Everyone's got one , mines just based on drugs!

It’s probably a little over a half a mile walk back and forth to thelaundromat from my studio. Not long enough to pack up the bike but pretty fuckin’ long if you’re walking with a back pack of stinky socks. I hate doin’ laundry, always have. I can usually where a pair of ripped up jeans for about five days before I feel the NEED to throw them in some soap.
So when it does come time it feels like a special occasion, not like your birthday but more akin to the day you bury your still born child…I really hate doin’ laundry. It’s got to be done and if you avoid it you don’t even notice the smell, but no matter how much you shower you know you permeate the smell of a goats pecker. Fuckin’ laundry!
I pack my crusty socks into my T-Bag that I usually save for long miles on a bike, get baked out of my skull, drag my ass down though the historic district in Tombstone and think about how silly my life is. Trudgin’ you dirty unmentionables through packs of meandering Wyatt Earp wann-be’s will definitely put the flavor of necessary surrealism into you day. Livin’ in this town makes the most benign of chores seem like something out of a David Lynch movie.
Fuck it all anyway, my life has always been bazaar so it might as well be visibly evident. The upside far outweighs the ridiculous things you have to do to live your life differently. I’m leaving it all to chance now. I’m just going to kick back, forge forward and just see where life will take me while I’m standing at the rack with a paint brush in my hand a cigarette in my mouth. I think I would be toltally gone if I didn’t have some paint to sling, I know I would be. Then again if I wasn’t painting I wouldn’t be here. Funny how things work out, real funny.
I got all these fuckin’ plans for the future. Not big grandiose plans that span years and leave me with a nice tidy retirement plan but rather just a few art shows and what kind of riding I am goin’ to do on the Latowski. That seems like enough for now.
I got a place to live/work, a bike that still needs some rings and some miles and enough work to keep me comin’ up short on bills for months to come. It seems like a pretty normal life until you realize that is ALL I have…oh and a goofy dog. How could I forget the weeping eye of cuteness, must be the dope.
I’m goin’ to admit to you that it does get lonely. The town is interesting but the inhabitants are just funky enough that you don’t mind carry a conversation with them but you sure think twice about hangin’ out with ‘em. I do have a few cronies that consort with but they too have their own plans and things to do… they also have wives and future wives so interaction is limited. The tail end of that I’m not sure how I feel about. I might be jealous then again I might be more content witout them.
In this bazaar life I have cobbled out of the desert I really haven’t made room for a significant other. Whether I did it intentionally or not there is only room for one dog, one grouch old painter and three eyes between the two of us. I don’t see some random woman waiting paciently for me as I work on the bike or paint a picture, her only reward is playin’ around in the studio or taking a walk. Some days she even makes time to break up a stuffed blue monkey if the boredom get to be too much for her. I don’t see some sexy little hottie hangin’ around that long, unless I found someone with her own three eyed life.
Back in the day I used to live in Philadelphia. I was going to one ar school or another, dropping acid and always seeming to have some skinny little sex kittin’ hangin’ off my arm. There are tings to do in that kind of metroplotan life. To this day I occasionally think that I would like to go back to that town as a working artist this time. The music, food, art scene, galleries and museums always held a place in my heart.The lure of having that skinny little piece of companionship is probably also an allure but then again that’s also been part of my dream.
My dream has always been based on the follies of my youth…I just took those and started refining them, doing whatever I had to to make them a reality. The twist being that a lot of those follies were activated by sheets upon sheets of Blotter and a few tours on Windowpane. That’s quite possibly why I find myself washing crusty socks in an Earp breeding ground. You can’t plan a good trip, you just got to go with it. Dropping Acid and going to art school in Philly make for a slightly enlightened aftermath.
The actual dream itself explained in it’s most rudimentary form has been to actually live my life to the fullest and ride up on the Latowski for my one man show in Philly. Years of my deviant high test induced lifestyle spread out on canvas for the City of Brotherly Love to try to figure out. Then following it up with my arrival on a cammed up, high compression, unfriendly Shovelhead. “Wait ‘til they get a load of me”… I love raised eyebrows.
Somehow the pieces are falling into place, at least the important ones. The life that I needed has been lived, the work is progressing in the studio and I am nothing like I was when I was that cosmic derelict balls deep in some pretty young thing. The road landed me here, at this moment in my life on the brink of some type of accomplishment….and there are tumbleweeds!
Fuck man, I never thought I would be this close but at the same time be so far away. Philly is all the way across the continent and so is my head. I do have the need to finish wht I started back when thousand of thoughts ripped through my head all at once, spent time staring at fire hydrants and licking the wall paper. Now though, I can see the insanity of it all…however I three quarters of the way there, no stopping now I suppose.
I fuckin’ hate laundry but I ain’t real depressed about the way things are goin’. Maybe I’ll have that show, maybe I will find myself back in Philly and maybe, just maybe someone will be hangin’ off my arm. Only time will tell in the meantime…I’ll be washing my boxers…later gators…”GTP”

Photo by Tammy Fullem