Artist. Backpacker. Vagabond.
Maker of things and experiences.
Things to see and things to listen to.
Things to make connections and stir emotions.
Things to entertain and things to evoke reactions.
Things that blur edges, test boundaries, and defy assumptions.
ART is endless, nameless, boundless.
ITS infinite variety of forms are ambiguous,
fractal, and overlapping.
IT is a dynamic, multidirectional, multidimensional
hyperdiamond without a static definition,
one that cannot be confined by the limited
human constructs of 'fantasy' and 'reality'.
PAINT off the canvas
and onto the gaudy Victorian frame,
down the wall and across the floor.
COLOR outside the lines,
off the page and onto the table.
PERFORM your leading role
out from under the proscenium arch.
REJECT the edge of the stage,
engage the audience in daily life.
THE world is your stage.
YOUR life is your character.
MAKE your role a good one.
MAKE it into whatever you want it to be.
LOOK closer, rethink, listen again.
FIND new perspectives.
Who knows how to make love stay? Tell love you are going to the Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay. Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a mustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.
"Usually, once in the spring and once in the fall, a band of gypsies with horse drawn wagons would park on this grass road for awhile. There were always lots of horses, dogs, and kids. When they moved, they usually went West past our farm and would stop out in front. I know my folks never trusted them, and I can remember these people scampering all over the yard. I expect we lost a lot of eggs from the chicken house and goodness knows what else. Everyone hated to see them arrive in the neighborhood. When they were parked on the grass road, I usually cut across the fields to school."
-Clifford McMillin-
chickens + interest= your car, no insurance payments
thats okay. i know where you live. and hang out. and go to school. the internet has been an effective tool to stalk. but of course, the real stalkers are always in person. so thats okay. keep your age. however, give me my hat back.
so wheres the updates? it figures the periods of time that i don't read bulletins are the only times that you post updates and whatnot. color me sorely dissapointed. how else am i to stalk you on myspace?
Online Now!
