Danny is a pop star - hot-burning, fast-falling, a rising sun of the west. He’s the silver light pooling in concrete moons, teenagers kissing, soft-sifting through tall grass and night clubs. An outcast orphan of the occult, he hears the hopeless hearts scream in the dark for a prince of some plane just outside sanity or reason - an inheritor of movement, a real gift-giver. And mangled hands scramble madly for the hem of his blue jeans bright as the leper cries, “somebody… touch me!”
This is for a night drive to the forgotten mansion, a wasted empire of flat beer and stale fashion.
This is for the ghost dog on lost highway, a vision of Jacob’s.
For the child, still alive, but sleeping in evil’s stupid heart.
This is for the losers and the freaks, the pockmarked beauty queens and the fleeting elite…
This is Danny & His Fantasy.