keskiviikko 29. maaliskuuta 2023

March of the Mallet Men in the Potrait Hall


"Damn it, I'm suck up a cigar."

(Choose English subtitles from the cc mark.)

tiistai 21. maaliskuuta 2023



Some time ago, Knup ended up with a face-lift job offered by the village of Nobhill, which had many bad encounters with financial management messes, which his enlightened friend calls, and not without reason, a stain on sweet optimism boat frontal image of oozing unwarranted salt of pessimism kayak. It is undeniably true, because if we continue in terms of water goers, it can be stated that the sail stuck in place by an anchor that was badly glued in the turds the work platform provided by the village of Nobhill, was swinging miserably back and forth in its small white mass of experience, which was once dug in the eye of a swamp that served as a landfill. Nobhill is known around the world as a specialty where the harbor is a hole in the middle of the swamp.

Some underworld agent could call Knup's new job as the last chance to grab something more valuable than his own forehead skin to fill his pocket, because the new career was a soft stomach-churning high after a few notches lower success in the city. He was chosen as the third leg of the head that draws the guidelines of the village of Nobhill, and his job description was to be involved in keeping the bulls away from the monkeys, as well as to cook up images of the winds of change and one that would include popular phenomena, as well as something small that would connect to the world.

Someone who doesn't understand might be surprised by the decision-makers' desire to whistle up strong storms, when even the old damages had not been repaired from the sail of the common bite, but Knup brought out that he was ready to exchange the poor hag's apron barn rags of a dark autumn storm for the splendor of the hems of heavenly party dresses, and the breezes of summer .

Knup started with energy already on his first day at work. He killed a happy fly from the office window, a strange spider from the door, and already in the afternoon he hit the guilt-ridden Birgit on the head with a folder, because he had come into the room with a strange grin on his face and presented a service offered by some senseless orphan for the village of Nobhill without asking, i.e. something that Knup itself would gladly sell high up in the cities of dry-lipped cash flows, because even didn't understand anything about the item in question and would understand what such a thing, including its creator, should be wrapped in, before anything would pour into the right mold.

Knup's cousin's daughter was said to be able to draw a dog's head that looked just right. When it came to his own creative strengths, he knew how to edit with a delete button, manipulate media with his own hands, with the middle of his hands, and move forward in everyday life with his back, in parties with his feet lightly, and in a neat and well-dressed way.


Knup was learning from the very beginning at the testing steroid meeting of Nobhill village's frame development, where bold openings were made for machines, and wigs containing ecological hair were wafted, as well as the FasADHD strategy that emphasizes public image. As the Donkey's Bridge of Sighs, the birds messing up the road and other similar rooks were sent to hell.

Since Knup had a Bum deep way in life, a spouse who made a strong impact in the public, with a rally background, a championship-class heavy tie around on neck and danger tattooed on right buttock, the way was open to the Nobhill's top, to the family of values. So it was obvious that Knup was also invited to the central stock exchange vacuums of the frame mill, a few business contacts, and to a long atmosphere meeting ordered for a credit reporter in an armored taxi, which was loaded with local sheep sharpened on a skewer and a few baskets of delicately delivered ingredients. Sparkling was poured into Knup's glass from a bottle with a picture of a hummingbird on the side, while Bum's was poured from a thick glass bottle with a black label and where the drink was uniformly pale yellow and without delay.

Knup took the next day off from the meeting because on knee was a hurt point. However, for the matter didn't go to work until three days later because there was some ambiguity in calendar. In the meantime, things on desk had become congested, because the cheap large-prints of the office, with hefty delivery costs, had gone zig-zag in some obscure terminal, in addition, a message had arrived in the e-mail asking if would buy a raffle that supports climate change. Knup answered right away and promised to buy one. Why not, murmured quietly, the weather had always been private problem and besides, based on job description, part of the change.

The following weekend, Knup thought to be in a hurry to know where, but surprise was to found that was in complete peace in a stone age village behind Nobhill. A very pleasant couple offered a bone. The knob shook it quite contentedly even though the sock had remained on the foot.

The next day, which was already much later, Knup was in a middle-of-the-day dream in which a thin woman dressed in a black robe told him that the plague would inherit a house living with a sweet anno domina. In a distant major studio, it was only laughed at, even if the prediction would come true long before the fool's dust settled on the tattooed part of the sex-addicted murderer of the new series.


Knup also laughed, because understood that the plague only meant the collapse of the ecosystem and the continuation of the rise of man, as well as the draining, above all and thus, of conveniently preserved values ​​into a cleverly designed labyrinth, with plastic chairs and where strongly effervescent drinks were served.

