined by complex, invisible currents that flow beneath the surface of consciousness. These strongly influence us in ways that can result in behaviours which lead us in the exact opposite direction than would arise from a rational pursuit of our own best interests.
This is the premise of the multi-billion dollar advertising industry – to pull the subconscious levers that work our controls in order to persuade us to buy things that we do not need. Why not try to be rational for once, rather than the puppet of your unconscious fears and desires?

I am very grateful to the animation staff at the Royal College of Art for supporting this work, and to the friends who contributed work to it for free.

Strength in Numbers, layers 3, 4 and 5
Videos by Chris Boyd
A series of videos commissioned for the release of Strength in Numbers by the band The Music. These shorts redefine liminal thresholds, subjective barriers and metaphysical territories. The clips act as a criticism of today's visual illiteracy argued by means of an alternate reality game enticing an audience to interact with its puzzles. Increasing the interactivity in these music promos I intended to give these elements a sense of community ownership.

Special Dessert

A VJ performance by Chris Boyd, merging fact and fiction, combining fragmented memories with source materials of public trauma. A marriage of live action, animation and drawing that spirals deliriously into dark soundscapes and digital glitches in orgiastic painterly abandon.

About the Artists

Amanda Wasielewski (born October 11, 1984) is an American artist living and working in London, England. After receiving her BA in Art History and Art Theory and Practice from Northwestern University (Evanston, Illinois) in June 2007, she moved to London where she will be attending University College London, Slade School of Art to study for an MA in Fine Art Media starting in September 2008. Most of Wasielewski's recent work revolves around the connections between technology and community in relation to an increasingly globalized, hypercapitalist world. Her most recent projects in Chicago dealt with access to wireless internet networks along the 'L' (elevated) train system which manifested itself in the form of new 'wireless network' maps which were place in train cars for Chicago CTA riders to see, think about, and use. Please see the Projects section for more information on this project. Other interests include: maps and mapping, global capitalism, free trade and its effects on the global South, public housing/transportation/health care, and the history of technological hacking. http://www.amandawasielewski.com/
http://www.uninstallationart.com/
Wasielewski freelance web design: http://www.lushfiber.com/
a.wasielewski@ucl.ac.uk

Chris Boyd's work covers a broad spectrum of the visual arts that display preoccupations with the complex interrelationships with technology and the multiple dimensions of the existential self. His multilayered art combines passionate explorations of colour and expressionism, which are both inspiring and frightening in their intensity. Boyd's unique moving image work combines exquisite painterly outpourings with hallucinatory animation and live action.
http://www.qboyd.com/
info@qboyd.com

David Paul is an artist, musician, electrical engineer, philosopher, photographer, and writer living in Saint Petersburg, Florida, USA.

Jozef Ercevik Amado, born in Southport, UK, grew up in Adana,Turkey, studied performance and video in Maine (Bates College) and Chicago (The School of the Art Institute of Chicago), now lives and works in London (East).
coamado@gmail.com

Leo Murray is a 2008 graduate from the Royal College of Art's Animation MA, and for the last few years, a very busy climate activist with radical climate action networks such as Plane Stupid (http://www.planestupid.com/ ) and the Climate Camp. Leo recently animated the title sequence to the forthcoming feature documentary on catastrophic climate change, The Age of Stupid. Few people seem to have understood the full implications of the most recent climate science. I am an artist, but I believe in science, so I read this stuff. Afterwards I lie awake in bed at night, in mortal fear of the horrors that are extremely likely to lie ahead for us all. My work is the work I have been compelled to make by a debilitating combination of conscience and insight. There is very little time left in which to act to save humanity from a terrible and senseless fate. http://www.wakeupfreakout.org/
leo@wakeupfreakout.org

Sarah Stevens was born and bred in London. She has lived and worked in Cambodia, India and Nepal and spent time as a volunteer crew on several Tall Ship voyages, the last one of which crossed the Atlantic from the Azores to Portsmouth. She has had a very chequered educational past and stumbled back to art doing an alternative foundation at the Slade where she gravitated towards sculpture. She completed an HNC in fine art at an adult education centre before being accepted to Goldsmiths on Fine Art and History of Art BA. Sarah Stevens will graduate this summer and hopes to go on to postgraduate study. She also holds a studio at the Bow Arts Trust in East London.
urbangoldfish@btinternet.com

Theonlyreallaz is alive as of Friday.
www.youtube.com/theonlyreallaz

Tim Knights graduated from the University of Westminster Film department in 2008. timothyknights@hotmail.co.uk

* Amuse-bouche are different from appetizers in that they are not ordered from a menu by patrons, but, when served, are according to the chef's selection alone. These, often accompanied by a complementing wine, are served as an excitement of taste buds to both prepare the guest for the meal and to offer a glimpse into the chef's approach to cooking.

