vree paste! i am the melvis, but here is the real sharpshooter, the ambivalent unreviser, the black market moosecurrent: bal TOOTH (1st installation/via artlock prison/autobiographael) bal TOOTH is discredentially exported by the fundamental patience that goes hand in hand with the needless and headfirst, that is to say there can be no more tyranny in the extremes of melting cheese, on metal, this way or that. bal_TOOTH took out a mortgage to support the tampering of his cholesterol. bal TOOTH ACED the what-it-takes, in this case, a solemn version produced by the SHARP_ARTHROPOD, who just happens to lay there muted to stimulus after all these years even when pronged or harpooned in a vicious, by a vicious. no matter, bal TOOTH places a grain of pepper into the amplifier and when the voltage leaps out of his mouth and into the canyon that has since been relegated the duty of harnessing all types of power, metaphorical mostly, it turns its back on itself and judges that its existence as a canyon shall be no longer and dissolves into a drop of chromatic rayon sweat after concentrating, of course, which can push anything down a hill or two, and no matter what the setback it'll always challenge the black foam wall for this it doesn't mind and all of the trauma it may have exposed itself to and just goes on, with the grain of pepper waiting like a stubborn handicapped deer not wanting to cross the highway. 020403 ... paste! the allegorical punchcard returns: bal TOOTH (2nd installation/via artlock desert) bal_TOOTH simulates the must of a constant in deciding why or why not a neighborhood, with all its landscaping, architecture, rubbage and general aura cannot really move. bal TOOTH gets a little apprehensive when dealing with the static. this time, a fairly narrow stretch of sidewalk covered with the product of a nicely equipped sprinkler, in inkblot test patterns, variety like deli or mercury pose, he saw a couple of mushroom clouds but it wasn't the end because of evaporation. suddenly, a leaf bonked through the arc of a moth and the 1940's house just guessed what it must have been like for the air in that moment of subtitled concentration: i am still here, i will always be here, this time it is substantial as it was last time and every time to follow. bal TOOTH screams in victory of all these majestics which hairies his cords. they appreciate that kind of gesture. bal TOOTH stands fourteen feet from a joshua tree in the middle of the mojave desert. at the pace he is moving, the vultures will begin having their daily offhands with a feathery clarity and it's not because of the speed of the semis versus the breathness of those far away regions that never get seen by the highway drivers. alwaystheless, bal TOOTH scraps any immediate or latent pressure to be somewhere and heads off into the crash of new renderings. 020830 what's it to you? who go blather from