Palais Time is your sacred palace. The unbroken netherworld of your subconscious desires.

Palais Time is refreshment for the beaten-down soldier, shoulders held high to the ceiling by wiry straps, though his limbs unfold downwards, as Palais Time reignites her muscles like a fire rising up through the floorboards.

Palais Time is your mother’s womb, your resting place. Hook up your navel and revel in its fruitful juices.

Palais Time is forgiveness, for the dreams you’d rather remained hidden. Palais Time is pride in exaggeration.

Palais Time is not a performance
Performance is not a performance. BanupBanupBanupBanupBanupBanupBanup You are a performance.