Dismembered Corpse - Impaled | Drawing and Watercolour Putrefaction Painting

2009-04-12T14:22:00.000-07:00

Pencil drawing and watercolour painting on paper.

A Corpse whose watercolour wash bleeds behaving like bacteria breaking down blood causing a greenish tinge. Hemolyzing blood forms purple blue marbelization mapping streaky systems of veins.
Arms stretched, referring to the history of crucifixion iconography and Christ crucified on a cross.
A Corpse, no confessional torso but a hollowed chest cavity, dismembered and impaled. A future fossil with a compulsion to outlive the flesh refuses rot.
Black hair betrays Christianity, inherited from dinosaur keratin claws, savannah selection swapped bodyhair for bipedal locomotion, upright posture and a full head of new social roles.
Black hair sweeps over the face, alluding to traditional Jewish mourning of close relatives to not cut their hair throughout this period.
Long black hair, withdrawal from society and mourning manifest, personifying the process of memories refusal to decay in moral putrefaction.
Hands are no longer hands but a crippled configuration of broken bones and spidery sinews. The ring finger betrays its medical origins and strives for light pulling its little neighbour out of regret.

"Memory...can transform what is finished into something limitless."
Walter Benjamin

Shoppinghour - Issue 04 Hey Kid! Free Download (Glaukos)

2009-04-11T19:20:00.000-07:00

Shoppinghour - Issue 04

Glaukos - Hey Kid!

Free Download - PDF Issue here

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Glaukos

One of the sons of the Cretan King Minos by Pasiphaë. He fell into a cask full of honey and drowned. Minos searched after his son in vain, and was informed by the Curetes that the person who should devise the most appropriate comparison between a cow, which could assume three different colours, and any other object, should find the boy and restore him to his father.

Minos assembled his soothsayers, Polyeidos of Argos, solved the problem by likening the cow to a mulberry, which is at first white, then red, and in the end black.

Minos ordered that Polyeidos to be entombed alive with the body of Glaukos until he brought him back to life.

When shut up in the vault, he saw a serpent approaching the dead body, and killed the animal.

Another serpent, carrying a herb, covered the dead serpent. The dead serpent was thereby restored to life, and when Polyeidos covered the body of Glaukos with the same herb, the boy at once rose into life again.

The story of the Cretan Glaukos and Polyeidos was a favourite subject with the ancient poets and artists; it was not only represented in mimic dances, but Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides made it the subject of separate dramatic compositions.

The Shoppinghour Ideal

An experiment; an attempt to unshackle the intellect from the restrictive disciplinary processes of specialization, and to celebrate unbridled interdisciplinary discourses; the harmonious coexistence and perhaps even coalescence (or perhaps contamination) of philosophy with literature, politics and art. The ridiculous, the absurd and even the irrational is treated with the utmost respect, held in the same light as anything else one might struggle to examine: god, life, death, time…; and the established, the norm, the everyday, is challenged for simply being too suspicious. There is an element of self-indulgence here. But rather than pretend that there is not, it is instead celebrated. And this celebration, this spontaneous and fortuitous event that came from absolutely nowhere, is called Shoppinghour; an event that provides access, a platform, for anyone interested in starting a discussion, anyone eager to share and exchange their thoughts, without restrictions: an intellectual liberation with emphasis on matters of urgent political and cultural relevance.

