Girl And Her Sucker
The Black Sun Shines The Rot
A Bolt Out Of The Blue
Eyes Of Salt
HOTline
Listen For The Mineral And The Metal
"We Are The Flowers in Your Dustbin"
Lust in Space
The Saturday Morning Cereal Bowl
Mystery
The Toy Chest
Outer Limits
Island in the Sky
TV dinner
Hey Wire
Earthbound
Apoca-Lipstick
Breakfast for Dinner
Universe
Heartbreak Hotel
Destroy All Circuits
Over Easy
Girl And Her Sucker
The Black Sun Shines The Rot
A Bolt Out Of The Blue
Eyes Of Salt
HOTline
Listen For The Mineral And The Metal
"We Are The Flowers in Your Dustbin"
Lust in Space
The Saturday Morning Cereal Bowl
Mystery There is a mystery that claims me. Perhaps you know this mystery too. It is a story of two eyes, four limbs, birth, order, playground, heartache, triumphs, dramas, bus stops, love, hate, dead ends, history books, leaders, mothers, chemical eruptions, celestial envoys, souvenirs, sparkling lace, and pills pills pills. Some may say to this mystery, “Such is life,” but I’m quicker to describe it as something more integral and complex, something allegorical and razor-edged. Mud, flower, balm, venom, major, minor, null, and void—daily, we are reduced to our heavy nuclei. Our animal cravings erode everything—even the most tender and precious. Is this mystery just a petri dish and we are its contents? Are we just another unconscious creature swimming around by a pre-arranged order? An order assigned by some ambiguous force... perhaps a god who has been seriously mistaken by its own ambitions… This place, it is always in a hurry. Always rushing. Always “fighting over the last bone.” Here, the sleepwalkers breathe in their pills and keep it moving down the sidewalk and even the angels have their errors. It is here you will see sad eyes on smiling faces—as they hum their songs with broken sighs. Perhaps it’s best we go on business as usual. Yet there is a flashing light out the corners of our eyes, the North Star sparkling and spelling out across the sky, “You’ll suffer either way, my dear.” It turns out, no matter our efforts, the yoke will remain its heavy weight. I declare that we need no more material for this epoch. What we need is something soft, something celestial, something supercharged. Could we call in a new messenger to stimulate us back? Could these hopeful entities fill the dark corners of our rooms—victorious and buoyant—restoring Earth and ending war? Could they direct us to a new shade of future? Could they deliver an angelic prompt to restore the light that has left our eyes? Apocalypse and revolution—the particles have fallen. World is ending, and there is a new one up ahead. I suggest we turn the radio up now, because I suspect, we’ve been shaken awake. SOS,Molly
The Toy Chest A Short Film
Outer Limits
Island in the Sky
TV dinner
Hey Wire
Earthbound
Apoca-Lipstick
Breakfast for Dinner
Universe
Heartbreak Hotel
Destroy All Circuits
Over Easy
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