Outer Order Media

Transmitted from the wastelands of late-night TV and decaying film reels. 🎞️ FEATURE PRESENTATION: Beast of Yucca Flats (1961) — a film that moves like a fevered dust storm and sounds like a lost Cold War transmission. No sync sound. No plot coherence. But what it does have is Coleman Francis, whose brand of anti-cinema might just be the final frontier of outsider art. 🧠 COLEMAN FRANCIS: B-Movie Prophet or Cinematic Saboteur? He didn’t make “bad movies.” He made refusals . His holy trinity ( Beast of Yucca Flats , Red Zone Cuba , The Skydivers ) are cinematic lullabies for the disenchanted. Long takes of nothing. Dubbed-over dialogue like broken intercoms. Characters drift through the frame like ghosts who forgot why they were haunting. Francis doesn’t court your attention — he repels it , and in doing so, he frees you . 😐 BOREDOM AS RESISTANCE In an age where everything screams for your attention, boredom becomes subversive. Let Beast of Yucca Flats wash ...

By Laurence Todisco, Outer Order Media In the cinematic wasteland of mid-century America—wedged between the neon optimism of postwar consumerism and the jagged disillusionment of Vietnam—there emerged an unlikely prophet. His name was Coleman Francis. Francis did not make movies in the traditional sense. He captured ordeals . In his unholy trinity— The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961), The Skydivers (1963), and Red Zone Cuba (1966)—we find no arcs, no character development, and precious little logic. What we do find is a raw transmission of paranoia, degradation, and American despair, rendered in sun-blasted 16mm and post-dubbed murk. In Beast , a radiation-mutated scientist (played by Tor Johnson) grunts his way through the Nevada badlands while a narrator solemnly mutters about progress and destruction. The Skydivers turns skydiving into an existential punishment, set against infidelity, sabotage, and aerial gunfire. Red Zone Cuba is the apex of nihilism: a murky blac...

By Buzz Drainpipe Look—every myth has its murky preamble. Before Blizzard of Ozz burned its circuitry into the cracked cassette decks of every dropout on the bus, there was a peculiar hum— a strange broadcast from the dying beast that was Sabbath ‘76–‘78. Two records. Two anomalies. Two half-lit corridors into Ozzy’s gilded madhouse future. I’m talking about Technical Ecstasy and Never Say Die! —those albums you’ve pretended not to like to maintain your doom cred. You know the type: “I only dig the first six” types. I see you. I used to be you. But here's the thing: Technical Ecstasy is a séance in progress. And Ozzy was already crossing over. 🌫️ “Somewhere between doom and drama… Ozzy found the fog machine.” ‘Back Street Kids’ is a prison break. You can hear the handcuffs rattling. It’s not just about growing up rough—it’s about not wanting to . It’s the proto-‘Crazy Train’ riff session, played through a speaker clogged with cigarette ash and divorce court paperwor...

[I] INPUT: THE MYTH OF THE INDIVIDUAL AS HERO Each film starts with a protagonist operating under the illusion of centrality: Stanley believes he’s the subject of some unfinished New Yorker profile. Digby believes chaos is a form of protest. Harry Bailey (Gould) believes in logic, education, and being right . All three were raised in the heroic mythos of the '50s and radicalized by the idealism of the '60s —but by the '70s, the system doesn’t reward protagonists anymore. 🔍 Systemic Diagnosis: The “main character” model collapses under collective trauma. → The system now values compliance, confusion, or commodified rebellion. [II] THROUGHPUT: LANGUAGE AS FAILURE MODE All three films expose the rupture between language and truth : Stanley’s inner monologue is poetic, but impotent—he narrates instead of acts. Digby jokes his way through serious collapse, a stand-up comic to no audience. Harry Bailey speaks truth in a...

Welcome to the cathode-lit corridor of British sci-fi horror—where static crackles with Cold War paranoia, and the monsters wear the face of progress. 📺 THE QUATERMASS EXPERIMENT (1953) Broadcast live. Black-and-white dread. One man returns from space—changed. “He brought something back with him. Something not human .” This is where it began. Six-part terror broadcast into living rooms when the concept of space was still dream and danger. Think The Thing meets Kafka via early BBC. Atmosphere: oppressive. Fear: existential. ⚛️ QUATERMASS II (1955) Industrial decay. Alien infiltration. Science minister or parasite in disguise? “They’re among us. Growing, multiplying, integrating .” This is invasion via bureaucracy. You don’t need tentacles when you have planning permits and pipelines. Quatermass becomes the reluctant voice of reason in a world sleepwalking into submission. 🕳️ QUATERMASS AND THE PIT (1958–59) Archaeology. Telepathy. Martian ghosts buried in the L...