The history

A few years ago Yasushi started a zine called Immanuel Can which was primarily distributed at Goldsmiths. Four issues were released until it concluded itself and maintained its dignity as the cult happening of its time and place. A year later, inspired by Immanuel Can, Peter decided to start a publication that would continue its legacy but that would reflect his own creative input and context. As a result, Shoppinghour turned out very different from Immanuel Can but retained a distinct aroma and charm that was very similar. Two issues of Shoppinghour had circulated, and only limited copies printed, yet even in their initial minimal release the feedback was very positive and enthusiastic. At this point Yasushi decided to join Peter. He was warmly welcomed and issue 03 would be the first issue that Peter and Yasushi would co-edit. With their combined perspectives they would finely tune Shoppinghour to be more accessible and punchy whilst maintaining its intellectual sophistication and raw ‘underground’ feel. The strong reception that followed the release of issue 04, and its support and distribution from the Don’t Panic team, initiated a new direction for Shoppinghour involving a more consistent and refined (yet still ever so outrageous) attitude.

Why 'Shoppinghour'?

The title, Shoppinghour, is an obscure pun of the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, just as Immanuel Can is of the philosopher Immanuel Kant. There is an element of anti-ness to Shoppinghour that can be quite satirical. We hold on to the postmodern ethos that contradicts equally as much as it celebrates itself. Hence, we celebrate philosophy and art and literature just as much as we challenge it; in the sense that we question and doubt, and perhaps even ridicule, the sternness of such disciplines and their traditional status as superior forms of thought. The title obviously also references the commodification of such disciplines; it almost sounds like a really badass online gift store. The commodification of the creative arts and humanities means that they have become increasingly transformed into objects of the market, equal to all other common goods, available to everyone, and downgraded from their spiritualised 'high society' pedestals. Lastly, Shoppinghour suggests the idea of a 'shopping spree' for enthusiastic and exciting ideas and expressions that are often left hidden under the loud cries of the commercial market.

Our aim

We invite writers and artists who are experts in their fields to write and present their work alongside less intellectualised everyday thoughts and ideas by individuals who are not necessarily 'philosophers' or 'artists' in any specific institutional sense as such. Perhaps you could say that our approach is that everyone can be a philosopher, poet or artist. We push for a communal celebratory feel, promoting free expression and communication between all kinds of people of diverse academic fields, ages and perspectives; and we hope that by emphasizing different socio-political matters we can start conversations that are as interesting as they are relevant.

The contributors

Our contributors are mostly students of art, philosophy or literature. However, we also receive contributions from everyone and anyone who is interested in taking part. We anchor our theme topics by presenting pieces by individuals that are established in their respective fields. Thus far, we have been in communication with such notable figures as Professor John Hutnyk of the Centre of Cultural Studies at Goldsmiths College, Professor Antonis Balasopoulos of the Department of English Studies at the University of Cyprus, Qalandar Bux Memon founder of Naked Punch, and cultural provocateurs and curators Pat and Trevor. We hope to expand our contributors gradually whilst preserving the free-spirited and never-too-serious open-to-all ethos of Shoppinghour and encouraging for a level of sophistication and maturity that treats its theme topic with respect.

Distribution

We currently distribute 1000 copies per issue. Distribution is free. Our primary distribution points are Universities, ranging from Birkbeck and Goldsmiths to Central Saint Martin's and The Royal Academy. Further, local pubs, bars and cafes with artistic flair such as the Candid Cafe, Amersham Arms, the Poetry Cafe, Cafe Creme in New Cross, Design Cafe in Deptford and The Shunt are a few amongst a variety of other main interest points. We are currently distributing at the ICA, endorsed by Vinita Moran, and the Camden Arts Centre, endorsed by Jacqueline Jeffries. Shoppinghour is also kindly supported and distributed by the Don't Panic team, as endorsed by Nick Agha. We try to push Shoppinghour on a global scale with 'correspondents' in Japan, Cyprus, New York, Norway, Denmark and the Czech Republic. Each issue is made available online in PDF format downloadable for free. Finally, the most personal and fun distribution method is through word of mouth and hand to hand.

Shoppinghour on Facebook

Project Shoppinghour Issue Archive

Glaukos | Fibreglass Sculpture | Digital Manipulated Image

2009-02-19T15:09:00.000-08:00

Digital manipulated image of Glaukos fibreglass Sculpture

colour version digital Glaukos digital manipulated image of fibreglass sculpture

The story of the Cretan Glaukos and Polyeidos was a favourite subject with the ancient poets and artists; it was not only represented in mimic dances, but Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides made it the subject of separate dramatic compositions.

