I absolutely have to work on a piece for a group show today, but before I even get out of bed I must jot down this dream. Apologies for the sleep-drenched prose ahead.

Lumi and I were away in New York for a deathrock festival of some kind, thought it was neither DoV or Drop Dead. The entire thing took place in a lavish palace, the likes of which the U.S. have never seen – it was more akin to Versailles or Peter the Great’s Peterhoff home: white walls, gold molding and mirrors absolutely everywhere.

Lumi and I had adjoining rooms in the palace and were part of the event. With plans to meet up with her after the night’s festivities were over, I had just gotten to my room – outfitted in deep red velvet – and was waiting. It was well past midnight when I heard a scream, then another, until the whole place was vibrating. A stampede of make up, fishnet and leather was plowing through the pristine baroque hallways, obliterating everything in its path. It was a post-festival riot and it was stunning in its power.

The mass was wielding champagne bottles and flower vases, enthusiastically driving them into the mirrors, statuettes and unlucky passerbys. Eventually the chaos turned on itself and grew again. Now there was blood and fists flying and hysterical screaming. I wandered in the midst of this flurry, mesmerized by the funny contrast of white and gold against smeared eyeliner and broken glass, occasionally spotting familiar faces. Like in the olden days of club Ghoul School Lucas Lanthier, Michael Hans, even TJ Van Shock [whatever happened to him?] were all there, part of the madness. I was surprised by a feeling of serenity in the face of pure destruction, where nothing sacred remained. It was sort of like Tokyo – being comfortable in the eye of the storm.

A great spectacle! I only wish all my dreams were this way. To give you a contrasting example, the night before last I dreamed that Lumi and I were brutally gunned down downtown LA by a pack of gangsters. Pfft. To more positive destruction!