Once he gets going there is no stopping him, like a run away train, driver has long since jumped off, the brakes are shot and the boiler is fit to bursting, the monsterous man machine from fair Maltese shores ups the ante, printing flyers like a madman. They pulled his toot, he lost his baccy and his moped got a flat, can't hold a good man down.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Friday, 15 May 2009
Providing bespoke written/ranted/drawn/cut/carved/copied work.
Profile, interview and portrait of a featured artist.
Curated, funded and distributed quarterly by it’s contributors.
We are not in this for the greater good, this is a coin-op co-op.
There are no flies on us.
Barely another bright eyed example of the present trend for non-electronic human communication,
this is a modern day Jack London loitering about in the rough heat of the self promotional art ego wasteland.
The scaffold on which were are hung, temporarily it supports us but will inevitably crumble like old bones and end up a pile of spidery dust.
Grab this bullshit by the horns and hop onto our tabloid eye junket.
Consider this timely opportunity for you to loaf and invite inspiration straight into
Dismiss it at your peril, remain your own worst enemy, snatch up a
London-Metro-Lite-Paper and shuffle on.
By answering only to ourselves and supporting each other we are our own best friends and future.
Put Bare Bones in your pipe and smoke it.