I Write In Order To Express What

We Live In A Culture Where The One Who Shouts The Loudest Gets The Most Attention. It's Not In The Vulgar, It's Not In The Shock That One Finds Art. And It's Not The Excessively Beautiful. It's In Between; It's In Nuance.

Then All At Once In Late August's Heat, Tall Leafless Stalks Crowned With Iridescent Pink And Purple Blossoms Burst From The Purgatory In The Earth. This Arcane Act Of Nature, Though Perceived By Us As Ordinary, Is A Manifestation Of Maya's Phantom Play, The Great Immensity Expressed In Every Way. My Garden Is The Universe. I Am The Universe. I Am My Garden. All Things Are The Same.

I Am An Expressionist And By That I Mean That I'm Not A Photographer Or A Writer Or A Painter Or A Tap Dancer, But Rather Someone Who Expresses Himself According To His Needs.

All Good Work Has Magic In It, And Addresses The Mind In A Subtle Way.

Flowers Construct The Most Charming Geometries: Circles Like The Sun, Ovals, Cones, Curlicues And A Variety Of Triangular Eccentricities, Which When Viewed With The Eye Of A Magnifying Glass Seem A Lilliputian Frieze Of Psychedelic Silhouettes.