• DECODER (1984) directed by Muscha & starring: FM Einhert a.k.a. Mufti (Einstürzende Neubauten), Bill Rice (The Offenders (1980), The Big Blue (1988), Manhattan Love Suicides 1985, Coffee&Cigarettes), Christiane F., Genesis P-Orridge (Throbbing Gristle, Psychic-TV) and featuring William S. Burroughs (Naked Lunch, Junkie, Queer, Drugstore Cowboy, Dead City Radio) whose writing was an inspiration for the film.
  * The film featured this month is very avant-garde, subversive and punk-af. It is not meant for children under the age of 18 years of age and contains images of nudity, drug use, chaos magick, surgical footage, sexual situations and ideas of delinquency and anti-authoritarian themes.
  Language: German with Spanish subtitles.
  
  

In 1970 the collection of essays by Beatnik and Underground art icon William Burrough was published. In it Burroughs meditates on the written word and its evolution into the spoken. That language is something unique to the Human experience as it can exist both in image and sound. That the written language can enable the writer to cheat time and space and project thoughts, ideas, emotions, through time and affect readers in the future. Language regardless if it’s written on a medium or spoken has power; it is magick; no different from the sigils in a magician’s grimoire or the crystal ball, energized and imbued with power. How with the write configuration of words, images, sounds and their meaning can influence, control, infect and gestate inside the psyche very much like a virus.  

Decoder is a 1984 West German cyberpunk film that you’ve probably never heard of. I was fortunate to find it one late night while in one of my insomnia periods.

The story follows FM as he works for a fast food chain to make ends meet but, spends his evenings making compositions of abrasive industrial music. When FM starts noticing how passive and docile the customers at his Burger joint are when the Muzak playlist is cycling over the speakers. He figures that perhaps there might be something in the Muzak that’s making people compliant. That it’s the muzak that’s lulling people into submission in a world where visceral reality is almost a cheap thrill (a kink), something you tuck under your mattress when the relatives come home; a world where we just accept subjugation into an authoritarian corpo system where fascism bridges the gap between military and corporate corruption. FM also spends his free time with his girlfriend (Christiane) a peep show girl that works in the red-light district.

One night while working on music, FM starts to manipulate one of Christiane’s frogs and records the screams. FM realizes that he can use abrasive sound to instigate destructive impulses in people that listen to his music and cancel out the corporate muzak. He strategically places tape recorders, like sonic I.E.D.’s, at different well-known fast food establishments armed with his music. These subversive recordings cause riots, destruction of property, violence and social upheaval. After sometime these terrorist incidents earn the attention of the corporate overlords who hire an assassin (Bill Rice) to find who is creating these tapes and execute him. Bill Rice’s character a weary hitman more preoccupied with haunting the red light district and infatuated with a peep show girl who just happens to be FM’s girlfriend.

DECODER is low-budget, analog, cyberpunk with a Cold War edge to it. Lush lighting and a noir dread drip heavily here. The soundtrack features SoftCell, Psychic-TV, THE THE and Einstürzende Neubauten. The basic plot of the film is summarized here in this review so all you have to do is follow the visuals and vibe. Not suitable viewing for anyone under-the-age of 18.

Stay dangerous, stay underground, stay out of sight, stay away from bootlickers, magahats, democrats and anyone that tows the company line, puts blinders on, shuts up and takes it right up in there deeply (and without even a kiss or dinner to eat), drinking the government kool-aid. Stay aware, stay armed and get angry and keep your G*ddamn finger on the REWIND button.

Movie:

https://youtu.be/vdCXssmZLdw?si=PDidB4yL53XRVpXv

Bonus: Soft Cell – Seedy Films (Official Video Release HD)

