Notes from Palace Walls
Last night I crashed Daddy’s Tesla and the evening sky exploded into moonlight and in the
wreckage and in the radiance I saw rays of an archangelic clarity, the face of Gabriel, soft and
sovereign, holding golden lilies, saying I must reevaluate my definition of success.
I’ve been seeing the Madonna every night in my dreams lately, or at least some belladonna of
false hope. Her holy hands clench around my wicked throat and I suffer to be revived in her hold.
Oh god I want to be revived I need a life supply of lullabies not these silvery threads popping
pills nor the fear facing my sterilized sunset-colored impression of reality. It’s all pretend, my
friends are paper cutouts, falling flat at the slightest breath.
I am reevaluating my definition of success.
I pull hymns from my head that haven’t been remixed yet, they venerate the rundown cabaret,
shameless heartache, naked bodies thrown into space. Behind my puerile American dream it’s all
parting and departing, construction destruction reconstruction redestruction flames on the
mattress, on the walls.
Get me off this acropolis. In my alcoholic dreams of Her I unleash it: I am overloaded,
undernourished, treading undercurrents of an unremembered lifetime. When we’re dancing
mechanically on the rooftop I always ponder jumping off, setting my status to ground zero,
where no one can watch me. We’re holding hands they’re all colorless and cold, going to no
Heaven, overdosing in cities of gold. I float along these strobe-lit roads that go nowhere and I
can’t stand it. I can’t stand the palace. I can’t stand the drive.
But when we crashed I felt alive I was trembling all over heartbeats in my eyes and in the sky.
Insobriety. The taste of blood. Angelic devastation. There is no vision of prosperity, which is so
uneventful anyway, a term that manufactures success on cyber riches and swimming pools
filtered by dissociation. No it was a vision of sincerity and the Angel was promising me things
more beautiful than chandelier lights and as they pulled my limbs from the crushed and battered
automobile he showered me with lilies and as I gazed skyward from the stretcher he kissed
between my eyes, he set me alight, something shivered in the blue night and I saw clearly a
shimmering absence, they call it paradise
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