Pick Your Poison

I was working on my smile…..

I have. And I’m still standing. I look at this portrait and remember. Khaki shorts, a red hoodie with the sleeves cut, always a back pack. Pencils, sketchbook and a book in tow. Cruising A1A, in the morning hours, the marsh washed, in an array of pastels. People. Louise Freshman Brown, Paul Ladnier, Judy, Biz, the woman that I pushed into tears. Trips to New York. Getting off The Path in New Jersey. it was slightly snowing. I was hoping someone would attack me. Kind of the same feeling I would get in Publix, only more intense. I use to leave my pocket book, in the cart, a little open. And hope someone would try to steal it, so I could chase them down and beat the hell out of ‘em. Bernard Marco, and his insanity. His money and his good taste. His fireplace that he had reworked, into a polynesian face, with a mouth, wide open. Cleveland Brown, his eighteen year old friend. He was eighty.. We did a photo shoot. My photos are somewhere. He changed my world, as many people did. I drove his BMW. We sailed on the river, Bernard, Rooster, Cleveland and myself. The captain’s wife said,”oh it’s nice, you brought your granddaughter.” He was a bit of a last straw. He had found a gallery for me, in New York. The same one I saw, and said, oh that’s where I would like to be. He told me how to paint, and what to paint. I was advised to do the dog and pony show. Hell no. That’s not my poison. If life is a trail to an end, why would I want to do that? My life is my own; his poison would kill me. Poison is personal.

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Cookies



Today, I threw away some cookies. They were vanilla and chocolate. They sit out on a counter, where people fix their coffee. I was hungry, so I grabbed two. They were awful. They were stale. I’m sure they would never be threatened by ants or roaches.

I need to replace the cookies. I would prefer, they were not there at all. They are processed and cancer producing. Who really needs that? But none the less, there they are.

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