He's come alive through facebook. It's his form of creative expression. He posts pictures of wonderful sunsets and beaches, advice on health and well being, funny slogans and ironic comics. All stuff sourced from other facebook pages. 

Most of it is pretty good. I don't know him that well but have come to know him better by his posts. They don't directly connect with me but generally they are of reasonably good quality. I can feel his joy in posting them. So I keep him on my feed. Why not. I care about the environment, eating healthy, and enjoy the positive slogan, too.

He used to have an ordinary job, then he got an inheritance and now he travels the world, in a modest fashion. (ie not fancy or wasteful, less Vegas more Nepal.) His girlfriend used to be a lesbian before they started going out and before that, when I first knew her, she was going out with a talented and somewhat mystical/deranged saxophonist dude. I saw him down at Bondi a few years ago, after a decade of not seeing him and he was even weirder than before. Still wearing lots of medallions and big rings and still with unusually configured facial hair. I went to see him gig once in a boutique hotel in Double Bay.

Come to think of it, lots of people I used to know are now just characters in a narrative in the recesses of my mind.

As well, many of my life's most formative and memorable experiences are now also just stories. Many, many of them, never told. Not yet, anyway.

My favourite post from the original guy I was talking about is a quote from OSHO. It's this:

'You are nobody. You are born as a nobodiness with no name, no form. You will die as a nobody. Name and form are just on the surface; deep down you are just vast space. And it is beautiful.'

As an artist
Uncertainty is certain
Just being is a burden
You wanna break free
Show the world how to see
How much better it could be

As an artist
Vision is pure
You search for your style
The obvious is obscured
By the crap you were taught as a child

As an artist
You yearn and you hunger
You are full of hubris and anger
It doesn't come easy, not ever
To enrapture you endeavour

As an artist
You strive for you own kind
Of perfection
It may look messy, insane
But they are your rules, your game
And nobody can tell you what to do
What's true
What's meaningful
Or necessary
Is that a cricket ball or a cherry?

Some days you hate everything
Nearly as much as yourself
Other days almost heaven
Somehow
It's going to work out
You tell yourself

As an artist
No lies
Except whenever
No limitations
On the number of limitations
Courtesy of society or self imposed 
You lack propriety
You jump on toes
Just to hear the crunch
A shot or a joint before lunch
Some days 

As an artist
You yearn to escape
You need to unwind 
The fucking jumble of gibberish
Awash in your mind
You wouldn't mind
If it wasn't so awful
You wonder what it would be like
To be normal 
Sometimes 
But not for long
You don't need to belong 
You don't want to belong
Now do you

As an artist
Your pain
Is everyone else's gain
Especially after you're gone
You'll be celebrated, idolised
Or forgotten
Who cares
You care
Stay strong

As an artist
You have no choice
But to do what you do
To follow that path to the end
And trust your intuition
That you vision will see you through

Today, at least
Your pain has been released
Onto the canvas
Down for the count
Breathless and speckled
Staring, mouth agape
At the new creation on the easel
A fresh image to appease you

It's easy
As an artist
To tell yourself anything
To sell yourself short
To yell on the inside
To inseminate and abort
In blindingly quick succession

And details too decadent to mention

But at least you have one thing
Of which you can be certain
 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

As an artist

I don't have to tell you what that is
Now do I

I have awaken early this morning and not been able to get back to sleep - which is rare for me because I'm the consumate night owl / late riser. I generally love the dreams I have in the mornings. But today, no, there's a motor running in my stomach area and it won't allow me to disappear - even though I've had just four or five hours kip.

Lying in bed, a memory from school days came back to me. It's something I haven't thought about for a long time. It is quite a notable event from my formative years.

I attended St Mary's International School in Tokyo, Japan from 1970 to '78. It was run on the US system by Canadian Brothers. It was a high academic performance oriented, success driven school with 99% of it's students continuing on to university education. The boys there were the sons of diplomats and heads of foreign corporations as well as rich Japanese bilingual kids who's parents had returned from overseas postings or who were from mixed marriages. 

There are plenty of stories from those days, but the one that I remembered this morning is to do with a lesson, well a few lesson I learnt about how the world works.

Every year the school would have a carnival and as part of a fundraiser would get the students to sell raffle tickets. I was in year eight, about thirteen years old. Our class held a competition to see who could sell the most tickets, with a prize at the end of the month for the biggest seller.

