Wednesday, March 12, 2008

From Inside Xavier's Dior Jacket.

As I hugged Xavier through the window of the Arwing, a small black disc fell out of his French leather jacket along with a roll of film from a photobooth.

All the dirty, grimey sounds of punk rock London and New York City are wrapped up in tightly rolled sound bytes of jukebox drum machines and and getaway bandit guitar riffs spotted with the sporadic melodizing of vv against an ode to a criminal who she was in cahoots with 2 centuries ago.  hotel proves a worthy jet black side kick as he takes black and white polaroids with his sunglasses and records conversations with his cigarette made of bullets.

vv just dances in the dark,  blows smoke up her enemy's skirts, buys black diamonds for ammo

  together they frenzy in city mode with shotgun grunge

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