Fishscale/V/: New.Entry-Transmission.Whatever.Wetnightmares.
Screamscapes.and.corporal.malfunctions//The movie theater has gone dim. The Kodak camera has lost its reel. The Mall is shuttered. The video store is closed. The soundtrack plays on the tape deck, scrambled. The Pyrex takes a nap for the evening. The national anthem plays after dusk behind a scrambled pornographic transmission. The ICE is out tonight and the night is on fire. The sky looks like a dead screen. No stars in the sky. No whistling wind. No connection. No firmware in a pushup brazier to tune into the right nocturnal frequency. Just dead space and a static filter, not even the air could be trusted with authenticity. Media never sleeps. The television stays on. It’s always on and watching us, omnipresent and instigating, a rabble rouser and a shit talker galvanizing the masses into herds and stampedes at the press of a button. A planned reaction to the insurgency of law. What have I walked into? They say revolution is out in the streets but, it’s all a mixer, a munch, a social fellatio, what have I walked into, a gaggle of geeks, gooners, meat pacifiers and skin socks – repeating what the TV eye and the cardboard says. All in step and out of order. For sincere reasons and free will – although dictated in silent vibration from the overseers Morse code. Engineered resistance to a problem that will be solved and locked down with dystopia and monitored by A.I. screws. Then. Here come the star fuckers and the vampires the celebrities and leeches. Lead by the pimps. The publicists. Celebrity cameo appearances in the back rows of protest. Kissing babies. Shakin’ hands. Only there for the photo-op and never joining rank at the frontline. Pretenders; actors; slaves to corporate rations and privilege; no gunplay, no backbone, just a game in the end. A hologram of a leg-wit-ammo, a box of blanks, rambling his gums into the void for a star on the avenue. Not here. It’s just another dead night and about this same dead time every night. They reenact and replay the same playlist and cosplay their childhood dreams. A boulevard of vapid dreamers, chipping away at the surfaces and hurling the city like feces at pigs, drones, naysayers and the npc. Nothing more but performance art against the machine. Showroom Dancers. With color commentary by your favorite content creators; jesters and critics feeding off the algorithm. Crossing their palms with silver traded in from your attention and likes; bunch of Svengalis and pied pipers in the new preachers clothes not like them but living a karaoke life in sheeple skin. A generation nursed on instant gratification through an umbilical usb cord detached from the contaminated coarse weather of reality and living one TikTok moment after another in some perverse REM sleepwalk. All copyrighted and sponsored by your elitist fascist overlords full-throttling their plans into a doomsday reset scenario and the birth of the new religion. Sponsored by oligarchs. You are all sleeping. Make it a better dreaming. Get into your phalanx formations. Red Dawn. Bravehearts. Look to your brother-in-arms. And behold leading the ranks. Not random protagonists. Imagine, just imagine under those hoods in the front. A fantasy.  – unveiled is the avengers or at least those that play them. Imagine yourselves rejuvenated with angst and righteous rage as those performers now possessed by the spirits of the IP that propelled their public image holding the line. As Christ Evans with trash lid in one hand and the stars & stripes in the other raised high; RDJrD2 in his aluminum foil iron armor inspiring courage in you. As descending from the rooftops with karambit gloves and fury in his teeth screaming to the heavens that “this is our ENDGAME!” is Hugh Jackalman too. Tears in your eyes and love swelling up in your frail chest and throats, “They’re here!” “The Avengers are here”. ”This is it!” A moment of our lifetimes when all men can lock shields and crush the oppressors under the tidal wave of change. freedom. and a better tomorrow. Something Aragonidus would say. What a dream that could be, Teen Wolves. Fleeting. Transitioning. Remixing. Getting carried away on a channel surf. The sequence again scrambled. The channel switched on everyone. All because the common man has lost his remote control. It’s been in the hand of the bad men this whole time. The bloody bag men. The usurpers. The adversary. The ones who remake, mutilate and remaster our memories and script our futures. The sky is a dead screen. The stars are blacked out. It’s just us in here and the movie rolls on. The show goes on. The empire strikes back. As everyone plays Sophie’s Choice every week on which Hot Topic to rally behind next. From the killing fields to local inconvenience. These aren’t freedom fighters this is the mob. And Rome knows its mob. How to fatten them up and keep them occupied with spectacle and gossip. The enemy knows the system. And the only responsible response is too crash the system. Crash N’ Burn. Hack the dream and make it yours.
Then. Then, I woke up. And the theaters were screening, the video store was open, the soundtrack restarted and the sky was in high resolution. What a beautiful sunset. The TV dinner smells amazing. That’s when I woke up. And forgot what I was dreaming about. //////….then WW3 began.
SamHaiNe

• Bonus: Chinatown (visual video) HaiNesVille:

