Monday, March 13, 2006
Frogs is my new friend, he is the deep fried taco of visionary seeing into beer goggles and oneness. Frogs will tell you when and how to get crippled, he will welcome you into the cow stomach of tomorrow so you can extrude your next painting like a hot dog, and drizzle it like dressing on the salad of your wanting waiting canvas. Today I am nothing but a gelatinous blob of drastic human compost. The weekend offered much in the way of art-seeing, however I chose not to accept any art into my life. Instead I accepted liver ache, drunken squalor and Depends undergarments. I am pilloried and dying, edging closer to an epic death, an epic lament. It's epic for no other reason than I've labeled it so. It may not be epic to you. However, Frogs remains. Frogs will stay until he wants to leave.