Glaukos | Colour | digital manipulated image of fibreglass sculpture

2009-02-19T14:48:00.000-08:00

Colour version of a digital manipulated image of Glaukos fibreglass sculpture.

black and white Glaukos digital manipulated image of fibre glass sculpture

Glaukos

One of the sons of the Cretan King Minos by Pasiphae. He fell into a cask full of honey and drowned. Minos searched after his son in vain, and was informed by the Curetes that the person who should devise the most appropriate comparison between a cow, which could assume three different colours, and any other object, should find the boy and restore him to his father.

Minos assembled his soothsayers, Polyeidos of Argos, solved the problem by likening the cow to a mulberry, which is at first white, then red, and in the end black.

Polyeidos, who knew nothing of the oracle, was compelled to find Glaukos and bring him to his father. By his prophetic powers and being guided by an owl (glaux) and bees, he found Glaukos dead in the cask of honey.
Minos ordered that Polyeidos to be entombed alive with the body of Glaukos until he brought him back to life.

When shut up in the vault, he saw a serpent approaching the dead body, and killed the animal.

Another serpent, carrying a herb, covered the dead serpent. The dead serpent was thereby restored to life, and when Polyeidos covered the body of Glaukos with the same herb, the boy at once rose into life again.

The story of the Cretan Glaukos and Polyeidos was a favourite subject with the ancient poets and artists; it was not only represented in mimic dances, but Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides made it the subject of separate dramatic compositions.

Royal Hospital Donation Self Portrait Oil Painting (Interview)

2009-02-15T07:30:00.000-08:00

Self portrait painting donation to the Royal Hospital

Question: Why did you become an artist?

Chris Boyd: I’ve always felt compelled to grapple with weighty universals such as agony, ecstasy and death. Art as an activity is nourishing and its service to my questioning of universal notions both satisfies an expressive drive and my curiosity.
During a competition I entered I was fortunate to meet Jane Wilson and Brian Sewell who were enthusiastic about my work and they encouraged me to be an artist.

Q: What is your practice and what types of projects have you done? Do you have any patrons and what is your clientele base?

CB: I’m best known for my moving image work that covers the spectrum of both commercial and non-commercial strands of the visual arts. I employ an array of media which include video, animation, sound, sculpture, installation, performance and drawing. I aim to combine explorations of our relationship with technology, liminality, the multiple dimensions of existential self with expressions of hypnagogic and abject states of body and mind. I’ve worked on a range of projects, some are immediate streams of consciousness that explore private memories others are premeditated multi-layered elliptical narratives. I’m passionate about the creation of dense and rich narrative structures. I’ve worked on the production and direction of music videos and experimental audio visual collaborations commissioned by various record labels. I sell work to collectors and institutions.

Q: Who inspires you as an artist?

CB: A lot of inspiration comes from past and contemporary artists, philosophers, psychologists, musicians, film-makers and writers. There’s too many to mention. I get inspired by experiences, emotional states, peers and observing my environment and others.

Q: Tell us about the work you have you donated to the Royal Hospital and
what you hope the patients, staff members and public will experience from your art in this medical environment?

CB: I was interested in the notion of healing and the great phrase of Joseph Beuy’s which is “Show your Wound”. The idea of showing your wound lays you open to all sorts of vulnerabilities. Another inspirational phrase which reverberates is the great alchemical saying which was ‘If you cut yourself, bandage the knife’.
The medical association of diagnostic truth with the internal structure of the human body inspired me to associate psychological introspection with the exposure of the nervous system in self portraiture. Health feels like it depends on everything around us and we see a microcosm of the environment in a excavation of ourselves. Our polluted cities reflect our polluted psyche's. Portraiture made me rethink that it could reveal a wide range of mythic narratives, the tragedy and absurdity of our current condition. We have sayings like if we could “read their minds”, see “behind the mask” that associate the concepts of “inner” and “outer” with knowledge and ignorance. Knowledge of other peoples states of mind is expressed as having access to their “inner” space. When we speak of having an inner life and outer demeanour, introvert or extrovert, we think of the mind in spatial terms. Employing the powerful association of medical practice, the idea of deceptive appearances and that a “reality” lies beneath, to get to a kernel of truth one has to excavate the surface. This resonates with the psychoanalytical notion that states consciousness as the surface of our mental apparatus. I experimented with this parallelism of the psychical and physical in a music video where I explored mark making as a violent act drawing and painting with a scalpel dissecting a surface and exposing the raw psyche.
In this painting lashing strokes and subtle mists exude my reignited
enthusiasm for paints sheers materiality. Due to the subtleties of oil paint tiny tonal changes can vastly change the implications of the image.
The left side appears bruised, battered and turbulent but the intelligibility of the image hinges on the evocation of internal anatomical layering going through a sweeping healing process.
Blue known as a healing colour echoes three points of outline where a gestalt principle of closure reinforces the receding notion for recuperation. The slight impasto on the watch face symbolizes time as a healer, the thickness of the paint reflecting the time taken to create a substance. The epidermis of the left (my right) defensive arm is almost transparent, sinews, veins, arteries and nerve endings are visibly exposed on the surface of the skin.
I've implied a waters edge dividing the lower body showing the individuating process by losing the lower self to reach higher achievements etc. The reflection is distorted by ripples created, as if by the viewers presence wading through the same pool. Submerged waist deep in an implied reflecting pool, the reflection is distorted by ripples from a front viewpoint. The direction as if the viewer is wading at in the same reflecting pool within the pictorial space, the viewers interpretation of my self portrait is also a form of distortion. Let the lapping surface settle and then the picture becomes clear.

