As my mental state declines and my idiosyncrysies won't let me operate normally in the "real world", I open that door to my 4rth eye, tattoo puppet world to play with my tribal community.

I can't work in the corporate-sponsored academic art world with it's esoteric club of snobbery. I'm squeezing the last of my acrylics onto dumpster-dived trash made into alters and treasures for the earth.

Spirits of the land, the Shawnee and Wood Bison bones coming back to life to smash the institutions that rape and ruin. It's a holy war for our subconsciencs aspirations armed with cartoons and classic icons and lusty apocolyptus trees.

If these insane delusions defeat my mortal existence, I hope the evidence I leave will show I was serving these just and sacred spirits the best i could.