no longer a commercial break.
not the self-explanatory hour.
the monks trod silently towards the altar.
Conway Convy and Cosby: the holy Trinitron.
marble busts reside solemnly gathering a static overlay of
dust: the weft of importance.
Bugs Bunny is the
unblinking eye at the apex of the pyramid,
gauntleftisted dictator of the loonytoonocracy,
minister of propaganda,
one who incites the restless impressionable
to violence in the heart of darkness
through which elmer fudd
crawls with stealth of night.
his shotgun mechanisms
gleaming in the moonlight.
rants groucho Marxisms,
cavorts goofily against an operatic background.
the angels of doom
roadrunner & hideously deformed "tweety"
mere fingerpuppets on the immaculately white
gloved fist of
The reception is terrible 92.02453988 (as near as i can
ascertain) persecs removed in space from the closest cable
outlet. yet statisticians have already predicted the
glorious rebirth of disco: polyester nostalgia in the year
1997. the benign mediocrity of 50's television has been all
but entirely erased by the glittering static
the electromagnetic imprints of comets, novae, nebulae.
there is an enormous amount of information in static,
all of it imposed by the afterimages and anticipations of
the viewer. staring will release the wakedreams.
and surreal interpretations of formulaic plots.
Next Table of Contents