Thursday, October 25, 2007

Grin Reaper

It appears exactly when you'd think it's gone forever. It stretches from orifice to orifice on the horizontal and on the vertical, a leviathan of a cross cracking the head in four, like a knife drawing on a lemon. And then the chasm widens and sound comes out, cackling, snorting, bellowing, howling, contagious and infectious, bringing forth unrelenting deconstruction of all things serious, front row with popcorn, while at the same time underlining with many lines the very thing it mocks, much like a thong, all this somewhere in the vividly painted backdrop.

Cheese, Whiskey, Watch the Birdie (rough translation), etc - words that cut slits in peoples' faces like charm, magic words which bring the apocalypse of straight faces everywhere.