Let the new dreams begin said the skin.

We live in the master equation

Fishes Love in confusion

But they have their freedom

Unless put in an aquarium.

Without love

What is there

it scares

but it

for love

in this

solar field

when you walk

glide

love is apart of it all

apart of the story

 must return

for fields

Lover

O lover.

God

What is happening

I need a sign

The birds are calling

Let me know

Let me see

Help this 

bird

I can't see out

Of this fog

This uncertainty 

It makes no sense

But to let my mind

Get serene 

Then perhaps

Perhaps

We will see.

What do I consider good art vrs. great art?

I have a hard time answering that question.  I just remember feeling lucky when I have found something that was great.  I feel much of the good stuff is just fine.  Only problem it is akin to elevator music or so pretending that it is a joke.  So it is really easy to feel that I need to give the good stuff a chance, because in some way it might actually be great, but not truly.  It is rare dedication and other things that bring art to that hight.  But I am open.   I think humans are full of surprises and also aliens have neat surprises.

Harry is smart and silly

My favorite cat ever

If you met him he would charm you

It is not because he is the most beautiful cat ever

That would be Murry

But Harry is a live wire kind of cat

Living totally in the present

Constantly alert to what is going on around him

And he assumes that you like him

He does not seem to notice the fact that you are a human

And it is a feline

He has saved a dogs life once

To him all life is the same

And the world one big adventure.

The f ing bombing in Boston

I just wanted to flip the bird real hard at them

And when it boiled down to one guy

My middle finger was a lot more satisfied.

I have a thing

It's inside of me

I got it

And as far as I can

It will always go

Faster than anyone can

Something inside

That was always denied

It has a big horse

And it rides

It rides!

I saw the brave soldiers

Yes they were brave

But blinded by hate

Their guns should be roses

Along their march 

They could slow

And listen to the beatings 

The beatings of their heart

For love is what they want

Not murder

Clutching their trigger

We all know 

This game must end

So love will prevail.

Today I saw so many orchids that they all became vaginas.

Then I blinked and returned to the flower room.

Buckets and bucket

Bucket of love

Got them on the bucket machine

Spinning in circles

Like circle of dreams

Open the vest

Open the vest 

She says

Oh yes

Buckets and buckets and buckets

Freshly squeezed.