During school years I was never really competitive or one to strive to win things. But for some reason I decided that I was going to try and sell more raffle tickets than any of my classmates. I liked the raffle books themselves: quality printing, a well crafted detachable serrated ticket printed on a sturdy stock. Each book had either twenty five or fifty tickets - I can't quite recall. One ticket sold for two hundred yen - which in those days, the mid seventies, was something like the equivalent of six or seven dollars I suppose. 

Not many of the other kids really took it on. Most just sold five or ten to family members. A few tried selling them on the streets to Japanese but it was not an easy task as it involved a lot of explaining about where the school was, what it was, what the prizes were, when the draw would be, etc. And also, convincing - about how it was worth it, how good the prizes were, how they could be picked up easily, etc

The average Sho was not that interested. I knew this because I took it to task and every afternoon, after getting home from school, I went up the road from our house in Nishi Azabu, positioned myself on the footpath outside the Azabu Zemusho (Tax Office) and attempted to sell as many as I could for the month leading up to final day.

It was hard going. "Sumimasen. Kujibiki o kaimasen ka?" was my opening line. "Excuse me, would you be interested in buying a raffle ticket?" Most people would not even stop. Japanese - at least back then - do not like their routines disturbed. They were on their way to the next meeting or heading home from work or whatever. Who was this gaijin kid who spoke Japanese? 

A few were curious. I had a whole speech, a self-devised, soft-sell sales pitch. But getting money off people isn't easy. Even if it was for a good cause. (Education of rich foreign kids!)

I learnt a lot about human behaviour in that month of arvos. The nice people, the generous ones, the kind ones, were truly magnificent. They saw things for what they were. A kid busting his ass trying to sell some tickets. They didn't care about the chance of the prizes. They cared about me. It was touching. The majority, though: indifferent, detached, uninterested. 

I remember thinking at the time - I will never forget what it means to be kind to someone who is trying hard and needs a hand.

Anyway, day in - day out, I slowly climbed and maintained top position on the ladder. A few other kids were impressed. How do you do it? I can't sell any!

On the morning of the last day, I handed in my final book of stubs. It was over. My fifty or sixty hours of effort would be soon paying off - with the imminent announcement of the winner and the accolades and prize (I forget what it was exactly but something desirable). I was a shoe in. Nobody was even close. It felt good to have achieved something with hard work and dedication. 

The final tally was done and the announcement was made. 

"And the winner is... "

I almost stood up and began walking towards the front, confident and proud as I was.

"Andreas Odermatt!" 

Everyone cheered and clapped. Andreas, a likeable half Swiss/half Japanese boy rushed to the front and collected his reward. 

Meanwhile I was gobsmacked, sitting up the back, silent and confused. What? What happened?

It turns out that Andreas, not even a blip on the sales efforts radar, had waited till the day before the end, then just got his very wealthy father to purchase 5,000 yen more worth of tickets, so that he could win. 

There was nothing I could do. It was a harsh and completely unexpected reality. All that work.... All that energy and effort...  for nil.

And yet, as the days went by and the sting subsided, I began to realise that my time had not been wasted. I really learnt a lot out there on the streets during those afternoons. I came into contact with many, many people. Some bought just one - a few bought five, maybe one guy bought ten, even. Those interactions, those connections I had with those strangers had an effect on me that  went beyond the value of winning the prize. I learnt about people, about humanity. I learnt subtle lessons from my wide sampling of behaviours and responses that would help shape me as a person.

Since those days, I almost always give to the homeless, to buskers, to people in need trying to sell small wares on the street. Something, however small, something given invites a human exchange and warm connection that is worth more than money. It says, I'm listening, I see you, I care.

Mwaahhh... right? A happy ending! Worthwhile time spent not-sleeping-in. Having said that, I think I'll have a wee lie down right now.  >wink<

Hey kid,

You're a very sensitive fellow. But you are also very thoughtful, observant and wise. Your instincts are good - continue to follow them and believe in your own, unique, world view. 

You have to put up with a lot of crap from figures of authority. They are often wrong, as you suspected, and are really just stupid bullies. You fight them and lose because they hold all the power. But I admire your sense of righteousness and low tolerance for injustice. Don't let those fuckers break you! (They won't.)

Although you have a naturally positive and adventurous, hopeful outlook, you are often deeply saddened by your circumstances. You feel misunderstood and misaligned. You don't really fit in with conventional ways. This will not change. 