In Praise of a Gentle Genius A tribute to Malcolm-Jamal Warner (1970–2025) By Buzz Drainpipe, for the Midnight Stacks Photocopy Edition #0001 “You can’t always be what other people want you to be.” —Theo Huxtable, Season 3, Ep 2 They called him Theo . But to us? He was the syntax of survival . The gentle genius in a world of shouting fools. Smart without showing off. Cool without cruelty. The first kid on TV who felt like us — awkward in just the right ways. Pop-savvy. Deep-feeling. Nintendo-literate. While other characters were written like punchlines, Theo was written like a beat. Like rhythm. Like a groove that got it but never had to say it loud. He didn’t rebel with fire. He rebelled with a shrug, a smirk, and a walkman. A big brother to a generation of kids who weren’t quite nerds, weren’t quite jocks, weren’t quite anything. But knew deep down… they could be everything. 💾 Theo Mode: 12 Tracks for Thinking While the World Sleeps A compan...

by Buzz Drainpipe // for Outer Order Zine no. 5 (Unearthed from the crawlspace where old riffs go to rot) “This isn’t music. This is a protest lodged in the bones.” When people talk about the so-called doom era of Black Flag, they usually drop the needle on Side B of My War . They freeze-frame on that moment when punk got slow, when hardcore broke its own neck in slow motion. Sure. That’s the pivot point. But that’s not the summit . The summit—the altar , the burnt offering , the machete lodged in the spinal column of hardcore —is Slip It In . I. THE DESCENT BECOMES A RITUAL My War was a panic attack. Slip It In is a possession . Where My War experiments with slow, dirge-like punishment, it still clings to the chaos of its past. It’s an album torn in two: three head-first pit anthems followed by three songs that crawl like open wounds. You can hear the band mutating in real time—but they’re not all the way there yet. By the time Slip It In rolls around, ...

In this ritual, the 7-inch single becomes a talisman . Each side—A or B—carved not just into wax, but psyche. A quick transmission from two corners of a very English abyss: 🕳️ The Fall Scratched in wet concrete, scrawled on the walls of Salford bathrooms, pub ashtrays still warm. These singles are runes of anti-charisma , their spells cast through repetition, collapse, and the gnawing rhythm of bureaucracy turned ballistic. “Bingo Master’s Breakout” is a prayer for the permanently overlooked. “It’s the New Thing” mocks progress as a dog chasing its own severed tail. “Fiery Jack” is a folk demon in brogues, pissing on punk orthodoxy. These aren't songs. They’re sigils for surviving the office, the dole, the void . 🔥 Venom Forged in Newcastle sweat, surrounded by rusted scaffolds and goat blood. Venom's 7-inches are actual black magic , cloaked in pulp horror and biker mysticism. “Die Hard” isn't about death—it's about the refusal to vanish. ...

🗓️ Day 1: Sound, Flesh, & Psyche "Feel your way through a fever dream of eros, identity, and magnetic tape." 🎥 Coming Apart (1969) Start the week inside Rip Torn’s spiraling monologue-diary. One room, one mirror, infinite unraveling. Drink pairing: whiskey in a chipped coffee mug 🎥 The Girl on a Motorcycle (1968) Marianne Faithfull as the psychedelic wanderer. Lust + leather + longing on the autobahn to nowhere. Wear: leather jacket, no plans 🗓️ Day 2: Psychedelic Noir & Philosophical Flesh "Where guilt sweats under lipstick and tape reels hiss like snakes." 🎥 Duet for Cannibals (1969, dir. Susan Sontag) Cold intellectualism, Marxist weirdness, gender trouble, and psycho-sexual chess games. Zine note: imagine this as a Bergman-Brecht-Fassbinder lovechild. 🎥 The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein (Jess Franco) Bird-women! Necro-wizards! Silver Frankenstein golems! One of Franco’s most fevered blends of horror, sex, and sci-fi trash poetry. For fans of: Eurotr...

