At nighttime, we don’t so much transform, as revert. The bumps and boogies aren’t so much the lies of imagination, as they are the truths of that which is most innate. The light lies to us, gives us a lot of false security and rationalizations. We can in the light see all of our great buildings as accomplishments and testaments to how great and amazing and superceding we are. But at night, it’s just another place for our fears to hide, another cave to hide out in, and hope for at least one more night, death will drag it’s werewolf smile across someone else’s doorway.
I’m going to coin a term like primordial-futurism, unless someone has beaten me to it. It will be about Dracula driving a spaceship. The Halloween movie where Jason is in Space will be our manifesto.
Photo from the very amazing Kristamas Klousch
“She thought he was supposed to be a lion. At least in the head. But in the end he appeared to her as a terrifying fire wolf. He was hard to bare. But he liked blood like she liked blood, and they were friends.”
Demons are the way in which our imagination expounds on it’s most fantastic fetishes.
Hell fuckin’ yeah
Traum by alexander_binder
“Whatever, whatever Pet-ero-Chem-ical-Rob-ert-Plant, I don’t come into your house screaming Hindenburg at the top of my lungs.”
A line from my novel, which I mean…I’m still in the delirious state of finding it amusing. This is the level of my humor. Childish, stupid, and pop. But I dig it. I love writing dialog because it’s this kind of erogenous way of listening.