Renowned Artist returns to his roots (Film-maker Chris returns to Priestley College as guest lecturer)

2009-02-06T08:09:00.000-08:00

Five years can be a long time in anybody's life but for one former student of Priestley that is somewhat of an understatement.
Visual Artist and Filmmaker Chris Boyd has enjoyed a meteoric rise to prominence during that period and now owns and runs a highly successful business, which in the recent past has seen him produce commercial music videos for the likes of The Music.
Chris left Priestley in 2003 having completed a Foundation Diploma in Art as well as a Multimedia course. Following his departure, he left to tackle a degree in Interactive Arts at Manchester Metropolitan University.
He first hit the headlines with an appearance on Channel 5's Big Art Challenge where he subsequently landed the £10,000 top prize and received critical acclaim from Brian Sewell who branded him a genius.
Since then his work has been commissioned by a number of big organisations including the Tate Britain, Creamfields and Liverpool Capital of Culture.
The 24-year-old returned to the Priestley campus to give an insight into the industry he now works in and the options available to students in further education.
Speaking with regard to his visit, Chris commented, "It was nice to come back home for a short period having done so much travelling recently - Priestley has changed dramatically since I was last here and it was interesting to meet current students who are now taking the courses I once did."
Assistant Curriculum Manager for Art and Design, Paul McConnell, added, "Chris was the latest of our guest speakers to come into College and give an insight into their career to our students. He has achieved much in such a short space of time and left them in no doubt about what can be gained with hard work."

Pictures shows Mr McConnell (left) welcoming Chris Boyd (right) back to campus as a guest lecturer.
Words and Picture by Nat Ashurst

Samantha Study | Digital Painting | Corel Painter with Wacom Tablet

2008-11-22T19:44:00.000-08:00

Samantha Study

Digital painting in Corel Painter executed with a wacom tablet

Martin Warrington Study | Digital Painting | Corel Painter using Wacom Tablet

2008-11-12T19:15:00.000-08:00

Studies of Martin in Warrington, Cheshire.

Digital Painting using Corel Painter executed with a wacom tablet whilst on a train.

Town Centre Trouble | A Weekend in Warrington | Sky News Special Report

2008-02-11T19:22:00.000-08:00

Sky News Special Video Report: Town Centre Trouble a weekend in Warrington.

Warring Tun
Engaging in War Settlement
In a state of hostility Town

A Night Out In Warrington | Drunks, Fighting and Arrests

2008-01-29T19:05:00.000-08:00

A Night Out in my hometown Warrington. Drunking Fighting

The home town of Garry Newlove, who was beaten to death by drunken yobs, is plagued by alcohol-fuelled violence - and Sky News has witnessed the scale of the problem.

Chief correspondent Stuart Ramsay went to the heart of Warrington and what he saw was shocking - yet seemingly typical. Here is his account:

Just after 2.30 in the morning I hear shouting about 100 yards from the intersection where I've been standingfor about the past half hour.

Five police officers sprint down the road, followed by the Sky News team.

We have spent the night on patrol with 16 officers whose sole job on this Saturday night is to be a rapid reaction squad if violence breaks out... actually, it's not really if - but a certain when.

