Psychic Windows by Dan Monick
Psychic Windows by Dan Monick
Edition of 500
Printed in Italy
A clank of metal on metal, forty dollars shorter and knowing even less than I had before I had sat. Tell me where to step and what will be found. Just lift my burden a few inches higher and guide me around the stone-walls and sharp pieces. Steal the indecisions of my heart and tell me it’s all going to be alright. That is all I ask.
Help me decipher the jigsaw game and clear my sight so I can tell the good from the bad. Forty dollars and you said it could be mine. Then we burnt a candle and you lowered your voice to syrup. I tried and did all that you desired of me and yet still I feel I should have done more and so should have you.
I noticed a small dirty stain on the cloth that covered the little round table we sat at. Maybe you thought
I wouldn’t notice in the dim but I did. Do you think this broke the spell? I know it did for me but did it for you?
My eyes became weary and I nearly asked for
a break, did you do this or did I? At one point I thought I might fall in love with you but then you made claim to the coming days and you failed to say your name so I dismissed this as merely some kind of obscure transference. Do you at times shade the truth? Was this one of those times?
I don’t miss the forty dollars and I doubt it did much to change your future but I suppose I should believe that it was all part of the story you told me. Did you
know that I shouldn’t have spent that money? That I would pass a meal? Perhaps, because you said so, that you knew that my fortune was at hand. Is that why you asked for more? I thought the candle was part of the basic package; I was surprised when you said it was not.
If it isn’t you then who is it going to be? You told me that it was just around the corner and that there were numbers I was to be acutely aware of. The only num- ber I wanted you to assure me of was the number two because this whole place is one to me and one is a broken number.
I wanted to ask you about the neon, neon always amazes me, but I didn’t, I think because there wasn’t the time to. You told me much about time and my place in it and I don’t think I understood what you meant but somehow I didn’t have the strength to tell you as much. I don’t think I can come back and ask you to explain it to me.
Listen, I needed you to point out a path, a navigation through all this. I’m buried and nothing adds up. You were to be my mathematician and calculate my way. I want you to be right, to be real, to reveal for money what I can’t see or what is unseen to all but your tribe.
On the sidewalk again I got hit, bright in my eye. Palm frond bright. Grayed blacktop bright. Another day closer bright. Another day stolen bright.
Los Angeles, 2015
All Photographs by: Dan Monick dmonick.com
Published by: Cash Machine cashmachine.la
Dan Monick & Clint Woodside
Art Direction & Design by: Clint Woodside
Essay by: Pete Weiss
© 2016 Dan Monick & Cash Machine
All rights reserved. No photograph or part of this book may be reproduced without the prior written permission of the artist or publisher.
02 Ca M 01
First Edition of 500 February 2016 Printed in Italy