Despite the many exciting twists and turns, Knup was relieved that after the weekend it was possible to catch up with time and climb again with a fork grip higher on the translucent tango, raising Nobhill. But fate decreed otherwise, and already on Monday had to go to a remote forest village and in time bale planks and swim in a stream in a river that sawed a wooden subject back and forth, just like the developer's first foot under the table in an open meeting, when some lunatic had complained about being eliminated from the path of the children of the highest class about the manifestation of a wise life, the ennoblement of a mass murderer, the spread of the smell of a rotten mother spreading from under the hem of a dress made of war naphthalene, and other successes related to the preparation of world-class Nobhilled triangles and squares.

In the chosen subjects, that previous ruler, the wood slicer, the father of the barbed hell and a tough rascal, had also excelled, because some coppersmith had cast the shape of his head in relief and it was bolted to an artificial stone to tell that it had a head.

Knup couldn't get anywhere among the witches and ghouls walking around with ashtrays around that waist, and soon Knup was even under the train, which sloped so close that the hem of the official shirt rose up to lower chin, revealing the much-swollen knees, as well as the upper part of the bluish-red-green backside. At that same moment, Knup received a call from the secretary of the department that had flown into the middle of the creation of the world of his workplace, who told, that one of the purchasing masters of the court down the road had collapsed in the corridor, because some resident ruin of Nobhill village served on the brink of insanity had managed to sneak into the department that was taking care of things and this rowdy had yelled an important boss to the ground.  So a change was needed in the situation that would bring that master back to his master's chair, because the guy is not left in the corridor, even though there are usually only safe financiers and money colleagues who miss Chinese mines, licorice ribbons tents, American tin horns, and adventure tourists who draw from them, each of whom has a cooler reserved, a jar of braun pudding and a wreath-like sticker danced in the niche of the bar for warmth.

There was a demand in the air that there should be landings of the dead cruising around the village, without flights protecting the masts, in addition, the tradition of the ass rocking chair should be spread to be performed outside of Easter as well, and ropes with ropes should be carried here and there to smoke in the money-brothells, and all this without the masks of plague that restricts the breathing of the citizen of the free world, hand-tossed booze and any prohibition signs.


On the other hand, the core competence of the village of Nobhill thought that the spirit of success hovering over it is in no way in danger, because the feeling of its excellent security runs around and licks the right people and defends every solid doorknob, gunpowder and silk track with almost the same frenzy as one's own pole. With one steaming will like a factory or cannon barrel, it has always raged against the enemies without reading the bathroom mirror. The new knees avenge the horrors of the grandmother who hid in the oven in the olden days with horn blowing, displays of military equipment and gaming machines, when she, after crawling out of her smelly hiding place, saw the brave cuts of the soldiers' gallantly shining bayonets on the small body of the hidden child.

But if you bite someone in the eye, you also will hit in the head with a stick. The peace of many shy eggs and nobhiller is already just history, as is the old hatred. The Greater Wrath is a little too big for the market of small people, although it is probably big enough to keep the cauldron of horror rumination always hot. Long Wrath is far too long for the big little ones of today's short formula, and little hate is of course too short for the little big ones. But the plague, on the other hand, already sounds better, even though it resembles modern times.

No one needs hats and caps. Not even a crocheter, crawling out of a cave in the ruins of a sawmill, a conger of ego caches and a sharing hero of nature experiences, whose own logo beret tore into a narrow metal stick sticking out of a concrete block, reminiscent of the Eiffel Tower. Merde. It's real crap in French.

Dickbrothers behind everything, who enjoy their own shadows, have a great responsibility for the affairs of the villagers rampant around the village and they put in a long day collecting jam for the bonus box, so their creamy white suits and shoes are treated at regular intervals and just in case with sauna protection and tar feather Teflon, despite the fact that the chickens live with their feathers carefully guarded , the tar is in pastilles and the village's brushes have moved from the middle of the palm to the beach sand in Thailand.

In the rocks of different parts of the village of Nobhill, there were large footprints of the devil, created in ancient times. The members of the meeting who were pulling the weight of the responsibility of the current circles also wanted to leave a mark on the breeches of the future knees for contemporaries to wonder about during the time of paying the bill, and in these projects. when the development spike of the knights got hot, lit a fire on the carpet and from the carpet to the ceiling, and when everyone lost their memory as the growth porridge burned to smoke on the table.

But in good time, before all that däbädäbä mire, Knup had caused a couple of damages of an impressive magnitude that caused a big dent in the city's coffers, so he was rewarded before he left with a settlement sum, a sports car and a city pennant. Bum got a golf club and a bottle of cognac.

Looking from behind, from the front, and from the side of the world built on a fart and the values ​​of the world inhabited and dominated by all of humanity, everything is fine and life can go on until the higher forces decide, in other words, for the time being without a remix, part two or a completely new type of media sex.