Your curiosity, love of reading, love of exploration and FUN are a centre point to your being. Your instinct is to do what makes you happy. This is a good thing. Stick with it. 

You love people - good people, open minded people, playful people, big hearted people. You are a champion for the under dog. Heck, you are the under dog!

Much of what you learn is though interacting with others - outside of the school system. You instinctively seek and find slightly older mentors who offer you new insight, support and reassurance. This is a good thing and will continue into your thirties. 

You love of romance and woman will continue to grow. Aren't they amazing creatures. As best as you can, treat them with respect and kindness. They thrive on attention and emotional connection. A few will try and get the better of you, but don't worry, they will soon fall away. 

You will be lucky enough to have some wonderful, exciting relationships with some truly beautiful women as you get older. Don't worry too much if it doesn't always turn out right for now. There's plenty to look forward to.

I remember you sitting on the steps, alone, outside the dance or the club, on occasion and feeling alone, sad. Wishing you could find someone to have a heart connection with. Don't worry, kid. They will come. 

You will marry, too. It won't last but you didn't want it to. She wasn't the right one and you knew this before you proposed. But, ironically, getting married was the only way out. She was a tough one to shake. She had emotional power over you. It wasn't until you become husband and wife and she cheated on you that you could sever the ties and walk away with clear conscience and freshly empowered. 

Your thirties are when you will really have some hugely rewarding love affairs and relationships. Some that last years, others months and a few for only weeks. But, kid, believe me, you will not be disappointed. 

Later in life, in your fifties, you'll remain un-remarried. After a promising relationship in your late forties that turns sour, you decide that being single is actually your preference. You love your freedom and independence. 

From early on, you choose to be a free spirit. You do not like to be pinned down, committed, or stuck. You like to sleep when you want, wake when you want and do as you choose with your time. This makes holding a job quite difficult. And after trying a few in your late twenties you decide it's not for you. 

After all, you are an artist. An artist and a writer. Did I mention that? Yes, it's true. Your love of books and art and movies never wanes and you begin to express your own truth. You go to art school. You study film making. You write and publish your own poetry and stories and comics. You even publish a book when you are forty. It's called 'All I've Ever Wanted Is What I Know I Can Never Have.' Nice title!

You study screenwriting at UCLA and end up writing six feature films. None of them get made, so you kind of give up and go back to painting. But you continue to make short films and write journals and poems and comics, of course. You've always loved comics!

You do stand up for a while. Solo and as a duo. You tour briefly. It's a tough road. Not for you. You also have your own comedy radio show. That is good. You always wanted that! You create some great characters and really enjoy writing and performing. You even win an award for you comedy writing! And cash!

You move to Byron Bay for seven years. Then get invited to perform your original comedic monologue in New York! Cool, huh?! They pay for you to go over, so you pack up and go. NYC isn't your style so you move to LA. It's good there, but, once again, you are an outsider and despite some elements that you really enjoy, you decide to return to Australia. 

You love your country more than ever and eventually end up back up north. This time in Mullumbimby. There are cows and chickens in the backyard. The sky is big. The sea is close by. You visit every day - you've always loved, indeed, needed the ocean. The air is clean and fresh. Country living, the simple life suits you.

You don't have much. An old car, an old computer, a small room you rent and a storage shed full of painting from the 25 plus art exhibitions you've held over the last 30 years.

When I say you don't have much, I mean, of course, material things. You have plenty. Health, freedom, imagination. Your future is open to possibility... 

It's hard being an artist. Especially one that isn't motivated to self promote. Still, every day you create new works - two, three, four, five.... You love seeing what comes out. It reminds you of the comic covers you so used to enjoy as a kid. You've got plans to publish a book of your own recent comics - you've done over 200 of them over the last year. That will be good, huh? 

Anyway, gotta go now, kid. Just thought I'd say hello and tell you some things. Of course you won't get this back then. 

But you've got it now. Take it easy.

Always on the lookout...

I realise that some of my inner dialogue is with my younger self. From a young age I asked myself countless questions about humanity and the nature of being. From about the age of fourteen onwards my journals are full of musings and wonderings about what it means to be a person and the implications of existence. Much was unanswered, of course. You have to live through life to get a better idea of what it is really about. 

The irony is that by the time you can come to understand some of the depths and complexities, you are most of the way through it. Much of the boundless and dynamic energy of youth has rescinded and the horizon of unlimited options is much closer and it is obvious that some terrains are inaccessible, some destinations - one's that looked idyllic from a distance perhaps and undesirable.  