10. Hardwired by Neuromancer
Album Art By @solomacello

9. How To See Through Walls by Windows96
Album Art by Windows96

8. Vintage Feelings by Evertt
Album Art by @artfulimagers

7. TRIFECTA by A.L.I.S.O.N, VIQ, Krosia
Album Art by Terence Sitbon

6. Voxanima by FUJII
Album Art by Burning Chrome

5. Wavefinder by Sferro & Makeup and Vanity Set
Album Art by Dylan Marcus McConnell

4. First Person Shooter by Various Artists
Album Art by Atom Cyber

3. Slow Tapes by l y n x
Album Art by LYNX

2. Fragments by Forhill |
Album Art By Valentin Pavageau

1. Data Fire by Korizon
Album Art by @DesignSince86 (Andrew Walker)

10. Simulation Heat by Midnightout
Album Art: ?

9. Lovers Lake by Lovers Lake
Album Art: Nibera Visuals
@nibera_visuals

8. Virtual Vega by Evertt
Album Art: The Real Theory
@the_real_theory

7. Earthwalker by Clyde Shelton
Album Art: Clyde Shelton
@clydeshelton._

6. Vector Feels by Pastel Graphics
Album Art: Andrew Walker
@designsince86

5. Ident by Baldocaster
Album Art: Brouemaster Visual Decay
@brouemastervisualdecay

4. Pressure Point by Eagle Eyed Tiger
Album Art: Eagle Eyed Tiger
@eagleeyedtiger

3. AKUMA 3 by ALEX & TOKYO ROSE
Album Art: HVNTER
@hvnt.ter

2. Deuce by OSC
Album Art: OSC
@opusscience

1. Driven to Madness by DANCE WITH THE DEAD
Album Art: Marc Schoenbach
Sadist Art Designs

“Come for the views and stay for the American Dream”.

Sunlight went and died across the mountains at dusk but, monotony lives on; redundant, repetitive, and recessive like so many retarded genes in tight jeans. So much wasted potential. So many pissed soaked flip flops mingling with toe nail polished cowgirl boots. How romantic. “Looking at your bitch through her dirty fake eyelashes”, I sees yous. A match made in a QuikTrip bathroom. This is that kind of town that likes to pick its own boogers before farting onto a homemade cake. And why wouldn’t it? Happy Birthday, Tucson.

It’s the kind of place that hides its deficiencies and takes pride in its fallacies. Stockpiling ammunition but, rattling at the knees over a wall. So much guns but the predators roam freely in town and I’m not talking about the coyotes. The type of place that’s bothered and fingers get triggered when you wish them, “Assalamualaikum”.  A place where you can buy menthol cigarettes, a 2 liter of soda and methamphetamine’s; while dodging the attacks of a javelin as a homeless couple two-steps with Circle K feet at 2am. This place.
Where the roads are crumbling, the schools are short staffed. Pop Culture has a late pass and the collective consciousness is more behind the times than public transportation; you don’t have to believe it to see it – you can feel it, like wet shit under your heel.
You make some friends and you like some of them. Some fade out and sometimes some of them die. People die, some too soon and some not soon enough. Some people shed tears and it is all theater, living their own delusions.

I need a Xanax for this heat, a bag of coke for the boredom and a muscle relaxer to suppress the constant stimulations to beat someone over the head with their dead grandmother’s dildo…  
I apologize, that was too much; No one here has a grandmother that interesting.
I need one of those Hannibal Lecter muzzles before I start eating faces to and fro work.

You get what you pay for. No, that’s not an air mattress, that’s the inevitable housing bubble. It’s the drivel and dreck, the cook that asks the new trainee if he’s “Pussy or not” cuz, “This is a man’s kitchen and men talk shit”. When what he really means is – Translation: “Are you going to hit me? Please don’t hit me”.

Did you know they river dance on the drugs, here? Fentanyl and all that government shit. Poisonous shit. A red white & blue kind of safe space, innit? Living free and dying for that American Dream. The American Dream? You can see it in the food and down the aisle at Walmart. The same people that reject free Health Care are visibly the ones that need it most. I hope the guy with the “let’s go brandon” decal on his truck falls off a razor and guillotines himself on thin piano wire. Let us pray, that politicians start forgetting to turn on their pilot lights too. Truly.
I need a Quaalude just to leave my house.

I miss the duffel bag mobility. I miss the hiss of steam and the ambient police sirens. I miss the decency of delinquency. I miss those Hainesville good times. I can still smell the fresh paint on the walls. I can still hear the racket from the Oasis bar, the Funkadelic, the possibilities. The hallucinations are becoming more frequent. Morning is here and for a few seconds I don’t recognize where I am. Like for a few breathes I’m somewhere else. Then I remember as I watch caterpillars of light crawling up the walls. My wife’s kiss is morphine. She sedates me most of the time. Fresh bowl of oatmeal on the table, bathrobe is warm and the OJ is cold. I need a pick me up to keep going. She gives me a kiss and I can repeat the day one more time.

