So maybe my work is not on view at Pace Wildenstein and I can’t lounge in the tropics while the dust settles after a particularly torrid love affair. I try to see the lighter side. At least my ears haven’t be necrotized by tainted cocaine.
I had a lovely fourth. A little beach time. There were rubes on the beach, celebrating the greatness of old glory and her represented lands, by trying to set them ablaze.
But just when you think life is more or less tolerable, the fates remind you that Everything is Terrible. Starting with holiday bus travel. I know that phrase probably suggests all you need to know. But I did not expect the driver to be a belligerent and possibly racist pervert who summons the cops to drag a hapless old chinese man bodily from the bus before we all get thrown off and an angry mob forms to get on the last bus for the night. Yikes.
Try as I would to get some painting done, my entire plans for the month are sadly upended by a sudden need to find a new roommate. If it’s not one thing, then it’s another. At the end of the day, it is what it is. That’s what I was thinking to myself as I rolled over the bridge this morning. A bird looked down, laughed, and crapped on my elbow.