I See Artists As A

The Cocktail Party - As The Name Itself Indicates - Was Originally Invented By Dogs. They Are Simply Bottom-sniffings Raised To The Rank Of Formal Ceremonies.

No History Much? Perhaps. Only This Ominous Dark Beauty Flowering Under Veils, Trapped In The Spectrum Of A Dying Style: A Village Like An Instinct Left To Rust, Composed Around The Echo Of A Pistol-shot.

Life Is Like A Cucumber. One Minute It's In Your Hand, The Next It's Up You Ass.

It Is Not Love That Is Blind, But Jealousy.

Life, The Raw Material, Is Only Lived In Potentia Until The Artist Deploys It In His Work.