Saturday August the 20th, 2022. Happy Birthday, Tucson. Keep your cake and choke on it, boo. Your wrinkles are showing and your Gucci bags are bootleg. Even your panties are secondhand, too. 

• SamHaiNe

Read more of the FISHSCALE entries:
https://newretrowave.com/tag/fishscale/

Previous FISHSCALES:
Fishscale Prt. 1 – https://newretrowave.com/2018/11/20/fishscale-a-retro-flash-of-fiction-part-1/

Fishscale Prt. 2 – https://newretrowave.com/2021/08/30/fish-scale-part-2-a-nostalgic-flash-fiction/

It’s post 9/11 and Giuliani had already finished gutting and renovating damn near the entire city into a playground for corporate real estate and snotty new residents from other states coming to claim the remnants that gentrification left behind.

Nocturnal activities were still there under the surface and by nocturnal animals. The thieves, the junkies, the drunk, the desperate, the horny, the lost, the abandoned, hookers, after-hours workers and the graffiti writers. Fuck Giuliani, Diblasio, Cuomo and all the like. The whole table is broken so, why bother trying to take a seat at it; start making your own. Seize your day. 

State Your Name is a 2005 graffiti film directed by OZ. Featuring footage and interviews with writers: Nov York, Noxer, Skuff, (R.I.P.) KEZ5, DG, KET, JA, QUEST, JEZ, GOUCH, KMS CRUE, RISK 9, SEN4 and more and more. Simplicity at its finest.

Keep your finger on that REWIND Button.

Rammellzee (stylized RAMM:ΣLL:ZΣΣ, pronounced “Ram: Ell: Zee”; December 15, 1960 – June 28, 2010) was a visual artist, gothic futurist “graffiti writer”, painter, performance artist, art theoretician, sculptor and a hip hop musician from New York City, who has been cited as “instrumental in introducing elements of the avant-garde into hip-hop culture”. Since 2021, Rammellzee’s work is exclusively represented by Jeffrey Deitch.

Many of think of MF DOOM as the first man to don a mask and make an impact in HipHop but, that isn’t the case. Doom may have been the illest ‘Supervillain‘, and one of the greatest HipHop artists of all time, he wasn’t the first. That title may rest on the crown of Rammellzee.

As much of an iconoclast as he was a contributor to the culture of HipHop, Rammellzee started as a graffiti writer in the late 1970’s writing on the A trains but, became associated with the wild style writers of the East Village; using near illegible lettering, inspired by the gothic script of Medieval manuscripts. Running around NYC with the likes of Jean Michel Basquiat, Lee Quiñones, DONDI, OU3, doctor REVOLT, INK 76,  and others. He was a contributing factor in making what’s considered the most valuable (collectible) HipHop album of all time – “Beat Bop” with K-Rob and a cover by Basquiat. Beat Bop was featured in the graffiti documentary STYLE WARS. He would eventually record more albums and collaborate with Bill Laswell and William S. Burroughs.

He has stated that his name is derived from RAM plus M for Magnitude, Sigma (Σ) the first summation operator, first L – longitude, second L – latitude, Z – z-bar, Σ, Σ – summation.

• www.peoplepill.com/people/rammellzee

His signature style was Gothic Futurism. Gothic Futurism was his own brand and the embodiment of his art. Gothic Futurism summarized as the conflict between the symbolism of letters against the structures of the alphabet and mundane conceptions of language. He would perform wearing self-made masks either as himself or other characters representing the mathematical equation that is his name. When his graffiti style became more mainstream, he morphed the language by making the letter more mechanized, cybernetic, militarized with a new style he called , “Iconoclastic Panzer”. He unlike Churchill had visually weaponized the English language. Letter Racers was another version of “Iconoclast Panzer” where each letter was locked in a galactic battle against one another.

Rammellzee’s description of the Letter Racers is as follows:

“Humans…in the 14th Century the monks ornamented and illustrated the manuscripts of letters. In the 21st and 22nd century the letters of the alphabet through competition are now armamented for letter racing and galactic battles. This was made possible by a secret equation known as THE RAMM:ELL:ZEE.”

