Tape Backup & Code Red

Lay black, and then align the playheads

You’ve pulled the tabs: one, plastic and rectangular; the other, aluminum alloy and loop shaped. It’s time to begin. Again.

Suck the juice, or is it oil pressed and canned? There’s an arrow on the delivery truck, outside your window. Oil comes from mash, like coconut or olives, right? Must be juice in this tall red can. Tipple without the alcohol. Buzz buzz.

Pressing the black plastic rectangle, loops of tape inside, into its mated slot on the rack of players, you get pumped with memories of late night to early mornings in basement spaces, all quiet and cave-like; other friendly dwellers, faces inches from screens, cutting out the stories from awkwardly shot Super-VHS video, blocks of marble. They’ll cut it freaky, and we’ll dance around the thick square TV’s replaying of us.

Later. Above ground. We’ll be watching these constructed images of ourselves. We’ll be laughing and rethinking our scenes, until well after midnight. It’s the process, and we’ll go back to the basement, to engineering, away from the light and the hordes of dormchow who we only know as ghosts in classrooms.

To improve our performances and angles and lighting and words, we’ll descend the stairs to our safe zone, again and again, surrounded by decades of equipment, like museum pieces, and we’ll click the buttons to frame the moments. It’s our only chance get it and keep it so. The dark, soothing spaces below.

K. Shawn Edgar | Play | Pause | Cut | Rewind



Yes, We’ve Got the Video

Better than the night, its shadows from artificial light
do capture more than mood and tone; more than our
little homage to the bountiful French New Wave movies
we soaked our innocence in.

I, the rogue–the antagonist in long, dark trench coat
followed you through jump-cuts and past stone walls.
You, the knife-edged lady in bangs and black bowtie
falling down tunnels and climbing back up ladders.
This is the short of a long, long intermission.

K. Shawn Edgar | Goth Trench | Mash Cadet | Crypt Keeper


Scanning the Brains of Ejaculating Men (a brief sans punctuation)

Stimulus Package

Volunteers all signed lined and primed

all ready to innocently poke the darkness

like astronauts launched breathlessly out there

So place the sensors dots and wires will tell

Input the numbers ignorance is skin deep

Tap the nerves all deep places are resounding

Play the videos the hands are ready and willing

The thoughts of men while spanking it on the record

tell of stuff to come of stuff that might

Now the doors are closed and the cameras rolling

Outcomes will come out dots and wires will tell

Scans will read jittery electric impulses black red and blue

| flat – peak – valley – peak – valley – peak – flat |

Corresponding thoughts unseen but simply deduced

Stabbing with my procreation sword of god daily

Spear-helmut thrusting replicas of myself deeply

Ensuring dominance of my selfish genes eternally

Blotting out fears of empty tomorrows directly

Dominating the weak to reap the booty fully

Scanning the brains of ejaculating men briefly

Orenco Project


The Orenco Project on Amazon.