by Danielle Pafunda on Mar.04, 2013
In the wound of a stabbed cosmos, Rauan Klassnik’s moon–kin to Plath’s moon bald and wild–bucks against despair. A melted copy of La jetée, the ashes of the cult of Diana, the live-dead fingernail, fragments from the holocausts that feed us. Scabbed————Lobsided——Cunning & Swift——, Klassnik is not afraid of the cinema. Anytime we devour the queen, we will be forced to vomit her back up, a clean saint out of our foaming mouths. A pretty swell in the music.
We’re not afraid of the cinema. Which houses all our night-mares. We’re not afraid. Marble, Tequila, Rotted, Flapping. The myth of biological sex, the myth of biological stability [l]ike cathedral meat. Wrapped in a thin red towel.