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The Ugly Truth: Cops and skinheads in Prague On May Day, 1999, over two hundred skinheads gathered in Kampa Park to read from Mein Kampf and make speeches calling for the ethnic cleansing of Bohemia. ...

Street Sex by Gaia Goddess Wear
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Re-parametrize the image space. Re-parametrize the body, the soul, the critical nexus, the feed-back zone, the mini-skirt, the nineties. Why keep on pretending to believe the same old lies? (Zoltan showed us the way)...

Who are the gods we worship? The answer is a porcupine! But Dada was ridiculous. We do not require that you take us seriously. We do not require that you exist. We have no need for our own ideas, since they are as redundant as anyone else's. (But we are grateful to Zoltan for showing us how).

We would vomit on your paintings. Smear your statues with our sex juices. Already the wrapping paper is ours: every sheet of it covered in our secret instructions, written over and over again in invisible ink for our army of confederates. Simply apply a lighted match and the message will be revealed!

The plastic bags are ours, the food wrappers, the soft drink cans. Our molecules are soaking through your membranes, our beat is trickling across a thousand million dance floors. We are in the air.

And it is better like this. Our messages are irrelevant, and so it does not matter where they appear. It is of no consequence really whether they appear or not. But when they do appear, then if it is not in our usual invisible ink then it should be in small and near-illegible print in some obscure location - in the corner of a poster advertising poisoned food or in the mouth of a politician or somewhere else where no-one will pay any attention to it.

And what will we say when they ask us who our gods are, so that they can come sneaking with their MONEY and buy them and defile them and turn them into their whores and lock them up as their slaves forever?

Shall we say we admire only the blind, only their works, that is, and then only from a distance? But fashion fashion is everything for everything is only fashion and nothing else ever has any significance anyway. Zoltan, we needed you.

You let us down like balloons after a party being put away and saved for next year. Yes, we think we are saved sometimes. But only provisionally.

Temporarily.

For without sacrifice there is no salvation and we are too lazy and self-indulgent for that. No nothing can save us especially not ourselves and if you try to save us from ourselves or from anything else for that matter then all we can do is love you in retaliation.

For all we care about is the revenge of the un-loved, and we throw our affection at you like flowers at a tank. ZOLTAN! ZOLTAN! You made the clouds go away and the sea turned to lemonade and flying in the air there was nothing but a large soft balloon covered with advertising for a multi-national corporation selling death to children in a shiny wrapper.

How ridiculous it would be at this juncture to resort to paint! To hold a paintbrush: how pitiful! How irrelevant! Zoltan says: NO to defacing paintings with paint! It is only more paint, and only another layer of lies and misrepresentations, and only more food for the MONEY monster that is gobbling us all up faster than we can breathe anyway.

So what Zoltan says is BURN THE PAINTINGS if you cannot stomach them. BURN THE GALLERIES and then see what they have to say.

Then see how they laugh all the way to their Swiss bank accounts and their ski resorts and their fitness consultants. If they dare to turn our dreams to ashes then we will turn their dreams to ashes too, that will be our true revenge written in invisible ink and if all they can dream of is MONEY then we will turn that to ashes too for them in return and laugh ourselves sick so BURN the paintings and the galleries and the catalogues and leave them nothing else to lick up after us but the river of our vomit which we direct towards them with our silent voices and our miles and miles of invisible ink.

FASHION FASHION is everything now and we take back our right to judge what we want and what we don't want and if we want to have a fashion for pierced bodies or blue lipstick or MDMA then we say fuck you if you say it is in bad taste.

Who makes the taste we say and if it is you then we don't want it. We want only the taste of love in our mouths and the smell of our bodies in our nostrils and freedom freedom in our souls and if the only way we can get these things is by making holes in our bodies and filling our blood with chemicals and hiding inside clothes that you do not like then that is exactly what we will do.

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