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Again a blast from the 2000s past, the ever posturing Fontaine today looking winded, having lost of their fighting spirit, instead merely combating the weight of the world with global travel's candy, and presenting an exhibition exchanging their pre-packaged imposter anarchics and poseur declaratives for an ennui, a gentle boredom, looking out of planes and recursive self-questions, nostalgic for a time when this was still fun, or critically acceptable. The melancholia of the palinode is having watched someone look at themselves in a mirror and possibly self-reflect in their vampirism, a good vampire never does.