The bad & poor translation from the Finnish original script " PYRKYLÄ "

torstai 3. marraskuuta 2022



open English, Spanish or Japanese subtitles from the cc symbol at the bottom of the video

“i put together what are now fragments, 

riddles and cruel coincidences” 


Mikael Fortelius



maanantai 10. lokakuuta 2022

Kauttua 22


"... And evening is night - I hurry to my blue heaven"

lauantai 30. huhtikuuta 2022



keskiviikko 23. maaliskuuta 2022

dead soul

   d e a d    s o u l


ПОСЛЕ ДОЖДИЦКА В ЧЕТВЕРГ ( = after rain on thursday, a russian proverb)

 A short film, born 8.2.2022

The burning part of dead souls 

 A short film, born in February 2022

"The road is dusting like thick smoke under your feet ..." (Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls)

Andjust / topical


An honor to all who are able to control the beast that dwells within us

sunnuntai 11. huhtikuuta 2021



the audience is asked to be silent and eventually leave the area as instructed

tiistai 15. syyskuuta 2020

Poor Simple Things part 1 & part 2


Poor Simple notices its boring life in the middle of nothing, 

so it travels through a village of dead business 

to the New World where there is everything.

Utopia ?

keskiviikko 18. maaliskuuta 2020

Strange - Art

Strange - Art 
The short piece from the long audio play movie "Strange"

the film is not free to watch at the moment

Introduced by Jöns Carlson

perjantai 4. lokakuuta 2019

Levitation on a Concrete Surface


"You don't want this. 
The pressure at your temples grows and you start to gulp. 
There's no point in these things, in the past, 
you think, although you know, 
of course, that it's not true."

by Mox Mäkelä 2015
narrator : Rami Rusinen, translation : Lola Rogers

perjantai 23. elokuuta 2019




torstai 13. joulukuuta 2018


 o ∞ O . ° o

sunnuntai 28. tammikuuta 2018

finland 2029


sunnuntai 5. helmikuuta 2017


       a softer life of metal...  


sunnuntai 14. elokuuta 2016

Violet's summer


maanantai 2. toukokuuta 2016



"This is development, the goofs smile while standing by the road of the poor municipality..."

keskiviikko 20. huhtikuuta 2016

watch out for human nature feet

w a t c h   o u t   f o r   h u m a n   n a t u r e    f e e t 

sunnuntai 6. joulukuuta 2015


busker and academic corner

by mox mäkelä

sunnuntai 3. toukokuuta 2015



script, video : Mox Mäkelä
translation : Kristian London
narrator : Zoë Chandler
maanantai 6. huhtikuuta 2015

trailer of
"Night Ship Doc"

forum :

tiistai 14. lokakuuta 2014

camp @

f r o m  :

perjantai 4. heinäkuuta 2014

Night Shift / Night Ship

                There is a coin on the bottom of pocket, it is like  m o o n . . . 

                 N i g h t    S h i f t                                       

                 N i g h t    S h i p

tiistai 21. tammikuuta 2014

f o o d 0 0 6


Do you hear the food of hound, how deep, brown and faster than mouth!

f o o d 0 0 6 

remix version of "f o o d 0 0 - head data"
original script, video, editing, sound : Mox Mäkelä
read by robot,  translation of translation by robot

tiistai 10. joulukuuta 2013


 "If I dint have any hairs I’d be real quiet or else I’d fly off."

script, video, sound, editing : Mox Mäkelä
read by Zoë Chandler
translated by Kristian London

tiistai 5. maaliskuuta 2013

dear internet discussion forum

W h o    l o v e s    L o u s e    L i n t  ?

script, video, editing : Mox Mäkelä

maanantai 18. helmikuuta 2013


"There are stars in heaven too but they don’t come down..."

script, video, sound, editing : Mox Mäkelä, read by Zoë Chandler, translated by Kristian London

maanantai 4. helmikuuta 2013


"One might ask if they got the uniform from the designs of certain well-known guru, 
but they might just as well ask if guru copied Nicrophorus."

script, video, editing, music, sound : Mox Mäkelä, read by Frank Boyle, translated by Lola Rogers

torstai 27. joulukuuta 2012

sos - media loves you


script, animation, sound, editing: Mox Mäkelä

maanantai 19. marraskuuta 2012

the edge

"Maybe I really am too close to the edge, because I walk around in the open air."

script / video / sound / editing : Mox Mäkelä, read by Anna Rawlings, translated by Lola Rogers

torstai 25. lokakuuta 2012

outchilder / greenpeace

                                         text / video / sound / editing : Mox Mäkelä
                                         read by Zoë Chandler, translated by Kristian London