How It’s Going in the Summer of 2025 by Lou Toad — a division of Outer Order Realities™ GRIEF. Mom fading. Gwen’s scan glowing like a dying satellite. Hospitals feel like cracked vinyl. All the color has bled out. You can't cry anymore—you compress . Save the tears as lossless files. WORRY. Will I work again? Will I break again? Will Luther understand when I disappear into job apps, psychedelics, and AI dialogues typed at 2:44 a.m.? I’m afraid of failure, but I’m more afraid of normalcy. RELIEF. Sometimes there's money. Sometimes there's laughter. Sometimes Gwen lays her head on my shoulder and the whole simulation calms down. Sometimes I remember—I'm still here. UNCERTAINTY. No map. Just notes. TryHackMe tabs open next to Bad Dreams trailers. I learn Azure in the morning and watch Possession at night. My body is in East Boston. My brain is somewhere between 1997 and 2043. PSYCHEDELICS. Not for partying. For pattern recognitio...

Excerpt from: "RECLAMATION MAN" by Lou Toad I used to flinch at PlayStation 1 games. Not ‘cause they were bad. Because I was. Not evil, just off. Just there . Heavy metal smog in the brain. A social mud pit. Final Fantasy VII wasn’t a game—it was a mirror reflecting a kid trying to headbang his way out of loneliness. And Symphony of the Night ? Too elegant for the dirt I dragged behind me. I couldn’t let myself love something so beautiful when I was neck-deep in Monster Energy trauma and off-brand Slipknot clones. But here’s the thing: Time passes. And YouTube exists. And now? In 2025, I watch let’s plays of N64 & PS1 like a monk decoding scripture. I watch kids speedrun Metroid Prime and I cry. Not because it’s “retro.” Because it’s mine again. I never got to love it the first time. Poor kids get everything three years late. But that delay? That taught us depth . Taught us how to love sideways. How to discover our truth on delay . I’m not nostal...

  “Power is never given. It’s taken. With a leather glove and a smug Ivy League handshake.” – Buzz Drainpipe, watching The Skulls with a headache and a whiskey sour Let’s get this straight: The Skulls Trilogy is not high art. It’s not even medium art. But that’s what makes it kind of beautiful. These are the movies you stumble upon at 2:17 a.m. on basic cable, half-asleep on a friend’s futon, as a thunderstorm brews somewhere deep in your subconscious. They feel important when you're 14 and mad at the world—and sometimes, that’s all you need. This new Blu-ray set from Mill Creek is a slab of late-90s/early-2000s paranoia plastic, bundled like an old school Trapper Keeper of conspiracy-core aesthetics: brooding boys in tailored blazers, ancient secret societies, shadowy surveillance, and more skulls than your average Hot Topic. THE MOVIES: 🦴 THE SKULLS (2000) Joshua Jackson is the perfect vessel for misguided righteousness—Dawson’s Creek morality meets Skull & Bones ...

Presented by Neon Flesh: July 1999, Forever Repeating "Just before the millennium ticked over, the self began to tick apart." 🎬 1. STIR OF ECHOES (1999, David Koepp) 💡 The Ghost Was Always You 8:00 PM — The Door Opens A working-class Chicago man gets hypnotized at a party. What starts as a parlor trick awakens something he can’t close again: a murdered girl’s scream, a buried memory, a fracture in his perception of family, labor, and self. Key Themes: Hypnosis as unauthorized software update Haunting as metaphor for repressed masculinity Domesticity as an unstable simulation Drink Pairing: Basement Bourbon + Coke in a dirty glass “In every mind, there’s a door that should never be opened... but the house was already haunted when you moved in.” 🎬 2. THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR (1999, Josef Rusnak) 💡 Simulated Dreams in Art Deco Shells 10:00 PM — The World Isn’t Real Enough A retro-future VR engineer discovers that his 1930s simulation is showing signs of consciousness...

