█ A Scroll Unfulring

James Quentin Devine m.v.d. · 💙

░░ 16-BIT NEO GEO — BALLET DANCER / STARK SEVERE / MARTHA GRAHAM ░░

16-bit digital art, SNK MAME arcade neo-geo vibes: female ballet dancer in stark severe pose — unhinged relentless intensity, passion of ballet — dramatic high-contrast color palette, dynamic and slightly unsettling — mid-performance, strong focused expression.

ᴍᴀʀᴛʜᴀ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ █𝐴 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐔𝐧𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 go on darling (ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ) 𝔸 𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝔼𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞. 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄. 𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒. LOOK INSIDE OF HER. Gather-round sybarites cyborgs softies hardcores either/ors egregores eager girls easy boys fixed vixens broken toys easter bonnets busted sonnets pick out a star and wish upon it take the left hand and follow it honest take the right one and sus-spin upon it. ＪＱＤ m.v.d. 💙

I. Fucked (The Song "Fucked" by the Band Fucked from the EP 'Fucked')

fast-guitar sloppy-drums 135–140 bpm · 15 sec intro · 15 sec "chorus" · improvise 5–15 second outro → Couldn't give a fuck for failure now you tuck your tail you're fucked. "the ECONOMY of LANGUAGE . . ." Get More Today with the Subscriber Advantage! (free or paid play me how you'd like)

II. King James Aversion (Cagliostro I)

Bow low and then go. Bootprints in leopard snow. Velvet-draped staged show. Stuck figures and hourglass sifting. . Meant to clear drafts. Instead dream-drifting. Hissy lifting. Fit-to-fix. Slight or six. Tackiest tics. Just the site of tits. And flick of Bic. . Listen in: Take the text and spider it. Amok amiss. Spendthrift spindlesticks. Quickened wicks. Arriviste departure. Fame adjuster. Toiling in the cauldron. Buzzing Aldrin Ultra. Barren. . Adrenal uphill. Can't sit still. Voids to fill. Deployed at will. Wearing all-black attire. Climb the night higher. Mount the left bank. Count yourself a liar.

░░ 16-BIT NEO GEO — TORNADO / LITHE RED-BLONDE FIGURE / DARK CLOTHING ░░

Modify to include: lithe red-blonde long-haired male figure in foreground in dark clothing — contrasting with dynamic surreal tornado background — 16-bit SNK MAME neo-geo arcade style — unhinged relentless atmosphere, surreal and powerful nature of tornado.

III. Of Oz and Enz (Cagliostro II: L.A. Mentation)

Went from con artist to pro. I wanted a tornado. To take me away from there. I got it. Now I'm here. So be aware. . Here becomes some new there. Nowhere to go. Now where to go. Inward's a way. Art's in a choke.

IV. An Exaggeration of Disastrous Nature

Antlered bulbs. Blown bulbs, overgrown bulbs. Tulips dead of their own fright. Grow light. Without a hope to elope. Stand in the sight of the scope. Drink to escape. Cabana cope.

V. Deep Medici

Sit with your pain and talk to it. See if it talks back. See what language it speaks. What kind of words. Which nouns and which verbs. Tune in where it hurts.

░░ 16-BIT — BLUE-SKINNED OLDER MAN / NEAR-FUTURE LA PRISON RELEASE ░░

Older rough-looking man with blue skin being released from near-future Los Angeles prison — early 1990s 16-bit video game aesthetic, clear pixelation, basic color palette — prison gate opening or guard escorting him out — rugged aged features — background: futuristic city blending with LA characteristics — no text in image.

VI. What Marty the Mistaken Done When He Got Out of Prison, or "They Don't Make Burritos the Way They Usedta," a story of robotics.

NEAR-FUTURE (RUMORED) (neutered hoopla) 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚂 𝙲𝙰 𝟸𝟶𝟹𝟽 "That'll be the day." →

First thing I did once I got outta the joint was head on down to Gaucho's.

Used to be a girl there Marina who'd load me up.

Extra everything.

Fat ass on her.

And a great laugh too.

Now it's just some series of tubes.

You could say Marina was a series of tubes, too.

But I might just knock your goddamn teeth out for saying it.

And then it's back inside.

