an unnumbered nOIR:Z | Daniel f Bradley with Hart Broudy
We are private detectives back from a pilgrimage. Our office is secluded. We discover torn images from magazines, so we switch to strictly-hardcore concrete and visual poetry, which sells so well that we strip the shelves of literary press propaganda. We move from the basement to street-level. Business thrives, and the Zap Gun Bomber develops brisk international mail-order sales of blewointments, cosmic chefs’ and glamour pin-ups.
The Zap Gun Bomber knows this particular collaged cultural selection will offend. It’s assembled from torn physical and digital sex- and exploitation mags like Playboy, Saturday Evening Post and Popular Mechanics. Certainly not for the weak.