"High level madmen side hard with the children and run for their lives in the ball universe of the Bang Master General. Like an animal kingdom of insane symbols, wretched mystery governs this golden dump. It is a street and alley puzzle shop into which a handful of savagely ignorant, brilliantly pitched minds have been inserted. Can they play with madness? Go and heed the “Master’s Warning”.  Riddling wastelands of camouflaged breakdown, here is where a filthy cast of peacock warriors, a bravado possee of high male exoticism, play out their mutual and conflicting destinies under the chilling scrutiny of - PUPPET. The plastic puppet sweats from the ominpresent cornice of his piercing brow.  His deeply unnerving ventriloquist’s smile can crush one’s poor esteem and accuse him before heaven of his blunder. Puppet is the Silent Witness, to some the very heart of self doubt, icy slopes, the art sin Jesus, the only begotten Puppet. Can these seductive madmen not break the golden rule?  Seeking to survive in trash cinema, this coarse art has been made to trade like savage furs bartered for civilian guns. You are invited to peer into this puppet watched world from outside the walls with the dogs and the sorcerers.  Here at last is the normality antidote. Ripped in half is the ancient balance symbol. Nostalgia for old blindfolds. Utopia is blown. Cynicism reeks. New world, detached world, a world not of this one but in it. Festivities of low esteem, rites of destruction, no longer is it grandma's livingroom out there. Eavesdroppers pilgrammage, dirtbag’s crystal palace, the klown sessions have ended, all the superhero outfits have party stains, the unwitting thespians of the half finished play are blacked out drunk. The economy is halloween. It is the brain that never gets dressed up that never gets paid." home