I’M JACK NOISE

Dead media, living voices. Secrets never told and tales well telt. Currys for Grundigs, Dixons for Sanyo. Smiths for C60s. Greasy grapples and broken glasses. Flies in ointment, beetles under carpets, custard powder on your tape, TVs that go pop. Danger in water at any depth, no heavy petting, Run to the Hills. I don’t know if you’re me or I’m you when we talk like this. I just want you to listen. My friends.

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