As you look back on paths chosen and where they have lead, you can't help but wonder that if you had known then what you know now... (that old chestnut!) ...and how deceptive free will and easy decisions are. What it actually looks like is an ambling through a more or less pre-destined course. One that leads you to... here. More speculation. More questioning. More soul searching. But now with a soul that has some noticeable wear and tear, interesting texture, an aroma, imprints...


One begins, slowly at first, then with greater ease, to accept. To hold briefly then let go. Of everything. Because one has come to realise that all is transient. It's not about what you thought it was at all - it's not about acquiring anything or becoming anything or getting anywhere - it's about moving on. And on. And on....


A brief dream. A brilliant, complex, bittersweet illusion of epic proportions. How could one ever, EVER, conceive of comprehending the infinite, the unknowable. Not. Gonna. Happen.


So, you accept the limits of your own tiny place and begin to acknowledge, explore and celebrate the beauty of the vulnerable, impermanent, imperfect, tentative, changeable, ironically humorous entity that you embody. 


Some of the questions that you asked earlier have by now been answered. But in their place have come a hundred fold more. And each a thousand times bigger. So what to do?


Give up? Settle? Stop asking? No.

While at once accepting and embracing the glorious absurdity of at all, marvel in the illusion. That complex, challenging reality that appears in front of you each new day is your dream, your construct. You've spent a long time making it to this point. Why not see what comes next? It's never going to be boring, at least. Find the things you need to have and do for your basic well being, surround yourself with warm buffers of emotional resonance (aka human beings), immerse yourself in nature (the more pure the better) and face each day - ready to take it as it comes. Always ready for more pudding. Cause there will be some coming. Eventually. And won't that next bite, that new first one, be sweet?

What do you mean it all amounts to nothing? 

All the struggle, suffering, anguish? My god, the pain and drama that I have endured this year alone is immense! 

And tomorrow, you're just going to start it over? Rename it? 2014? It's not even that different! One digit. Sheeeesh!

So there's no resolution. No reward. No treasure at the end. No prize in the bottom of the box of 2013? Damn!

It's gonna happen again in 2014, I betcha!

I see! I can see what happens. It never ends. Year in year out, same thing. Trials and tribulations. One thing gets worked out and the next pops up. It gets harder and harder. Hotter and hotter. Like that parable of the frog in the water that gradually comes to boil. 

I'm feeling kinda suckered here! Enraged. Powerless. Adrift. 

It's the last day of the year, we've made it - yeah - but made what? And what for? More of the same ahead? This is not what we expected! Not what was promised! It's a mistake! A scam! We're in the Twilight Zone. 

Life is meant to be GOOD! 

Happy New Year? What is there to be happy about? Seriously! 

Funny how the internet works. Machine gun effect. So much stuff from all over shoots out from your screen. You sit there waiting for the next hit that will resonate, intrigue, ignite...

I got one the other day. Bang! A forgotten memory revived. The picture above - a geisha girl holding an album by The Bay City Rollers - a Scottish band from the 70's.

It was 1978 -  I was seventeen, having fun on weekend nights in Tokyo. Discos were everywhere. My favourites were Mobius, Another World, Giza... all in Roppongi. Somewhere along the line I hooked up with this cuddly Japanese girl called Sachiko. She was a bit older than me - around 24 or so. We met in a disco and immediately she really liked me. She was glamorous and gorgeous, private and a little offbeat - a good combination in my books. I was thrilled by the attention. I think she worked as a high class escort/hostess but I didn't ask too many questions. She would always pay for drinks, club entry, everything - including the room cost in Japan's famous 'love hotels'. 

We didn't see each other all that often but when we did it was fun and exciting. She was like a pussy cat, very sensual, low key, but in control. 

One afternoon she rang me up and said that her and he friend, Noriko, were downtown in the Ginza at a 5star hotel. They had a suite there. It was where the Bay City Rollers were staying and she and Noriko had hoped to snag a shag with the one or more of the band. They had done the year before but it seems this year they were passed over for some new talent. 

She wondered if I'd like to come down and party with them for the night. And could I bring a friend? This was a unique and uplifting invitation. Even then, at a relatively young age, I knew that this kind of thing would not happen often. I cooly replied in the affirmative and began considering which one of my friends would be most appropriate in such a situation. The lucky winner was the son of the Spanish ambassador to Japan. His name was Luis. We were relatively new friends but I always liked his quiet confidence and his Latin charm. He was delighted by the invite and I picked him up from the embassy on my motorbike and we hurled ourselves towards the awaiting activities with anticipation and delight.

