It's got something to do with how we can read the art walk of our souls.

I like to do what I call the magic finger trick.

I use to call it the 'ol pinch and twist...

and then I started calling it every fucking swear word in the book until I found out the

curse of the black lagoon I wrote in a song years ago forced someone to write

my family lies into a dead end discount bin of art books destined for quick release and low wages...

which in any bedroom hush of bankers spells the end.

As you are aware of as an ART MAJOR in the tour de-foe'rce The Stranger.... the only newspaper in town....

once you can see inside the inside we have a responsibility to protect the tender linings of the inbetween zones of love, like and the little itty bitty lust zones so readily tweeked by the politics of a Presidential Campaign and a run up to a mocking of the Supreme retort law... the sporting life of singers and belly dancers in training everywhere.....

Hopefully this little piece of petty corruption will bring about a burn of fair play in the icecreamconevolcanoroamofyumyumyum.