14 DREAMS OF DEATH is a collaboration between Ken Baumann, Blake Butler and M Kitchell--the latest release from the newest season
of Solar Luxuriance. Printed in an edition of 125 copies (the largest print run Solar Luxuriance has ever handled), 14 DREAMS OF DEATH is a 56 page book exploring the nightmare terrain of sleep and dogs and houses and cubes and dads.
4.25 x 7in, 56 pages
Words by Ken Baumann, Blake Butler and M Kitchell
Images by M Kitchell
Edition of 125
BEFORE WAKING I SEE DEATH it is not an event anymore it is a color, stretching sickly yellow infested in one thick knot of clouds, in all directions for ever, a hurting yellow covered in chromatic film, all whole bodies ache because of it and its buried sound, recording and preceding all places names and things so you have to ask. There is no guarantee if you continue forward you will be let out wake up keep awake, so. A gate, behind it the man who said the true story is the history of desire, he came by throwing himself out the window of his home. Small and feinting in his eyes is a picture the silk of color, sick, and clouds run quiet in front with aching wretched chrome. It runs through him like film and his open mouth projects a silent tack of light, beaming. You are
beyond the gate. Beyond the gate there is a narrative. Unthreaded, lost. Zones of difference between the beginning and end, linearity lost to space. This time you will meet yourself after death instead of before. The body you confront is colored in shades that range from earth to dirt with black and white in between.
“What once, where?” “Where dad was. With his fist up the bigger dad. Eternal skirt of skin off of an orb shat out of god’s mouth.” “Remember when dad cut his dick off with the split end of the oven tongs?” “It took hours. I caught the runoff blood and poured it back into his butt.” “Good job. You kept him alive then.” “I helped him swallow come. My come. Yours. The father’s. The neighbors’ father’s. The dads.” “He would fuck the come into our mom. The come would fill mom through the meatus to affix itself into the eggs, which in her ripe age had turned a baker’s dozen.” “Thirteen.” “Eat me. I know. He knows. They know. Shut your eyes.”
“The eyes are shut. The false dozen eggs would fill up. They would turn purple and be gay. They would fuck each other in the blood of our mother and make for each egg another thirteen eggs.” “The dogs.” “How could we have gone on without them. The screen inside the house was gluing up. It was too warm to come anywhere near without becoming black.” “Who is the blackest?” “We are.”
They smoked their own body parts and when they did it they realized that they already were gods.
Put a dog and a man in a cube and closed the cube and insulated the cube and
you couldn’t hear the man in the cube
“JKJFJE KLSDK YOUS HNKLJWE OUT OSN” was a desperate scream
no it wasn’t
no it wasn’t
no it wasn’t
the ghosts call and i come and they enter and