First saw it at the Pompidou, Paris; abreast one of those dippy basketball fishtanks of Koon’s, my first lover by my side, drunk on my early 20’s and travel.
Later on, I “owned” it, as a file in a folder or deep in the folds of an internet I never bothered to comprehend, some proto-icloud; already two laptops back.
Most recently I identified it in a bar, San Fransisco, while a home-girl’s new guy bought more rounds and told tales of incalcuable violence.
I always liked it. A bear and a rat climb the alps and look down at stewing banks of nimbus. I am totes the bear. Or maybe, the rat.
Super dark Who Framed Roger Rabbit cgi. Weird child molestation undercurrents. Colin Farrell meet-ups in seedy alleyways with abused boys. Cute echindas & naked mole rats. Lotsa wizards shouting, “Evaporota!” Hollywood A-listers transform into other A-listers.
The hungry city, puking eyeballs. Sweet, secret-witch artsploitation. Baroque, stylish and the best kind of dumb. Sad and vicious. The neon demon lives in electrical currants coursing through toys for young girls. The neon demon hangs out by the sea, walks around the salt flats, writes letters home. Here’s the neon demon, his mouth on her mouth, her mouth on hers.
Satan preaches consent in this awesome psychedelic feminist sex witch anime. Looks like Paul Klee. Lot’s of medieval brouhaha set to acid jazz.
Hollywood witches dress as New England witches, brood over boys backed by Faith Hill. Toads born from dirt, spirits in the sand.