The colossal horror tome from Logan Berry. CASKET FLARE follows Berry as he ritualizes the space & history of the most terrifying commonplace feature of the post-American-greatness the budget motel. What really is in the darkness at the edge of town.
"Things aren't quite what they don't seem to be." Casket Flare is a stream of consciousness séance. Is it the Skylark motel that is filled with ghosts or is it the authors own mind that is haunted? Rambling sentences flow like formaldehyde through an empty vein. The design of this book is flawless. I felt solitude as I flipped the pages, sometimes like I could hear my own echoes down an abandoned hallway, sometimes like my head was filled with static and my vision forced blurry. Prepare to experience a book instead of simply just reading it.
This shit is alchemical. Feels both right and wrong to have it in one's possession. This doesn't feel like transcendence, rather it feels much closer to surrender. Comes with an understanding that there are ghosts in EVERY abode waiting to coax and jibe. A gnarly smear. A beautiful trauma.
An experiment gone right. A call and response across planes of existence. Three a.m. thoughts and theories. The substantiation of perceptual anomalies. A depiction of what cannot be seen. Be careful what you wish for…
Logan Berry haunts this work as it haunts him. Enter the circle and bear witness to the entreaty and expulsion of the ethereal.