Life, Not Death, Is The Great Mystery

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.

I Listen To The Tick Of An Unseen Clock Marking Moments Of Time Long Passed.

I Want A Drink. I Want Fifty Drinks. I Want A Bottle Of The Purest, Strongest, Most Destructive, Most Poisonous Alcohol On Earth. I Want Fifty Bottles Of It. I Want Crack, Dirty And Yellow And Filled With Formaldehyde. I Want A Pile Of Powder Meth, Five Hundred Hits Of Acid, A Garbage Bag Full Of Mushrooms, A Tube Of Glue Bigger Than A Truck, A Pool Of Gas Large Enough To Drown In. I Want Something Anything Whatever However As Much As I Can.

When Something Is Staring You In The Face In Your Life And You See It With Your Own Two Eyes And Feel It Within Your Heart Only A Fool Doesn't Believe It To Be True.

I Look At Pastries And Cakes, Tarts And Pies. My Body Craves Sugar, Always Craves Sugar. Years Of Alcohalism And The High Level Of Sugar In Alcohal Created The Craving, Which I Feed With Candy And Soda.