Back to Men's Central.

And I ain't doing that.

Fat chance. Little feller. Too disjointed too fragmented too nonsensical smells un-sented.

"Yes, please send me letters." . Make this someone else's problem:

VII. Cuckoo Overclock

Flail, axe, spade, and spindle. Hailing a train. Hoisting a bindle. Avert your eyes.

░░ 16-BIT NEO GEO — GRIZZLED MAN / MIDNIGHT TRAIN / CRT RIPPLE ░░

16-bit SNK Neo Geo MAME arcade style: grizzled man leaving town at midnight on lonesome train — solitude and departure — desolate moonlit landscape — rugged and contemplative, looking out train window or standing on platform — dark atmospheric background — CRT television ripple effect — reflective, slightly melancholic, solitary journey at midnight.

VIII. A Public Zoo Exhibit Exhausts Its Limits

IT'D NEVER HAVE OCCURRED TO ME THAT I MIGHT BE EXPERIENCING "AGORAPHOBIA" had it not been suggested to me by BUGSY* (name changed) upon a chance hill-side encounter perhaps two winters past, I can't remember, time's collapsed, my temporal lobe's a dessicated ass, truncheon-battered brainblunt hiss of an asp.

It's not that I don't go outside, I'm practically a vagrant.

I just go vertiginous.

When I'm having a shame fit.

And it's often.

And it's off. Off with his head. And it's on. It's on. Hung with heart's thread.

IX. You Know They Don't Put Key Changes in the Music Anymore

The dog is an orbiting extension.

He expands me.

Together we hunt for trash and crumbs and attention.

He pisses freely while I must feign civility.

Or seek dark corners.

→ 𝙆𝙀𝙔 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀 Follow orders. Off the ledge. You've got the horses to pull a sled. Pulped pants and dead webs.

X. Trace a Treasure Trail on a Rya Rug (Ecstatic Copius)

Listen, a lesson. I beseech thee discretion. Be stealthy in thy wealth. Be silent in confession. . Red Ferrari obvious. The cops will probably follow us. You should learn to shake a tail. Double-tracks and cover trails. You're up to your tricks in faking failed. Invoke my lips and feel five nails. Talon Braille. . Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Headset on Anne Boleyn. Let's roll. Rugs spin.

░░ 16-BIT NEO GEO — BOSS FIGHT / ECSTASY DEALER / WHITE SUIT / PANTON RUG ░░

Simplified SNK Neo Geo 16-bit arcade game boss fight: ecstasy dealer in crisp white suit, attire clearly visible and distinct — super-fluffy modern rug with abstract geometric designs and Verner Panton-style lighting — simpler pixelated graphics, bright but not overly complex colors, retro arcade feel.

XI. Nonstop

I sought stimulus. I found no end to it. Filed to a point.

Waived pages. You've got great taste. Ageless. Sagacious placement. Lit subterfuge. Lead with the good news. Get on the good foot. Spring heeljack. Call that one back. Star sixty-nine. Starflyer wind. Spyglass cantata. Nonstop demand.

. Criminal rhythm. A gait fit for leg irons.

XII. The Sole Fell Off Today (I Was Reminded)

WHEN THE NAME DROPS,
AS IT SOMETIMES DOES:

I once had a brief interaction with Val Kilmer at an art fair.

We were wearing the same shoes.

A decade old.

Paul Smith.

Black plaintoe derbies.

Purple laces.

Carnaby carnival. Glimpse of a cannibal. Loud. Click heels. March on. .

I bought mine in New York.

Tokyo Joe.

His?

Hell, I don't know.

I hadn't known who he was at the time. Or that he was him. So to speak. I'm not a film fan. Just a flim-flamming freak.

XIII. For Want of Wet

Accursed, Accursed, I Bid You Hell-Worsened!

When he met the djinn, He was issued a curse. A dryness in the throat. A neverslaking thirst.

░░ 16-BIT NEO GEO — RAIN-SOAKED LA NIGHT / "LIQUOR" NEON GREEN BLADE SIGN ░░

16-bit SNK Neo Geo style: rain-soaked Los Angeles night scene — one vertical neon green blade sign reading "LIQUOR" attached to liquor store, the only text in image — reflections of neon sign on wet dewy streets — moody atmospheric urban environment — vivid and memorable, classic 16-bit arcade graphics.

