Something troubles my spirit, O Angel. Something of the Art. The Way The Attitude interprets it, chews it up and spits it out like Beatle Nut in the Dirt Roads. "I Prefer this" one says. Or, "I think it would have been better this way" another says.

REason why I am telling you this is because tonight I have been working frantically on a wooden Object Sculpture, but I have been painting on the wood and writing on the wood my theories or ideas or spur of the moment words that will be the words in those who view it, like, "ART? GO AHEAD, JUDGE ME, IM ONLY WOOD AND PAINT AND SCRIBBLE, THE OBJECT OF ONE'S INSANITY"

Angel, friend, do you feel this that I am feeling? Do you feel this way at times or all the time? We Write, we write, we write, we WriTe, WE WRITE! We write the words of those things that we cannot explain, but those things that live in us and feed on us like a worm or a LEECH.

O do this be too slimy for the waLLS of some College? This work that WILL appear as a Threat, a DAngerous haunting hilarious joke, what was this boy behind his skin thinking, who does he think he is? This is the attitude, this is the mind, this is the way people Think. Do listen, do read, do try to understand. Is this just something I must deal with, like the closest thing to child labor for me, a man, a mortal man, cut and bruised by what I see and what I feel, I cannot help it my angel friend, I cannot ... my eyes they squint, and my hand is to my face, your so bright, your so Bright, white Light from your Soul.

Maybe I don’t know what I am saying or thinking, maybe I haven’t really found out yet. Maybe this is just Emotion oozing out of my pores, my teeth. MY hair turns gray, it falls out. I don’t know what I do or why ... Let it happen, I say to myself, pour it out, let the paint crack for you, let the nail bend the way it will bend, let the wood break if it wants to, and yes, curse to yourself if you feel the need to, whether or not you realize it. Step here and there and get nails in your feet if you have to, fall into the blanket of paint, stop nailing when your mother tells you to stop because she needs to sleep and get up for school tomorrow, and so the Son must stop and only paint, because he will wake up the entire family, open their eyelids and cause them to say, "That boy, WILL he ever put an end to it."

You know what I want, for some reason, I want my aRt to be slashed at, I want it to be stabbed, I want words to hit it ... but the words will already be there for them, Let all come and see, let all come and see, let all come and see ... the words will already be there in pencil symbols and marker lines, just lines, that is ART, Skeleton, blood, muscle, Tissue, MEmbrane, Cells, molecules, Atoms, of ART, that is what it is, LINE, let the line be! LEt the wood BE! LEt the Disorder and chaos and brokeness BE! Let the ILLOGICAL IMAGE BE! JUST LET IT BE!

This is what I see when I Look. This is how I believe we should all look. If you use your souL, we must let it be, and we must embrace the ART, we must breath in, we must walk up to it and take off our shoes and listen to the Artist ... Let it be we must say to ourselves, we must let it be what it is and accept that this is what it will be till the end of time, till it rests in the ground or sits in a GAllery till the gallery is bombed or run down or out of business. Let it BE.

GOOD ART, BAD ART, why can I not believe in such a thing? Maybe I believed in such a thing before ... I realize that this has been of debate over centuries time, but it is now, for me that is, that it comes up so strongly. I don’t know why.

We have the laws. The Fundamentals that we learn, and I do wish to learn them. But I believe ART is another thing. It has to be another thing. Angel, open your eyes to the worLd before you, let them open slowly, and let us Look for the beggars and the blind men and the mutes and the prostitutes and all of humanity, as one you say, and yes it is, and let us cry in the night, let us look upward and climb Jacob's Ladder, the Stairway to Heaven ... LORD, REACH INTO US!