Emma de Caunes is underrated. Seriously.

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I'm the only person I know who listens to traditional chinese opera for pleasure.

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For years I've searched for the stuffed blue gorilla in the ancient go-go film, and the stuffed monkey that Kumi Mizuno is briefly holding in the film Matango.

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There once was a shop called Towel Town, that sold nothing but beach towels. I still have a (somewhat faded) Boonesfarm Wine towel from there. It should really be framed, along with my Rocket To Russia t-shirt.

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I remember a Christmas night wearing pajamas with feet, sitting on the sofa holding a robot and watching a Star Trek re-run. All was warm and well.

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Poor Scarlet Johnson. Prettier and more talented than Scarlet Johanson, but cursed with a similar name.

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If anyone ever utters "dictatorship of the proletariat " an "cezanne" to me in the same sentence, no, PARAGRAPH, I will beat them brainless with a fire poker.

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I recently saw a documentary about New York abstract expressionists (12940-1960). It was a dreadful bore. One work (the painter's name escapes me) looked very much like a 60X80 ft air conditioning filter. In fact, I could have appreciated it a great deal more if it had been, liking as I do the one-dimensional whimsy of Claes Oldenburg. But no, there was some great cosmic meaning to it all, which the lotus-legged wampus took about 20 minutes of psychobabble to relate...

Oh, you naked men, who fool only the foolish rich.

On a side note, I once overheard some wizened old whore remark (after having seen a handful of my paintings) that "whoever this guy is, he certainly hates women..."
Really?
She then proceeded some minutes later to wax euphoric over the drippings of one Jackson Pollock. Pollock, who was nothing if not a simpering, alcoholic misogynist, who knocked women around like billiard balls and had about as much talent for painting as the moon has red beans...
And some wonder why I seek the society of trees.

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Sometimes I wish Norman Mailer would come back from the dead and beat up Gore Vidal. But only if I could watch.

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There was a splendid moon the other night. It rose like a pale orange coin over the forest...


God Bless
I'm not John Boy


My good friend has done me the great and undeserved honor of writing about my work. Since I was born utterly without that gene which spurs one to self-promotion, I can only express my sincere appreciation for his great effort on so meager a subject, and to point any and all who may be interested
here.

God Bless
I'm not John Boy




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Want to hear me getting yelled at in the 8th grade? [link]

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A fragment from the lost epic, "The Ocean Of Oak"
...and, as we gathered on the great rock that overhangs the valley of Dim Lights, Asthsis asked him why he would seek to shun society, indeed, even all the world. And, when Keb feigned to answer, he did so in a voice soft and bereft of life "Those who do not come to me... can never leave me."

ART

My Prints!
My Prints will HEAL you.
It's a fact. If you suffer from an over abundance of cash and an under abundance of prints, my prints will definitely HEAL you. Be Healed


My REAL LIFE gallery
Yes, I do have paintings in a gallery with real walls and everything . If you're ever in Charlotte, NC , please stop by Queen's Gallery and visit . The staff there are super nice and are happy to show you around . As well as the paintings on display, I have a number of pieces in storage there (my attic is overflowing) . If there's a particular piece you'd like to see, they will kindly oblige . The address is:
Queen's Gallery & Art Centre
1212 The Plaza
Charlotte, NC
28205

Visit the new BREED site .

MUSIC

Cowgirl In The Snow
Listen

Aeolian Harpie
Attempt to listen

My Space

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:coke: My Love








My Stock My older stuff My ancient stuff The astounding Bibi :coke:



Here we are living in time you and I. Yesterday is gone. We are waiting for tomorrow. And the present moment eludes us even as we try to grasp it.

God lives in eternity, where there is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow. God is not waiting for the sunset or the dawn. God lives in the eternal now where there is neither past nor future.

God sees you and me at this moment, not just as we are now, but already dead and buried and judged, and safely home with Him forever with life behind us. This God sees now as you and I are worrying and fretting about a future that may never come.

It makes us dizzy even to think about it.

— Fr. Leo Clifford