At least six separate battles are going on - men on men, girls on girls, girls on boys and so on. In the middle, a silver-haired woman, probably in her mid-60s, is lying motionless in the road.

The police pile in and after a while things calm down.

One person is arrested but confusion reigns.

At the time we didn't realise this was a fight about a taxi. An elderly couple apparently tried to jump the queue in front of a young couple. There was pushing from both sides and the lady was knocked to the ground. That's when the others joined in.

But forget what sparked the incident - there is absolutely no doubt that what caused the fighting was one single thing - alcohol.

Warrington has great nightlife and it is really good fun.

It is compact, there are dozens of bars, there are loads of young girls and boys and the booze is cheap - ridiculously cheap. At one bar we went to every drink was £1.50 - any drink.

The bars are really clubs but that's how they trade since the change in the licensing laws. They're hopping and they open early and close late.

The spread is quite clever, really. From the top of town they start closing from about 1am. At the bottom of the town, they close at about six.

So, serious party animals can get completely tanked from the nominal start time of about six in the evening until the immodest end time 12 hours later.

In truth, it's utterly bonkers and the police are completely at a loss about what to do to sort it out.

"This is a quiet night and we have had multiple arrests, two serious assaults, lots of fights and virtually everyone you see would actually fail the basic law that says it is illegal to be intoxicated in a public place," Inspector Richard Spedding, in charge of the overnight team, told me.

"What can I do? My officers used to finish their shift at three - now we can go on until six in the morning and then the domestic violence starts when the people get home.

"There has to be a change in the culture and the attitude of young people - that going out doesn't mean its cool to get absolutely bladdered," he said.

"It's expensive and it's a waste of my officers' time - we have to be here but we shouldn't have to be.

"The alcohol is too cheap. The clubs are undercutting each other. I simply don't believe the people of Warrington thought this would be a good thing - but this is what's happened after the laws changed."

While most of the youngsters we saw and spoke to did nothing wrong, how many mums and dads would like to see the state the vast majority ended up in?

In one four-hour period I did not meet one single person who was sober.

Most could not actually speak.

via - Stuart Ramsay, Chief correspondent at Sky News

Boyd: Now and Beyond

2007-10-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

Boyd: Now and Beyond

Written by Victoria Samantha Smith.

Photographs © of Artist.

Chris Boyd, is a young and upcoming artist, with an already accomplished track record. He received the Microwave Award from Fact (Liverpool, England), one of the UK’s leading organisations in the development and exhibition of film, video and new media.

He won the Big Art Challenge where he labelled a ‘genius’ by Art Critic, Brian Sewell, in a Channel 5 documentary to seek the next Damien Hirst or JMW Turner. In 2005, he received the Priestley Prize and had his work screened in Tate Britain in a programme supporting London’s Olymic bid in the lead up to 2012.

In 2006, he was the Curator for the Chaosmos exhibition at the View Two Gallery (Liverpool, England), and was also part of NoiseFestival.com and the Independents Biennial 2006. Both as Artist and Curator to this programme, his work was highly acclaimed.

A beguiling digital video with symmetries of High Art aesthetics on the human form, fractalised, forming and reforming, to imbue human existence and evolution in the start of the universe. It instills senses of provocative spiritual sensuality. His other work follows a similar trend of beautifully executed forms and transitions. He has been commissioned by several bands to produce music videos with distinct symbiosis to the sounds and unique visualisations.

Boyd since 2006, has been working on a several commissions and researching various new media to develop something alternative which he intends to present in 2008. In early 2007 though, he was involved in a mountain bike accident in the Wales and spent some time recuperating in hospital. His passion for life and art though is inspirational and the same energy instilled into the profound art he creates.

For 2007, he has further been working in collaboration with Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney for the Transvoyeur International DV 2007, an international digital video platform to screen new media in Liverpool (UK), London (UK), New York (US), Cologne (Germany) and BBC Big Screen (UK). The title and theme is 'Laissez-Faire, Creative Destruction, Disruptive Technology'. The screening dates are to be announced

Showreel 2006

2007-08-22T03:53:00.000-07:00

The Fine Art of the Digital Eye

2007-07-24T22:41:00.000-07:00

Chris Boyd: Art - The Fine Art of the Digital Eye
Interview with Chris Boyd:

