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Location: The Promised Land

This is my triumphant return to the lifestyle I've always furthered and forwarded in my heart, at least, so let's blast off. The first half of my life has been incredible and the second segment will include more splendors than any Ottoman Sultan could ever have wished for in his golden repose. Anyway, fasten your laughter belt cuz you're on a collision course with wackiness.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006


Paint what you know, someone said, I think, and these guys were sitting next to my easel and things just happened. Possibly this will put a cap on the season but the thrill of color to canvas flows strong within me and my eyes seek out inspirations. I do not, however, covet and all that shit.
This same Tuesday, two years ago, I wrote a manifesto while I was drunk with disgust and scotch over the political outcome and the hard times ahead. Back then I didn't have a blog and just forwarded the email to anyone I thought might feel the same way, or should feel the same way (you know who you are). Looking back, not a bit of sentiment was wasted on that diatribe but maybe today's results signal the turn of the big wheel and we can spin upwards again and start to share the good time again.
Here's the original text of that 2004 Manifesto: Drowning beneath a rush of bad karma I wonder what the next move will be now that she rises from the grave of my memory on the eve of a four year sentence for gross optimism when that type of mism goes against patriotism and the great country which elects me to serf and I can't even afford to go to a beach, not to mention that I can't seem to get drunk on cheap beer like Charlie Kane on election night but, like him, I'd better try because quitting is a nasty habit, even if I know a worse one so I slug away and take inventory of my being and realize change has been out of stock for too long but that's just something I can't explain here in these empty moments of 3:11 where I try to fill this hollow with something to feel anything which is still scarier than nothing so I choose my maker's mark to get me out the door, for chrissakes! Fuck. Shit.
Reading that again, I guess it was bourbon that kept me company. Indeed a much better choice for consolation but tonight the future looks a little better and champagne tastes mighty fine.


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