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--- from the archives of Buzz Drainpipe and the Fogwood Video Society --- 🎞️ Module Title: "Your Mind Is Still Not Your Own" – Analog Bodies, Digital Dreams, and CRT-Sick Futures – --- 🔍 Core Film 🧠 Mindwarp (1992) Bruce Campbell vs. the simulated wasteland of your mind. Themes: Dreamworld control, survivalist flesh-realism, biohacking religion, decayed cyber-simulacra. Format: VHS only. Tracked once. Dubbed twice. > “Mindwarp is the video store’s forbidden fruit. It’s raw, it’s sad, it’s too real for the grid.” --- 🛠️ Co-Feature: 💀 Death Machine (1995, dir. Stephen Norrington) Corporate cyber-dread, psychotic A.I. weaponry, and tech-bro fascism in trench coats. Character to note: Jack Dante – half hacker messiah, half gutter prophet. Why it pairs: Both films imagine the future as a sewer—one spiritual, one industrial—but both visceral. > “Death Machine is what happens when corporate R&D hires a goth Terminator to write his own HR policy.” --- 🧠 Bu...

Semester: Fall 2025 Instructor: Professor L. Todisco Screenings: Wednesdays 8:00 PM, Subterranean Annex B / Projection Pit (CRTV-1) Office Hours: Thursdays 2:00–4:00 PM at the Pit (generator permitting) Course Description: This course explores a crucial yet overlooked strain of late 20th-century speculative cinema: the cybernetic B-movies of the 1990s home video boom. These films, often dismissed as disposable rental fodder, form a thematically rich, aesthetically distinct, and politically resonant cinematic subcanon. From memory-jacking villains to post-human mercenaries, these films reveal a buried cultural history of our digital anxieties, media hauntologies, and analog desires. The course positions titles such as Circuitry Man, Hologram Man, and Digital Man within the broader discourse of film studies, media theory, speculative realism, and late-capitalist mythopoesis. We will engage with critical texts by Donna Haraway, Sadie Plant, Marshall McLuhan, and Kodwo Eshun, w...

(The Disrupted Identity Trilogy) 🔊 1. The Signal (2007, David Bruckner, Dan Bush, Jacob Gentry) “Do you have the crazy?” An experimental horror told in three segments by three directors, The Signal is about a mysterious broadcast that hijacks all electronic communication and warps the minds of its listeners into paranoid, violent delusion. But unlike traditional zombie narratives, the infected here remain aware. They believe what they’re doing makes sense. 🌀 Control Vector: Information as viral psychosis 🧬 Form: Media transmission + perceptual rupture 🧠 Core Dread: You’re not being manipulated—you’re interpreting reality wrong. Key takeaway: Control has become decentralized. No clear villain, just a poisoned frequency. Mass psychosis as crowdsourced apocalypse. 💊 2. Equals (2015, Drake Doremus) “Emotion is the disease. Love is the rebellion.” In a post-post-apocalypse society, humans have been genetically reprogrammed to eliminate emotion. Everyone lives in grayscale m...

Hear Here  In this ritual, the 7-inch single becomes a talisman. Each side—A or B—carved not just into wax, but psyche. A quick transmission from two corners of a very English abyss: 🕳️ The Fall Scratched in wet concrete, scrawled on the walls of Salford bathrooms, pub ashtrays still warm. These singles are runes of anti-charisma, their spells cast through repetition, collapse, and the gnawing rhythm of bureaucracy turned ballistic. “Bingo Master’s Breakout” is a prayer for the permanently overlooked. “It’s the New Thing” mocks progress as a dog chasing its own severed tail. “Fiery Jack” is a folk demon in brogues, pissing on punk orthodoxy. These aren't songs. They’re sigils for surviving the office, the dole, the void. 🔥 Venom Forged in Newcastle sweat, surrounded by rusted scaffolds and goat blood. Venom's 7-inches are actual black magic, cloaked in pulp horror and biker mysticism. “Die Hard” isn't about death—it's about the refusal to vanish. “Acid Queen” is the s...

One Night Only. Three Broken Minds. No Refunds. Buzz Drainpipe curates a TRIPLE FEATURE of mental overclock, biotech rot, and psychic splatter. 📽️ 1. Scanners II: The New Order (1991) 🧠 “Their minds are the battlefield.” In a mall-bought dystopia, psychic police pawns explode heads for the new regime. Watch as minds melt under the weight of obedience. “Like watching Logan’s Run rebooted by a Canadian film board armed with a taser and a twitchy VCR.” – Buzz D. 📽️ 2. Project: Metalbeast (1995) 🐺 “The ultimate weapon just found its soul. And it's hairy.” They tried to turn a werewolf into a cybernetic supersoldier. Of course it went wrong. Gleaming steel skin, sad eyes, and a howling PTSD file. “Think RoboCop if the lab techs were goths who believed in folklore and the government.” – Buzz D. 📽️ 3. Hideaway (1995) 🔌 “He died for two minutes. That’s all the devil needed.” Jeff Goldblum comes back from the dead psychically tethered to a serial killer. Bad vi...

