I'm the agitated artist. Maybe I should go back to drink and drugs. Was I happier then? Maybe. My wife's about had it with me. With the boyfriends and the crabbiness and living off her. She should kick me out. But the kids like me. And the dog. They don't like her so much. She's kind of a New Age harpie. Yes, there are a lot of them now. Sad. But what am I? Some kind of bad Kerouac. At least he produced something even if he did end up living like a bum with mom in Florida.
But when I do art. Do art. Funny expression, like "do me, fucker!" When I do art I feel ok for a little while. It doesn't even bother me that no one likes my art and it'll probably end up in a dumpster when I'm dead. Ha. That's funny. Like drowning in quicksand in an old black-and-white made for TV jungle film is funny. Ha ha, what is that stuff. Oatmeal?
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