Chris Boyd, a recent member to Transvoyeur, and a young and upcoming artist in the international art market. He is a graduate of Manchester Metropolitan University, 2006. He received the Microwave Award from Fact in 2004, the UK's leading organisation for the development and exhibition of film, video and new media.
He won the Big Art Challenge, where he was labelled a genius by art critic Brian Sewell, the 6 part series on channel 5 was aiming to seek out the next Damien Hirst or JMW Turner with a prize of £10,000. In 2005, Boyd received a Priestley prize and provided a video in 40 artists 40 Days, a special Tate Britain project supporting London's Olympic bid that brought the Games to Britain in 2012. He curated the Chaosmos exhibition for the Liverpool Biennial 2006.
He discusses his art and ideas that shape his work with Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney in an interview.

Sweeney: When did you first become interested in art and recognise yourself as an artist?

Boyd: I’ve always been drawing and making things since primary school, I used to sell sketches on a school bus and I remember the teachers going ape shit because I was drawing nudes.Whilst at college I wanted to work in transport design, but then became immersed in illustration, painting and graphic design. On a foundation course I was interested in chiaroscuro and wanted to create moving paintings and so started making experimental videos and animations. I had started a Graphic Arts and Design course, unsatisfied there I went to an Interactive Arts degree. Most courses required that you specialise in a discipline where as Interactive Arts let me carry on experimenting.During this competition I entered I was fortunate to meet Jane Wilson and Brian Sewell and they encouraged an interest in being an artist. Before then I had never given it serious thought.

Sweeney: Can you explain your art work?

Boyd: I usually find it difficult to talk about my own work, I’m often straining doing so and feel unsatisfied when I’ve tried. I’ve just graduated and feel like I’m only just starting to articulate my work.I usually work in narrative that draws upon autobiography, psychology and mythology that mixes memory, metaphor, fact and fiction. The majority of these stories are based on creation and transformative processes that reference and / or attempt to address subjects like Transhumanism, accelerating change, drills and rituals. I enjoy experimenting creating intense or rich painterly visuals in video.

Sweeney: Your work has a strong interest in digital media? How do you research and develop a concept into a final project?

Boyd: It depends on the project. I’ve made some videos where the post production processes are as much apart of the subject and in others I’ve disguised them as much as I could. I’ve been teaching myself about what’s possible with digital video and animation. I’ve been learning how to use various compositing programmes, so I can test ideas first and develop them or wait until there’s an opportunity or for the right technology to try them. On a commercial commission there’s a whole load of compromises and restrictions a form goes through. On a form structured to music I would interpret lyrics, emotion and movement and dissect the track into graphs and charts then go about the usually process of storyboarding. I make other drawings which aren’t necessarily storyboards but me planning out compositions and loading my images info.

Sweeney: What artists have inspired you and why?

Boyd: At college I saw Lynch’s Eraserhead, Greenaway’s The Cook the Thief His Wife & Her Lover and Blade Runner. These films all blew me away and inspired me to work in moving image and sound. Also at the time I had a head full of Caravaggio, Goya and Francis Bacon and was steering to a fine art path over design. I was interested in science fiction, romanticism, expressionism and angst ridden work. Before starting Interactive Arts they had sent out handbooks to prepare the students for the course, in it were some of Joseph Beuys ideas. A little googling got me interested in his use of materials, transformations of substances and narrative etc, his language became useful for my thinking at the time. I was recalling times I spent with family in the Philippines where I saw how important materials and significant preparations were to rituals. As a kid I used to mimic these whilst playing games, so it felt like a natural development to incorporate them into a vocabulary as they’ve been swimming around in my head for a while. Maya Deren’s films, Anselm Kiefer and some of the usual suspects Da Vinci, Titian, Michelangelo and Bernini. Lee Bul’s work on the cult of technology. Mariko Mori for combinations of the spiritual and science.

Sweeney: What subjects shape and influence your work and how?

Boyd: I think I’ve covered some of this in trying to explain my art work. I’m as much interested in covering a range of emotions and exploring my own head as working with subjects and themes.I’m interested in Ray Kurzweil’s Law of Accelerating Returns which is a proposed extension of Moore's law which describes an exponential growth in computing. Transhumanist thinkers speaks of progression and improvement of the human condition and our desires and possibilities for humanity to enter a post evolutionary phase of existence.
Sweeney: What motivates you to create through digital media?

Boyd: An interest in technological innovation and the possibilities of making my imagination real.

