And Even Though People Try To Pretend

I, However, Like Black. It Is A Color That Makes Me Comfortable And The Color With Which I Have The Most Experience. In The Darkest Darkness, All Is Black. In The Deepest Hole, All Is Black. In The Terror Of My Addicted Mind, All Is Black. In The Empty Periods Of My Lost Memory, All Is Black. I Like Black, Goddammit, And I Am Going To Give It Its Due.

It's The Third Book Of The Bible, Called The Final Testament Of The Holy Bible.my Idea Of What The Messiah Would Be Like If He Were Walking The Streets Of New York Today. What Would He Believe? What Would He Preach? How Would He Live? With Who?

I Have Lived Alone, I Have Fought Alone, I Have Dealt With The Pain Alone. I Will Die Alone. I Think When I'm Going To Leave. I Don’t Want To Be Seen And I Don’t Want To Be Followed , I Want To Disappear Quickly And Quietly And Without Any Drama , I Want As Much Time In The Darkness As I Can Possibly Have . The Darkness Provides Cover, The Darkness Provides Places To Hide And The Darkness Provides Comfort.

But All Good Things Come To An End, Often A Sad Angry Miserable End. The Cause For Such An End Can Usually Be Whittled Down To One Of Three Things: Money, Sickness, Love Lost.

There Are No Categories In Contemporary Art. There Are No Rules. Artists Are Given The Freedom To Make And Create Whatever They Please And Call It Whatever They Please. I Identify With That System, Or Lack Of System, Much More Than I Do The Landscape Of Contemporary Publishing.