theiciclegardenblogs

I'm as I was at my birth; naked, as if I had just dropped off of the cabbage patch truck when the farmer made his sharp right hand turn onto the road for his morning deliveries. Now! What does a head of cabbage do to survive in such foreign lands. Because every day the farmer makes another hard right hand turn onto the road for his deliveries, another head of some sort drops off his truck landing into these foreign lands. We are all naked felons in these foreign lands; we have become the farmer's droppings. They call us felons. Who will help socialize us so that we too can become one with society again? Now! Until someone steps forward with a plan to socialize the ever growing population of felons existing in these foreign lands, I'll be as naked as I have been since my birth. And! If you look up into the picture's center you will find me exploding into pieces because I have become unglued due to the stresses of being naked in these foreign lands. It's kind of like

I went out dancing the other night, came home with "pink-eye." Went to the doctor, got tested; I'm on some antibiotic for two weeks. Yes! I'm contagious if I'm not careful. Anyway! The dancing was great. I had the floor to myself for about an hour. I was with my niece celebrating her ascension to the next year; she too knows how to occupy her space on the dance floor. I even did a few squat type moves touching the 'toes'. You know! Now I have a theory about those dance moves because I was washing them down with gin; a very good gin poured over crushed ice with a twist of lemon skin. Just the skin, no pulp from the lemon. The club's interior is grounded in the Black jazz age of yesterday, solid & comfortable around the dance floor. The floor's apron contained tables with two chairs apiece, and there were the booths with table and mirror wall to free up the room, exposing its patrons' reflection off of those glass mirrored walls; accenting ea

New pictures of my mind's eye: me melding with the lens of my camera. I went into the art galleries around my location while I was in Chelsea, not every gallery in the city, New York. I took 457 shoots, digital. I take the original piece off art as my backdrop, eviscerating its simplicity. For example, looking through  a four pained window, holding the piece of art behind the window pane divides the art into quarters, than using the inner four corners of the window pane you will find the artist's 'play.' There are five places for them to hide. Each with its specific range and domain. It's my mapping system to see if I can find one of them in the art work. It's like finding the X on the old treasure map. pirate's treasure. It's the confluence between 'me & lens' which frees the voyeur in me. Because it  "gives me what I want when I want it." Attitude is where it is; it's the game. If you want me to stick around, you must feed me.

So! this is my story: I'll tell it my way. As I have been told: I'm on the bottom of life's pile of shit; my batteries are 'pooped' out as they say. Now! You may ask -why I would go out of my way to do such a thing-. like it's 'now or never'. It's given me what I want when I want it; give it to me 'now' please. What I can say to justify my behavior is that it was 'fun'! Yes indeed, Jazz was in the mix; one of those nights I had the pleasure to be in the audience at the "Village Vanguard'' listening to its jazz orchestra. Yes! a table overlooking the orchestra. The key to Monday night jazz is its jam session; for these are the masters you see when you go out to anyone of the other clubs during the week. These 'guys' come from the best clubs in the "Big Apple." Now, it is also true that I had one of the best seats at the bar when engaging the "Blue Note's" exciting quiver. Bobby was behind th