Technology lives on a spider's thin string..

and it could all end. quickly.

a tickle in my throat

a joke in my ear

I write from a pulpit of nonsense...

and yet I command thousands

the code does not allow for...

consonants

my pastels have...

melted

depression... i need

to sleep

My back doesn't have...

my back

Sochi sake salamander met kraus

et frites

I highly recommend...

the liver

We'll just see..

what happens (Andre Breton)

No two snowflakes are alike...

the same as pigs

Snow...

rain encrypted

I'm trying to sell my horse...

replace the 'r' with a 'u'

The End of England...

Scotland

Cast your line out...

never know what you might snag.

Overload

Many years ago I started this blog with the intent of creating a false reading on myself. Maniac. Egotist. With government gathering so much info on its citizens, computers are creating profiles of everyone on the planet. For what reason, no one knows, except that they can. My blogs have been filled with my collages, and off the cuff remarks, and codes (via Andre Breton), all designed to blur any image a computer might create.

this piece is like...

acid

Everything is melting...

including my socks

Modigliani's Balcony

Middle is...

my middle name

Mostly sweat, perfume...

and the involuntary excretion of bodily odors.

Cutters and boxes remind me of...

airplanes

The cold has...

teeth

I made this an adult sight...

because everything is offensive

the rain is coming...

and the children can't get to sleep

I never thought...

love could feel this way...

someone told me that this illustration...

was a series of '0's and '1's. 'Ahh,' I said, 'of course.'

Someone stole Gaughin's...

legs