The children of posterity wandered around my feet. They pulled at my sleeves and led me through the halls where glass pavilions held remnants of vanished civilisations.
From the Late Petroleum empires, I witnessed chillam after chillamful. Shagvillle, with floorboards striped orange and blue. In the corner, a bass amp trapped in a feedback loop, next to it a scrunched up receipt referring me to Dr. Faustus. It was somewhere between a morgue and a greenroom.
The children whispered, “Once there was a jackal-headed god that weighed Dionysian and Apollonian desires.” One girl pointed to a glass cabinet,
“…located in the basement under the Polish National Church, it used to be a club, then a mental health outpatient clinic…”
Nature improved the next civilisation with steel, doctrine and fluorescent sleep. They mistook the Big Sky for liturgy. They tie-dyed the Shroud of Turin. They wrapped themselves in linen and sunlight. Sipped on bongwater and ate the food from deep freeze. Under their blue collared shirts were the marks of kundalini and tan lines.
I studied the relics that once defined degradation, only to find that these ancient folk were the true vibrating minerals. I walked around the enclosures, my guides had left me long ago. I turned over objects in my hands. I looted, lit up and left.
text I wrote for @james888888 's exhibition at cc
izzy806
prguitarman
areudirty
gummygunk
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