Sachiko came down to the lobby to meet us. There were a hundred or more Japanese groupies between the ages of 18 and 28. All of them looking to get a bit of Scot crooner action under the futon covers. Sach and her friend, realising the odds were not in their favour called in re-inforcements. Us. Some of the other girls got a little stirred up seeing two young foreign lads - but Sachiko quickly coralled us into the elevator and up to their suite. 

Noriko was not what I exprected. She looked like a cross between a goth and and a geisha. Her face was painted white and she had her eye area painted black. Her scarlet red lips where tiny and sensual, her hair was bound. She was dressed in sexy, bondage-looking white dress. She didn't say much - she was almost robotic - reminiscent of Daryl Hannah's android in Blade Runner. Luis and I were both impressed. 

Sachiko, ever the congenial hostess, kept the drinks flowing and it wasn't long until it was time to get naked. There was only one king size bed. We decided to partner up. I was keen to be with Noriko - exotic species that she was, and Sach and Luis were happy to get to know each other intimately. We each took one side of the giant bed. There was never any thought or suggestion of group sex - it wasn't of interest. But we were going swapping partners. (We were using condoms.) For me and Luis this was a first and rather thrilling. Both of them were extremely attractive.

Now. This is where reality came in. As much as I was aroused by Noriko on a visual level, it became quickly obvious that we had no chemistry. Her mouth was kind of dry and her kissing clumsy. She was the opposite to Sachiko - who was warm and squirmy, tactile and sensual. I couldn't help but feel disappointed. We went through the motions but it was going nowhere. Before too long, I suggested we swap. And we did.

Back in the familiar embrace of Sachiko, I felt relieved and reinvigorated. Ahhh. Much better. Meanwhile, Luis was getting into Noriko. I was sitting on the side of the bed with Sachiko straddling me, so I wasn't watching. To be honest, it was of no interest to me, I would have rather we had seperate rooms. From the noise, though, specifically Noriko's ever increasing moans - it became apparent that the two of them were a good match. She had gone from the Mummy to a screaming banshee. Sachiko was watching from her vantage point and enjoyed the show as we did our own passionate dance.

(This is starting to feel like I am writing a letter to Penthouse Forum! Speaking of the 70's - remember that?)

So..! What is my point? Why the sex confessional in the art blog? Well, it was a memorable experience at an formative age. I learnt that when fantasy and reality interact the result is usually a hybrid/compromise. No reality is ever as good as pure fantasy. Reality is just too gritty, messy, unpredictable, surprising. 

I also learnt that you can't fake - or make - chemistry with a woman. It's either there or not. Later that year I slept with a absolutely stunning half Japanese/half American model and it was a fizzer. Then I was seduced by a wild spirited, exchange student from Greece who was not great looking but absolutely blew my mind in bed. 

It's all about passion. Going with the flow. Adventure. Communion.

The year was 1970. The place: Tokyo, Japan. 

My family had just moved there from the newly developed suburb of Wahroonga, Sydney. My father was setting up his business in Japan. It was winter. We saw snow for the first time. My brothers and I were enrolled in St. Mary's International School - an American system school, run by Canadian Christian brothers, located in Isarago, Tokyo. Half the kids were Japanese, the other half ambassador's sons.

On the first day there, halfway through the school year - for me - 5th grade - there was a special showing of a movie on a special big screen that had been set up in the gymnasium for the entire school. It was packed with over 1,000 people I had never met before. The movie was Patton. I had only ever seen two movies before in my life. One was 'Oliver Twist', the other was 'The Sound of Music' - G rated stuff. I didn't know why we were watching this adult film or what it was about. It opens with a massive US flag and actor George C. Scott - a powerhouse actor of his day - in four star general regalia, giving a passionate, didactic speech about combat and courage. It was mesmerising and somewhat overwhelming. 

Later on, Patton bullies soldiers into action and slaps a gentle hearted grunt in the face because he is afraid. In my young mind, I was that timid soldier and this, my first interaction with my new school was a sharp and shocking awakening. Weeks earlier, I had been at the tiny Bush School in Wahroonga, less than twenty in my class, a pencil and a small notebook in hand, a tuck shop with Vegemite sandwiches and small packs of Twisties, games with sticks and rocks and tennis ballls. Now I was here, dressed in uniform - including grey pants, white shirt, neck tie and jacket with insignia. I was inducted into a new system of regimented learning and ordered behaviour. 