Sweeney: Do you use any other media as research source or in production of your art?

Boyd: Most lens based media, models, sculptures, drawing, matte paintings and prosthetics.When researching I devise relevant experiments like cymatic tests. Cymatics is the study of waves and how sound manifests into form in various materials. I collect sound recordings of various textures etc.

Sweeney: What do you plan for the future as an artist in your professional practice?

Boyd: Make experimental short videos and other work in projects that involve a range of media. I just want to learn my craft basically.

Sweeney: What are the positive and negative experiences of being an artist?

Boyd: I’m too inexperienced to have much of an opinion. I guess the economic realities as I‘m working in a costly medium. Regarding my practice I would say that my methods in video and post production demands much more of my time and concentration then it would with other media.

Sweeney: What do you want to be remembered for?

Boyd: Good work I guess.

Chris Boyd & Boydism

2007-07-24T22:38:00.000-07:00

Boyd and Boydism

Written by Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney

During the preparations of the first live art event at the View Two Gallery of the Performance Art Platform, I and other artists from the Transvoyeur group were fortunate to meet with Chris Boyd and other artists from the Chaosmos Exhibition on the top floor of the gallery. This exhibition was exceptional and beguiled most of the audience who viewed it, including myself. As an artist, I have worked with a multitude of media from robotics, holographic, digital media and performance, but the digital short films by Boyd captivated me. The work at the Chaosmos Exhibition was set on 'addressing the complex inter-relationships between creation and destruction' (October 2006).Deep undertones resonate through the space, pulsating underneath our senses, as if from below. Momentary classical strings gently reverberate. The visualisations are a fusion of fractalised bodies undulating through the spatiality and temporality of time.The piece is profound and stirring and cuts into our preconceptions of origin and evolution, not only of ourselves, the human creature, but from the inaugural onset of time itself, the planet. The imagery is sensual and emotive. It imbues a sense of our physical entity and existence, where we have come from and ultimately leaves one with a sense of reflection and retrospective. An awareness of the moment, now, as if standing on the precipice of contemplation of where humanity is going. It is both sexual and spiritual, the fundamentals that drive life forward. It is provocative, yet intrinsic, and touches on the core elements of human consciousness and perception of time and space and our roles within the socio-historical edifice.As I watched the writhing and cascading bodies, genomic re-reproduction of digitalised forms. I see my heritage, my self and my progeny in that one moment. It captures the viewer, but gets inside and holds them at that moment where time seems to stand still. The split second of awakenings and realisations cognitive, as 'I think, therefore I am' (Descartes), E = mc² (Einstein); Eureka (Archimedes); 'Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds', Oppenheimer. The sentience is embodied in Boyd's visualisations.As a young and upcoming artist, Boyd is extraordinary. Indeed the standard of art in the Chaosmos exhibition inspirational. My last thought after viewing his work was 'this young man will go far'. His work is good, in the meaning of gut instinct and art criticism, 'good'. For all my explications, here of trying to elucidate his work all seem futile and I would recommend you go to view it yourself.Boyd is Boydism.
by Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney

• Sweeney is a performance artist and graduate of Liverpool John Moores University, England, in 2002. She is currently on her doctorate and researching the body within contemporary arts, science and culture. Her art explores the temporality and spatiality of body politics within the post modern environment and institutional structures. • She has performed and exhibited in an array of international events, such as the Liverpool Biennial, Venice Biennial, Performance Art Festival (US), Hong Kong Biennial and Berlin Kunst Salon. Her art is strongly founded on the canon and philosophy within the context of live performance interventions, as well as considering new and innovative modes of expression modified through digital technology and optical engineering.

The Calling 1.1 Screening @ Video Art Sweden

2007-07-24T22:23:00.000-07:00

Video Art Screening

22 Maj 2007

http://www.jonasnilsson.org/avs_2.html

Self Portrait

2007-07-24T22:17:00.000-07:00

The Calling 1.1 Screening @ Athens Video Art Festival 07

2007-07-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

An international festival of audiovisual arts dedicated to digital culture and new technologies, addressed to the lovers of moving image and represents video art in Greece. Apart from the latest developments in video art, Athens Video Art Festival includes sections such as: video installations, live art performances with the audience’s participation, as well as impressive constructions.

http://www.athensvideoartfestival.gr/