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My art. It describes me. Im an uneducated working class guy. I do what I do because i dont know any better, dont care, or someone told me that I cant do it.
As a kid I was alone a lot .youngest of three, middle of five. Oldest son. Blackest sheep. Biggest scapegoat. Professional victim. Nobody explained anything. Mysteries abound. The monsters, they were real. Not sure about the rest. So I’d be dodging monsters on my skateboard in the streets of the city all hours. I didnt have a freind until I was like 12. My family was very nucleaic. I didnt know how you got a freind.
I learned. I fought. I played in punk bands. I learned something important. They can take everything but your dignity- but you still have to fight for it.
People. People dont come sit by me. Im a gamble. I dont look like the people from any boxes they know. I ate the box. Destroyed it early on. Punk rock. I did what i wanted to. None of my neighbors approve. All of my peers judge me. Good. I let them. People need a villain. I’m pretty funny, for a pirate.
The kind people, god love em, they dont sit near me. To them Im a lightning rod. But I just cant give a fuck. We have to protect the kind people, value them, nurture kindness. We need them badly. Some day, all of their kindness will win, and you wont need ogres like me.
Anyhow, my art- thats my world. Come visit.
Notes from the Underground. 