A door ajar, a window frosted:
Strange figures gather, drawing near,
Their shadows twisted, bent and crossed,
To sip joy sauce, gone rancid here.

While deep in slumber, toxic-bound,
The horned beast dreams of glory’s sound,
His performance, a miraculous feat,
Where praise and triumph seemed complete:

btt-ktt-tbt-ktt
btt-ktt-tbt-ktt
B t K t t b K t t b K t t
b K t
PfdBdbBdbBdbPfdBdbBdbBdbPfdBdb
K f t K K f K f t K K f K f t f
B t K B t K B tKB t K tKPehKBKKBPehK hhhhh K k K

He wakes from dreams so grand and high

With horns that throb and make him sigh

Last night's substance from hell's dark store

And liquor spilled across the floor

The beatbox rhythm slips away

As courage fades in morning's gray

His insecurities laid bare

Beneath the weight of raw despair

– Excerpt text by Luīze Nežberte

- Photo: Līva Priedīte

With thanks to Kaspars Groševs, Luiīze Nežberte, Līva Priedīte, Kristians Aglonietis, and Needs More Reverb.

With the support of: VKKF (State Culture Capital Foundation), Goethe - Culture Moves Europe, Flemish Government, Kunstplaats Vonk, Auss

NL

Poëtische tentoonstellingstekst door Luiīze Nežberte.

Met dank aan Kaspars Groševs, Līva Priedīte, Kristians Aglonietis en Needs More Reverb.

Met de steun van VKKF (State Culture Capital Foundation), Goethe – Culture Moves Europe, de Vlaamse Overheid, Kunstplaats Vonk en Auss.