A frost designs the towers of murder's paradise. The "windows" of your mind are blue with winter frost. Original by me, Paul, on my Takamine 12-string. The video is of a sketch I did in NYC in '65. It turns into blue blistered plastic slowly.
If dem cats could speak they tell you dem humans got one real serious reality check problem here. The severe chronic denial of the mall rats, the ailment "mallrattitis, has afflicted our little twinkle-toes be-bop dancer, oblivious the disguised and obfuscated perils already upon her, has her ensconced in the icy blue cameo of the dancer of oblivion.
Melt the frost of changelessness of murder's paradise where it's income is death-related. Work on putting some positive emotions such as love into the soup circulating in your rust red bloodstream, drop out of the heartless status quo that has normalized you into an automaton and you'll realize it's a kind of "frost" or frostiness of mind; a brain warp that's created the untenable situation that surrounds you.
The visual is a digital art series based on a drawing I did of a go-go dancer in the sixties, I call "the bopper". It's the kind of visual I needed to epitomize the boutique world of the human mutant, who accepts the synthetic environment as reality without question and in their tidy oblivion retain a kind of do-nothing sanity that makes them appear more coherent than those on the outside struggling with real existence.