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Hello Two. One Here.
What do you do when the words won't play and yet thought still runs kaleidiscopic? So I painted; but it mocks me like I do, spook. There are no walls they can't get behind, so, are you an exhibitionist? Do you grimace? Or smile for the pretty birdy of our new improved Victorian Age, behind high walls with lovely ivy and high class techistry within, and dogs and men who wear shiny suits and chic shades with an earplug for contact with home base aka where the checks come from; smile behind lying eyes and die inside, revive after three days and do it again and again and again and then, there's everybody else. Outside the gates, and they surely won't be getting in, yet still have a dream of a golden calf while the snake eats itsself and their own in a neverending wheel of comic karma overload on tilt, and axis slipping.