Rammellzee is celebrated in Big Audio Dynamite’s song, ‘Come On Every Beat Box’. In 2010 Buckethead released a tribute song called, ‘Rammellzee: Hero of the Abyss’. March 2021, DJ MUGGS (Cypress Hill) and Queens rapper FLEE LORD named their collaboration album after Rammellzee; who is a major influence on the album and features clips and footage of him in their long music video for the record on Muggs Soul Assassins youtube page.

Rammellzee has shown in galleries throughout New York City and Europe. His work is in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York. His live/work loft studio space on 46 Laight Street in the TriBeCa neighborhood, which he shared with his wife Carmela, was named Battlestation. It was a frequented by artists and art enthusiasts looking to absorb the energy of his costumes and artwork.  After 9/11, the building was sold in order to build luxury condos and this forced Rammellzzee and Carmela to move to a smaller place in Battery Park City, and relocate his 20 years worth of artwork into a storage unit. Some of this stored work was included in the 2011 art exhibition, Art in the Streets at Museum of Contemporary Art Los Angeles. In May 2018, Red Bull Arts New York opened its exhibition RAMMΣLLZΣΣ: Racing for Thunder, billed in its press release as “the largest survey to date of one of the most influential yet overlooked artists of the 20th century.”

Rammellzee was married to Carmela Zagari Rammellzee. He died in New York City on June 28, 2010, at the age of 49, having suffered from the exposure to glue, paint fumes, resin and other toxins through his work and from liver problems. The official cause of death was listed as heart disease

The Brooklyn born child of a Puerto Rican mother and a Haitian father, what better chemistry for a brilliant child. A brilliant and radiant star that burned out too fast. But left a wonderful impact on the artworld as one of the best of his generation.

Jean Michel Basquiat left home at the age of 17 to live on the streets of the Lower East Side to make his living as an artist.

It was the late 70’s and he found himself at the center of the world in terms of art, music and culture. There was CBGB’s, Max’s Kansas City, LES; there was art rock, punk rock, new wave, HipHop and all the cool kids, down-n-out kids, the losers, the weirdos, the young, the artistic, the ugly, the glamorama, the lace curtain kids, uptown kids, Manhattan kids, Brooklyn kids, the Bronx & Queens kids, the willing and the dangerous were creating and expressing themselves in an economically depressed (almost lawless) city and man was it a good time.

  On the walls of burnt out buildings, subway walls, doorways and postcards. He started writing graffiti under the name SAMO with abstract lines of poetry and then sold art on postcards to random people on the street. SAMO was beginning to attract attention from the curious forward-thinking eyes of the art world. A literal “Rags to Riches” story, From NYC to Europe, he traveled the world and shown his art in galleries internationally garnering equal acclaim as well disdain and prejudice from the orthodox bourgeoisie detractors of the High-ART elite. Truly, one of a kind. Avant-garde, musician, artist and, at one time, actor.
This Documentary is a perfect time capsule of what New York City use to be before the cornballs, transplants, Karens and douchebags took it over and ruined it.

Radiant Child is curated, produced & directed by Tamra Davis (Half Baked, CB4, Billy Madison). Built around an interview she did with Jean Michel in California after an art show in 1986. Tamra buried the interview to never to be seen by the public until 2010, after a few decades and suggestions by peers to release the interview, she decided to cutup the interview with compiled stories from people that knew him with archival footage and photographs to piece together the life and greatness of  the Radiant Child himself. This is a documentary you must see right now.

The Hollywood Reporter wrote: “Naturally, the doc is well illustrated with examples of Basquiat’s work, some of which are little-seen. But even those who dispute his place in art history should come away with a feeling for the man whose brief career is a textbook example of a flame burning too bright to last.”

The Artforum wrote: “The movie gives a sense of how driven he was, how it seemed as if he aimed, by sheer volume, to assure himself a place in the pantheon of twentieth-century painters, when in fact he achieved that position by virtue of a necessarily smaller number of masterpieces, produced in the early and late stages of his heartbreakingly short career.”

Recommended viewing : Keep Your Finger on that REWIND button.

Ricky Powell, the downtown New York Zelig who with his point-and-shoot camera documented the early years of hip-hop’s ascendance as well as a host of other subcultural scenes and the celebrities and fringe characters who populated the city, was found dead on Feb. 1 in his West Village apartment. He was 59.

