Mr. JINGLES

'Neci' nes pa une pipe! '

I do know or hope that everything i do, every moment that i should be in the here and now , should be in the thought that we make Art. Even riding the bus to work out to Venice from Hollywood which takes for Fuckin ever!. . . Is a act of art. Yes ! Even the dumbfuck mistakes are in the Realm that i describe.An Ode to Karowak's mother.

Irony alone is a stupid step-child.

I still have not fixed my phone from the time i dropped it in a puddle the last time it rained here in the City of the Angels. This place is vile and wonderful at the same time. When it all comes out in the wash , i am not sure which Stain remains. My leaky rowboat that i sail with granny panties and a broken butt-stock is Faith. Faith in beauty. Faith in magic, creativity and a Divine Justice. Faith in a Feminine God. The mother of the Brat boy warring and judging gods. God of love and understanding. the God of god. Have a good day! Eternal love always.

Some of my friends at my house. That is Hollywood Head still dressed as a JiHadist from a show a few years back. And the monkey clown doll. They hang out together a lot. My cats are sleeping while i try to watch a movie. The Soloist. It is hard to watch because it is about Schizophenia and that has been a troubling subject of my past. I like my house. I had chicken for dinner and shared it with my cats. Not the other friends. They are just dolls and don't eat food. They are alive because i am alive. My creativity. My affection. My heart. My intellect are all alive. Though it has been hard to write, or paint of late. Maybe a concern about the product rather than the joy of the activity. Only poetry is a joy to do. All other writing is work more back breaking than a hundred cement pours. And the wet cement of painting seems to have become solid in my limbs and my mind. A burden to break
ones hopes, or let it all sink to the sweet cold bottom of forgiving sea.