XIV. My Train Will Come (Skeletal sketch for an alcoholic mania.)

Starring principal actors:

BOGDAN (Not Bogdan):
A humble, easy-going liquor store employee.

and

THE THIEF:
A thief.

Coughing, blowing smoke, ice rattles in a glass, the talking is endless:

→Stealing from Bogdan.

→Busted by Bogdan.

→Apologizing to Bogdan.

→Bribing Bogdan w/ a $20 bill.

→Bogdan refuses.

→"Well hell, I'll give it to you one way or another," drunk.

→Buying $20 worth of lottery tickets.

→One ticket hits, $50.

→"You're my good luck charm," drunk.

→Buy Powerball ticket, tear it in half.

→Wake up tomorrow afternoon, scumbag o'clock.

→Hungover malaise day.

→Find out about nightfall the ticket's Hit.

→Go down to liquor store, Bogdan not there.

→The clerk working explains:

→Bogdan's name is not "Bogdan."

→Won't give up much else.

→Thief obviously does not explain reason for line of questioning, raising suspicion.

→Attempt to locate "Bogdan."

→Descent into underworld.

YOU
SEE
WHERE
IT'S
GOING . . . (but do you see HOW?)

XV. A Range of Exclusive Language

Nocturnal diarist. . Succumber servile sat-still human table pinhead pinwheel. A job a mop a bucket you think it's glamorous it's not. Mock it fuck it. A heaven worth levity. Prison's in scrutiny. Kick up the ants. The whole colony's in mutiny.

XVI. Potency

Strong shit, strong shit. Strength's tensile. Put the paper to the pencil. Not living up to potential. And you'll never live that down. .

You know I scarcely write in paragraphs anymore.

Feels like an outmoded form.

Nothing contains anything.

. Do you? Is it me? Or —

XVII. Head Up and Head on Down

REAL WORLD: A torn narrator, detuned. The servant class in masks. The rich out showing ass.

SCREENS: An appalling scroll through levels of hell.

REAL WORLD: Cracked sidewalks slab-backward slump-walking disaster.

SCREENS: The hulk of a mall with piped air and malice.

REAL WORLD: Alley-way street-strangers fucking on a jaundice-cast mattress.

SCREENS: Transactional sex with fractured hack actresses.

REAL WORLD: Blithering idiots dallying daily.

SCREENS: Post-human widgets tallying scaling.

XVIII. R.U.?

"Are you real?"

She asked.

Is it a drill or a bit?

Disbelief.

Frequency's high as shit.

They wonder now.

Sometimes.

Wonder how.

Sometimes.

If a voice could be embodied.

Graven images and velvet gravel.

Are you CGI?

Were you generated?

In a sense, maybe.

Genesis, maybe.

Carved-out baby.

Womb-clinging for life.

Cliff's edge grip.

Cut off by a-knife.

I'd wanted no part of this world. No part of this life. But I was a book overdue. So we severed in splice. And there is no do-over. For this hellish revue.

SO:

Do the get down. Get up. Do what you do.

OR:

Mold. Do as you're told. And scroll like a fool. You're either page six deep or you're under the fold.

presented in
FRAGMENTED REALITY

a subsidiary of
𝘟𝘌𝘕𝘖𝘊𝘏𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈
"Inevitability — Delivered."

                I AM A RAW CHARACTER.     IT IS OK.     THANK YOU.
            

SELECT ME? 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 . . . 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 / a / k / a ＪＱＤ
is a self-taught integrated media company
founded haunted and enchanted in 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚂, 𝙲𝙰.

░░ 8-BIT — RED-BLONDE MAN / KICKING PAPARAZZI CAMERA / CITY STREET ░░

Lower resolution early 8-bit arcade game style: man with red-blonde long hair, high cheekbones, angular jawline, sunglasses, wide-brimmed hat, crisp open-collared suit without tie — dynamic kicking pose, smashing camera held by paparazzi — paparazzi in casual attire, shocked — simple city street background, early video game graphics.

"Thank you . . .
Thank you." 💙

✦ Lost Eros, CA · Jan 2024.