–

When asked by Interview Magazine what people can maybe learn from images he has taken over the years? He answer was:

10. Artist: System 96
System 96 – VHS

9. Artist: Caspar Newbolt
Makeup And Vanity Set – Time

8. Artist: Gaston Blanko
Stilz – Hyperspace Drifter 2

7. Artist: Eagle Eyed Tiger
Eagle Eyed Tiger – Untether, Unravel

Note: Eagle Eyed Tiger also made an astounding short video to accompany the album in Blender. Check it out here. 

6. Artist: Phono Ghost
Sferro – Emotion Engine

5. Artist: Tonebox
Tonebox – Last Encryption

4. Artist: Davansh Atry
The G – Wanderers

3. Artist: Andrew Tremblay
Street Cleaner – Slice

2. Artist: Emkade
Sellorekt/LA Dreams – Cherry Vice

1. Artist: Robert Beatty
The Weeknd – Take My Breath

View our other Best of 2021 lists here!

Love our lists? Check out our Top 10’s from previous years:

Top 10 Synthwave Albums of 2020

Top 10 Synthwave Album Art of 2020

Top Ten Synthwave Albums of 2019

All Best Synthwave of 2020 Lists

Top 10 Retrowave Album Art of 2020

“Late night coming home from a temp job for some automotive corporation.

I was expecting the usual greeting and shaking of the hands with every graveyard shift hustler and loiterer that happened to be outside earning cash or just hanging out into the weekend. But, it was oddly quiet for mid August. Probably because there were three black & white patrol cars parked in front of my building. 

“Great, what now?”

The lobby of building 545 had smelled foul for almost a week. A really shitty smell; like dead rats behind a bodega wall. That stench reached a new level when I left for work, this morning. A Rancid, sweet, wet scent, almost inedible. A dozen pussy plugs in a sweaty soiled toilet kind of smell. And the summer humidity only exasperated that aroma. But, that was this morning?  It’s after midnight. What’s going on?

My cross-eyed superintendent had the front door and the side entrance to the dumpsters open.  The smell was so bad you could smell it from the lobby entrance.

I walked in and was like, “Shit?!?”. The Super told me that someone subletting apartment 1B couldn’t take the odor any longer and knocked on a roommates bedroom door to confront them about the smell. Knocking and knocking before opening the door to find the corpse of said roommate.

The people on the lease never bothered to complain bout the smell beforehand because, they were illegally renting out rooms for a profit. So discreet, they were about things, that even the people renting in the apartment barely knew anything about or bothered each other. 

Shit tends to break the fan when you find the naked bloated body of your housemate in bed still watching infomercials; slowly decomposing on his sheets during a hot August heatwave with high humidity in the nineties. 

I’m not sure if I knew the deceased but my hunch is – it was this forty year old guy that rented there for years. If it was, he was a pervert. I knew this because he at one time offered a kid I once knew a few dollars for “Favors” once. …The kid said No. However, the youngbol and his older brother did grift the guy by luring him to our rooftop promising some “handoverfist” with “happy-endings”, and robbed the vic for whatever money they could shake from him. Then extorted him for a few weeks after that with threats of bodily harm and criminal charges.

If it was him rotting in the building, Good Riddance. 

I sat on the staircase listening to Gang Starr’s Mass Appeal album, smoking a few cigarettes, and watching the PIGS and EMT’s rub ointment under their noses and burn some incense to weaken the stench of rot in the air. I even watched our simpleminded super almost kill us all by mopping our hallway with a strong mixture of bleach n water. The chemicals were the worst. I could stomach dead body odor. After all it wasn’t my first time being near a dead body before tonight. 

I stayed there and just watched. I watched neighbors walk into the building and cover their noses in repulsion. I watched a few of them almost vomit where they stood. I listened in on the police taking statements from the roommates and the Super. I always liked recording witness statements when I worked for a private investigator a few years ago. So, I was kind of imagining myself interview all of them. 

The whole thing went on for a few hours. I saw the crime scene detectives arrive on the scene and the meat wagon pickup the body. But, all I kept thinking was –
What was he watching on television.?”

FISH SCALE PART 1 : https://newretrowave.com/2018/11/20/fishscale-a-retro-flash-of-fiction-part-1/

Natural City, the album is still available only at www.samhaine.bandcamp.com
A collection of short monologues and flash fictions highlighting some of the individuals that call Hainesville “Home”. These are stories about people who live outside the margins that define civility and exist in the moment on the edge of a razor-blade. This is a pulp future-present inspired by neo-noir, retro nostalgia and some cyberpunk aesthetics.