ACRYLIC ON CANVAS – 9” X 12” PAINTED IN JUNE 2005

This is how I feel ... A LOT. It’s like a self portrait, a caricature. The days slide into weeks and months that slide into years. Every day I wake up afraid of the day. I have no idea why. Well, that's not true. I do have some ideas why. My life is out of control. I'm disorganized. I can't catch up with my bloody bank statements, I don’t pay my bills, I don’t clean up the house, I’m over due with obligatory writing of letters, fixing broken things, backing up my computers, updating my websites, sending out the mail, cutting the grass, taking a shower, exercising, taking the dog for a walk, cooking food, washing my car, I haven’t even unpacked everything since I moved here, 604 days, 18 hours, 33 seconds ago.

In the morning, I pull the covers over my head and lay in the darkness, only sleep offers me a temporary reprieve from the countless tasks and burdens of my ordinary life. So, I sleep more than I should, and that makes it worse. I have to watch TV in the morning or my day feels too frightening to begin. I usually watch "GUNSMOKE". However, I've seen almost all of them now and I don't know what I'm going to do when there are no more to see. I am considering switching to "MISSION IMPOSSIBLE", because "Mr. Phelps" is "MATT DILLON’S" brother in real life. (Since I wrote this I’ve decided to go with “HAWAII 5-0”)

When the telephone rings I jump like a cat and whisper to myself, "OH NO! OH NO NO! WHO CAN THIS BE? WILL I HAVE TO PICK THIS UP? OH F-CK!" Usually, I don't pick up my phone for anyone. I try to use only E-Mail because I'm afraid of, and hate, people. I don’t want to talk to anybody. Talking to other people usually either gets me into trouble , insults the other person, or obligates me to some new burden. People cause me problem after problem which I must unravel. My life is impossible. The people that I do love are angry and disappointed with me. I feel like whenever anyone leaves me, they will never come back. I'm sick all the time, but I don't know why.

Sometimes I don't leave my art studio for a month. I live in a small house at the end of a dead end road with no neighbors very close by. It's like being in the woods, but I look down over Los Angeles. LA is like a demonic bee-hive or horrid giant ant hill. The mere thought of going down there makes me cringe. Then, when I must go to run an errand in the city, I feel like I'm from another planet when I’m around other people. It's as if I'm in some kind of dream.

The only time I enjoy is when I'm working in my studio. When I am painting. Or at night, when I'm fairly sure that no one will be calling me or be coming around. I watch TV and keep all the doors and windows locked and the alarms system "on". I keep loaded guns around where I can run and fetch them if I have to. (It goes without saying, you should not come to my house uninvited) The only time I've ever felt okay was when I was taking Heroin. (And a certain times when I was a child.) But of course, that turned into a nightmare. After a time, all I could do was get "well", not high, unless I took more and more, which I could not afford. So eventually, I wound up in the hospital dieing of addiction and pneumonia. Then I had to face the kick. Somehow I did that, and i'm "somewhat" free from the heroin. However, every day I wish I had some. It's been SO long since I had any, but still I crave it every day. So much so that I would be willing to be EXTRA POLITE when asking for some.