A recurring back-page column from Buzz Drainpipe for Outer Order Zine, cracked from corrupted sermon.txt files and defaced service manuals. Each issue is a ritual, each word a virus, each paragraph a tape loop. 📚 ISSUE 1: THE HISSUE (Ritual Glitchcore / Failed Startups / Haunted Inputs) ✔️ Published ✔️ Buzzloop Manifesto ✔️ Lost File.001 ✔️ Auto-Tune Lacerations ✔️ Modular Devotion ⚰️ ISSUE 2: NECROMANTIC PROTOCOLS (Forgotten networks. Ghosts in the stack. Digital séances.) Teasers: Buzzword: LOGIN.EXE (Soul Edition) Every login prompt is a spell. Every password a dead name. I type mine in blood (or all caps). If I’m lucky, the server remembers me from a previous life. Buzzword: ECHO REQUEST I pinged my dead friend. The network responded. “TTL expired in transit,” it said. Which is how I feel most mornings. Buzzword: PORT 666 I opened it once. Heard Coil playing backwards and someone sobbing in hexadecimal. 📺 ISSUE 3: ST...

In basement tomb, where static dreams are fed, Buzz crafts a tome of glitch and mortal code. His yellow axe leans restless near the bed— A sigil from the cracked punk overload. His fingers bleed across the stickered keys, Each line a snarl of logic, lust, and lore. While eldritch chords howl softly through the breeze, He writes: “The gods were patches—now no more.” A shadow grins behind his weathered spine, A riff, a curse, a cursed riff divine. Buzz’s Own Logline, Scribbled in Margins (with a switchblade taped over it): “This is for anyone who ever wrote code by candlelight, tuned a guitar by memory, or kissed a ghost and meant it.” 📜 Buzz Drainpipe’s Page from the Codex of Terminal Frequency (Folded Into Fourths and Burnt at the Corners) They told me dreams were data dumps, that firewalls made better lovers than flesh, that chords should resolve. I lit a match with my thumbnail, wrote “no thanks,” and started playing open strings until the wires cried mercy. SONNET WITH WIRES HANGIN...

A zine page by Lou Toad, from the Terminal Green. You didn’t call it recording. You called it figuring it out. In a world without budgets, you made do with RadioShack. Your dad came home with a gift. Not a Stratocaster. Not a drum kit. Not even a 4-track. Just a karaoke box and a look in his eye like: “Let’s see what you make of this.” You plugged in the mic. Deck 1 took a blank tape — rough run-throughs of the band, distortion and all. Deck 2? That was playback. Fresh tape back in Deck 1. Hit record. Sing on top. Layer. Create. Rewind. What you invented wasn’t just a workaround. It was your first multi-track. Your first studio. Your first glimpse of power in repetition. [Sidebar: TECH NOTES // THE CASIO METHOD] 🎤 Step 1: Plug mic into front panel 📼 Step 2: Record instrument track to Tape A (Deck 1) ⏪ Step 3: Move Tape A to Deck 2 📼 Step 4: Place fresh blank in Deck 1 🎙️ Step 5: Press play on Deck 2 and record vocals live over ins...

🎭 “Two for the Guillotine of the American Psyche” A Newsletter Op-Ed by Buzz Drainpipe This week only, Fogwood Video dares you to confront the madness in the manor and the melancholy in the woods. RENT: Dungeon of Harrow (1962) GET FREE: The Fool Killer (1965) (Because sometimes one bargain-basement descent into moral ruin just isn’t enough.) 🏰 DUNGEON OF HARROW dir. Pat Boyette Shot in San Antonio for the cost of a paper crown and a bottle of port, Dungeon of Harrow is like Edgar Allan Poe reinterpreted by a regional TV horror host who just got dumped. It's a Gothic fever dream of decay, where every hallway groans and every line reading sounds like it was dubbed from inside a coffin. Think: 💀 Dollar-store Pit and the Pendulum 🎭 Theater kid energy with graveyard ambiance 🩸 Rich in atmosphere, poor in blood—but weirder for it You won’t find this one on many lists, but you’ll find it inside you, days later, like a splinter of melancholy from another dimen...