VIDEOBITS [an ever-expanding/shifting cabinet of curiosities]














Few (Culture-Type) Things are More Sickening and/or Irritating than Hyper-Capitalism’s Disingenuous (winking) little Self-Critiques (with Big Budgets). Bonus points for the oh-so-knowing “yuppies with coke” rant. You mean yuppies who drive BMWs, surely…? BUY A BEEMER AND SAVE THE WORLD! Bill Hicks is screaming into his pillow in Hell…




This song has been trivialized, over the decades, by Top 40 over-familiarization, but how many of us ever knew the complete text? The words are a Ballardian masterpiece of Rust Belt, road-racing apocalypse; they’re so good they make you dizzy with nauseated loss to contemplate how Springsteen shrank himself, from an inspiring Coastal Visionary to a silly Faux-Flyover Action Figure, in the golden corrosion of the 1980s:

In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream  At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines  Sprung from cages out on highway nine,  Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin’ out over the line H-Oh, Baby this town rips the bones from your back  It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap  We gotta get out while we’re young  `Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run 

Yes, girl we were

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend  I want to guard your dreams and visions  Just wrap your legs ’round these velvet rims  And strap your hands ‘cross my engines  Together we could break this trap  We’ll run till we drop, baby we’ll never go back  H-Oh, Will you walk with me out on the wire  `Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider  But I gotta know how it feels  I want to know if love is wild  Babe I want to know if love is real 

Oh, can you show me

Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard  Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors  And the boys try to look so hard  The amusement park rises bold and stark  Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist  I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight  In an everlasting kiss 

One, two, three, four!

The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive  Everybody’s out on the run tonight  But there’s no place left to hide  Together Wendy we can live with the sadness  I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul  H-Oh, Someday girl I don’t know when  We’re gonna get to that place  Where we really wanna go  And we’ll walk in the sun  But till then tramps like us  Baby we were born to run 

Oh honey, tramps like us Baby we were born to run 

Come on with me, tramps like us Baby we were born to run

BORN TO RUN was released as a single on August 25th, 1975… and George Miller’s post-apocalyptic, high-camp road-racing operetta,  MAD MAX,  was released April 12, 1979. Coincidence?

GOOSE: [describing the supercharged Interceptor that’s idling, in particular the supercharger itself] You can shut the gate on this one, Maxie… it’s the duck’s guts! BARRY: [excitedly] She sucks nitro… with Phase 4 heads! 600 horsepower through the wheels! She’s meanness set to music and the bitch is born to run!



****WTF in a Good Way



****WTF in a BAD WAY

People… even intelligent people… have been ruined by Television. They expect… they DEMAND… a laugh-line. But what if there is no fucking laugh-line? Do you just stubbornly, consumeristically, impose one in order to avoid facing the Ugly Truth the material was meant to reveal? Apparently. (Entire reading HERE)









LETTERS TO THE EDITOR [letters are vetted for cogency and style]

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