Alright that was a pretty shaky start

Dear Void, me, the human collective, or no-one, I don’t think I give a fuck.

I say ‘fuck’ a lot and if that’s an issue, it was nice meeting you, be on your way. And I hope you enjoy some of the other programs on the internet.  There are others, right?

This is my fraud: I can’t paint to save my life.

I’ve never found myself in a situation where I had to dash off anything as classy as Mambo, Dan Marshall*,  or even a sloppy Brett Whiteley, but I had a crack and it was good fun.   

Because I’m old and my hands are bleeding, I thought it might be laugh to revisit some of the ‘orrible shit I’ve created over the decades.  It’s going to suck balls, I warn you now.  Did I mention the other options you have on the webs?  I hear there’s porn now.  Buckets of it.

This is what I was doing when I got crook:

 

It’s patently unfinished. But here’s what it’s about: pretention.  ‘Ooh look at this tortured artist’, I’m saying, ‘Look at how he creates abstract concepts (stolen from real artists) with his brain and his laptop what inexplicably verbalises his genius text in some faux Arabic bullshit.  Oh and look at how his body is all hunchy and contorted like some kind of bohemic anti-hero.  Oh for fuck’s!   On a side note, Scott Mosier, my photobombing teacup Rottweiler, can be seen sneaking into the lower right and earned a feature here:
 

I guess she’s just as hungry as me.  Irony abounds …

The twisty bottle thing follows because

Soc is a fraud

downinahole

*the New York tattoo artist.  You know him right?  C'mon!