I never really fit in in that school. I often felt silenced and stifled. Bullied by students and teachers. Starting at around the age of 13 or 14, I began to rebel. I smoked cigarettes, cut classes, got suspended. At 16 I got a motorcycle and distanced myself even more. I did no sports (too competitive) or extra curricular activities (clique-y,). My report card showed C's and D's. The only areas in which I showed promise were Art, English, Drama and Geometry. Everything else seemed inane and a waste of my time. I caused disruptions with joking and sabotage. I spent many hours in my favourite place of refuge - the library. I read constantly. I had long hair and was unkempt in appearance.

One good thing was that I was able to connect with a make friends with a lot of good kids. Because I was no threat to anyone, with a casual attitude and I liked to joke and laugh, I found that I naturally got along with almost everybody. Without my knowing, I was excelling at something. Connecting with other humans on a warm, personal level. Sharing stories, adventures and having fun on the outer perimeters of the system. My class in grade 10 had kids from 32 different countries. I was mates with Jin Sa Bum, Yodnapa Chabunsai, Raghu Rao - and even an Aussie kid - David Smith. Weird name, I know!

My sense of humour got me into trouble with older kids with attitude, especially on the school bus. I liked making quips and would not back down when an upperclassman tried to supress or dominate. Often two or three of them would grab me and pummel me. I wasn't looking for trouble. It found me. In later years, I started lifting weights and confronted one of them when he mindlessly hurt me at the water bubbler. Lifting him up and pushing his horizontal body into a wall, I dropped him to the ground and walked away, angry and shaking. He didn't come back to class that day. I thought he might be dead. He wasnt'. But there was a positive effect - after that, the bullying ceased.

My class, '78, just had their 35th reunion in Tokyo. It's a long time ago now. But since that first day, big Patton booming, it has loomed loudly in my memory and psyche. Much diminished now, of course. Integrated, accepted. It was a grand old time. I was a deserter. I didn't believe in their cause: ambition, success, winning, aggression. For even then, although I didn't know it. I was a poet, and artist, a lover and a peace maker. I'm free now - have been for quite a while. Free to be me.

Some kind of snowman. Dried up. Worn out. Melted long ago. And yet still kind of cute and happy. 

Uncovered one of my journals from 1987 today. I haven't seen it since then - so was fun to flick through. I have to be honest, I was hoping for/half expecting some gems of genius - but they weren't to be found. Perhaps they fell out or evaporated over time!

What was inside were a number of poems, some song lyrics, two short stories (one unfinished), and about a dozen 'snippet' single frame comics. It was vaguely interesting to catch a glimpse of the headspace of the 'me' from 26 years ago. I can objectively report that I have matured to a degree since then and that my work has improved in scope and delivery. Other than that - still doing pretty much the same thing - making art, writing fiction, creating comics.... 

I always liked Licht's work but after watching the doco ' Whaam!' this afternoon - I realise the true extent of his genius and talent and how much I really, really dig his work. The early comicbook imagery stuff is great but his later work - the interiors, the Chinese paintings, the massive brush strokes.... wow! 

It's always great when you rediscover something and realise that it is more wonderful than you thought.  

They said it would happen but, to be honest, I didn't believe it. I mean I was like a princess! Cavorting around, drunk on my own beauty, getting praised and envied and lusted after! It was more that just a night to be remembered - it was a night I will never forget. And I knew I was gonna get laid. It was in the bag. I had choices! Rich guys, good looking guys, rich good looking guys, sexy scientists (only one, but still), exotic billionaires from countries I hadn't ever heard of...! The list goes on. I would write it all down. Except I don't HAVE ANY FUCKING HANDS!

Yes, you are. This is not you, of course. It is a collage/composite/painting/drawing I did yesterday of a pretty girl. But it represents all of us. It represents the glorious nature of sentient beings. That is one thing that art is good at. It elevates us. It encourages us to use our minds and imaginations to transcend the ordinary. Draws us closer to how we wish the world could be - full of beauty, purity and love.

Actually, looking at the girls face she does seem a little concerned about something in the distance. Don't worry sweet being I conjured up - you have a lovely hair piece and criss-cross necklace! One day I will draw you a prince you can marry - or at least date and see how it goes. (Relationships are challenging in any realm.)