you cannot run from what you cannot run from anymore

separate common sense from the intoxicating flux

would it not be the answer that you forgot the question

all the last days speeches to the mirror

and I saw myself somewhere in the farther distance

deep in the reflecting inside where the unknown was lingering

the man who could save the world could not save it

he disappeared in turmoil holding his breath before entering

another vanishing demented face becoming memory

forget me

remember me

it is all good

<to reveal the video click on the picture>

I take the underground at night. to read the book in which god hates us all. this is my asylum to escape the pointless snippets of conversation and shun the search for a gap for my empty gaze.

but today I hear the laught of a little crowd among the passengers. in the first moment I do not see it is dedicated to the jacket of the book. aiming at the eyes of two pale spiritualists. I find them embarrassed looking floor. and still I am aiming at their faces with my paper crucifix. this moment belongs to me then my destination arrives.

I go upstairs the book jammed unter my arm and my hand is looking for a cigarette.

I insist.

this is the true wrath of my divinity.

<to reveal the video click on the picture>

the murmur turns into whispering. the whispering streams into a heartbeat coming from a metal box down to his bare feet. an echo resounding like a voice from outer space tempting the preacher to give you a tale from the woman on the moon.

what scent is so innocent? so unharmed? you are longing for letting dementia run. to see her fly. to witness surprises pulsing dimly as you are taking part in the fiction that surrounds us. in the imperative of friction. and the ribbon that connects us.

all the shots taken by boyhood fine art ©2020

1250 days later we decided not to leave the outside world unscathed. especially those that have not yet been infected with the inimitable sound of 'trouble beautiful trouble'. you might think that we are blowing our own trumpet. for the sceptics among you: stream. add a glass or two of red wine while listenting. darken the room or wait for sundown. either way you might get there. for the inveterately and incurably ones the same will suffice. 30,000 hours later it still had been trouble. beautiful trouble.

after all the shameless glorification we know what love we owe to our tireless supporters and the coming future ones.

kafka punk is a survival skill!

xxx
Vincent Hadriga & been Orelian

<for your ecstatic pleasure click on the picture>

gazing through the tambourine, hiding behind veil of hair, rewarding the beholder with a WarHoles'ian mien...

what stories could have been told taking their shape at the b12 in leipzig with our beloved partners in crime from baits.

the forgotten stand for the snare drum down the weeping hole that once was our haven. the severed v-belt and no damsel wearing stockings to save the van was in sight. but still there were the two spanish architects willing to kill the time. and I was hungry shopping for perceptions. I tiptoed along the corridors without missing out on watching the light  disappear behind closed doors.

where are we going you might ask.

shut your eyes little amateur and expose yourself.

it is still odd to write about the departure of our beloved drummer boy and mother superiour Ion Illus. though the request has been expressed months ago. though in all those years together never a bad word has been spoken between the three of us or nothing of the sort.
it is the little side effect called life forcing everyone to make decisions for our own benefits. change your stars and find another tomorrow. given the fact none of us three wants to get in the way of any other the remaining two respect his wish wholehearted.
but this is not the end. it is an open door to another transformation with acquainted sounds and faces and unknowns.
soon we all shall know more.

Vincent Hadriga & been Orelian

friction | ribbon | fiction - the new album of WarHoles is finally out now on vinyl and only available in a limited number of 100 pieces.

pre-listen, order the vinyl  or buy the digital album at WarHoles' presence on bandcamp.

look at all the stars we made oh I hate when they fade...

WarHoles

... said the man wrapped in silk to the place called fluc

look at all the stars they made and listen when tell you how to fuck them all out.

this is no fiction.

this is friction ribbon fiction.

friction ribbon fiction is the revealings.

friction ribbon fiction is the tale getting out of plot.
friction ribbon fiction is the malignity and mercury.

friction ribbon fiction is the creatures in your hair.
friction ribbon fiction is the word that purges you from sin.

let us move forward to the beat of our hearts...

nov 7th, /w ultima radio & intra, fluc, vienna - free entry

six years ago a dystopian filmlet was made:

the man who could save the world

three years later the second track with the eponymous title was released on WarHoles's first record 'trouble beautiful trouble'.

the original intention was to bring the movie and song together as the first single release back in 2016.

now shortly before the second album 'friction ribbon fiction' arrives the brainchild returned.

shut it off. shut it down. it's getting out of hand.
my darling, all I want from you:
come and see the man