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- | | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
- | |________________________________________________________________| |
- |____________________________________________________________________|
-
- ...presents... Me As TV
- by Franken Gibe
-
- >>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
- -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
- ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
- |____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
-
-
- It's like this. Nausea seeps outta my insides like toxic waste, my mouth
- waters, gets ready for the barf. I sweat cold pricks. Fight it, fight it.
- Then the black fuzz, like I'm losing The Signal, losing reception, my vision
- particularizes, pixilates. I scramble around, try to get some blood to my
- head. Too late. The National Anthem bounces off of a few of my synapses, then
- I'm off the air. I wake up on the floor, like coming outta possession. Or
- maybe like being repossessed. Re-animated by Consciousness, that fucken demon
- Signal that torments me, makes me see, and feel, and fret. Sure, I fight
- Unconsciousness, cuz I crave the Signal, I'm an addict. I may not like the
- program, but what else is there? Black fuzz, nothing.
-
- I got nailed last nite, flew off my skate and busted my wrist. I think I
- wacked myself offline, and all today feel like the Signal's weaker, more
- distant. And it makes me sad. Fucken sad. Cuz I don't like the darkness,
- I don't like what's behind the black fuzz, the eye-static. It's sleep, but no
- dreams. It's a dead place. I fight it, I WANT my mtv, I want the Signal, I
- gotta be tuned in, y'know? But there's that other thing inside me, where the
- nausea comes from, where I'm so fucken tired, tired of Consciousness, tired of
- Noise, and Spectacle, sick of my eyes being peeled open, pupils dilated,
- watching the grotesque parade of baby molesters and sex-as-death and little
- boys with puffed out tummies and sunken cheeks. What's the whisper? Let go?
- Tune out? Sleep, man. And what's the fuzz, anyway? Black fuzz, like some
- transdimensional cunt, like a clump of pubes, and I've been born once, and it
- HURT, so - once is enough. The fuzzy curtain I passed thru. Once, thanks mom,
- and here I am, in the land of the Signal, conscious and scared and sick, and
- then there's the fuzz again, the cunt, maybe God's pubes - and I'm being pulled
- back in, curled up like a fetus, cold and quiet, tuned out, sleeping like a
- miscarriage.
-
- Okay. So it hurts, so the Signal burns thru my pupils and makes my hair
- fall out, but shit, I wanna FEEL, I need it, I need the fix, I gotta be
- conscious. Fuck the fuzzy curtain.
- _______ __________________________________________________________________
- / _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
- ((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
- [ x x ] |Ripco................312/528-5020|Moody Loners w/Guns.415/221-8608|
- \ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Finitopia...........916/673-8412|
- (' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
- (U) |==================================================================|
- .ooM |Copr. 1993 cDc communications by Franken Gibe 03/01/93-#215|
- \_______/|All Rights Drooled Away. SIX GLORIOUS YEARS of cDc|
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