I know my paintings are weird.  Amateurish.  I mean Im not trained.  I had a book of drawings showed ma ma.  She took me to Michael's.  Told me I needed to paint what was in my head.

When I met Stan.   He told me I spent too much money on paint.  Asshole.

I Didn't paint much after the kids.

A few months ago.  My heat broke into a million fucking pieces.  It was heartache like I never felt today.  It still hurts today.  I started painting again.  I don't think theyre  that great.  But other people say they are.  Im embarrassed to even show them to people.

But, People I trust.  Like Joseph, Ronda, Leslie and Allison.  Sad they're good.  Figured I'd try to sell them.  

I know they're weird.  But, its what I do. Theyre from my heart and my head. Maybe they do suck and are

amateurish.  Fuck maybe they make me look retarded or something. 

My friend asked me today. Isn't painting relaxing. I said no its not trelaxing   In pulling this shot. Out my brain. That I don't even know where it's coming from.

Some weird psychiatrist would have a field day with shit.

My brain is going a hundred miles an hour . with all kinds of thoughts. And then I'm trying to pull these pictures out of where the fuck they're coming for from.  Its kind of draining.

The thing about showing people my paintings.  Is they look at me like that came out of your head.  You can see it when they look at you.  Like they're sizing your craziness.  

I'm house sitting four dogs.  One of them rubbed it butt hole on my leg.  I still haven't gotten over it.  I may never get over it.

I'm tired. Im tired of bullshit.  I'm tired of trying to save b people.  When I'm drowning.  I'm just fucking tired.

I don't know where Im being sent in life. I miss my kids.  I want to meet my grandbaby.
But shit just keeps going wrong.   Day after day after mother fucking day.  Something goes wrong.

I'm tired of being amine.  I'm tired of mother fuckers thinking they can fuck me over.  Just because I'm nice.  When really. I just want to throat punch them.  Throat punch a mother fucker.  That's probably what I need to do.

When I talk about Tweekers, in Portland.  People ask me.  What's a tweeker?

A tweeker is a meth head. Usually homeless.   In Portland the tweekers are bad.  Really bad.  They have no qualms about stealing from you.

They will take up living in your attic, or your garden shed. They live in storage units, along the bike tail. They pee in milk jugs where they take up residence.  I think it's mandatory.

Tweekers in Portland.  They just walk in your back door. It doesn't matter what neighbor hood you live in.  Rich neighbor hood.  Middle class neighbor hood.

Tweekers don't stay in one area.  They spread out.  Like cockroaches in the night.  They'll sell your identity, for meth.  After staying up all night. taping your shredded documents, that they stole out your trash, back together.

They steal Lil midget ladies wallets.  Lil midget ladies that don't say thank you.  When you chase down said Tweeker.

Tweekers are what meth turns you into.  I see more and more kids.  Getting into meth.  I'm seeing more Tweekers roaming the streets in Midland.  Meth related crimes standby young people to jail.

Midland really needs a drug education program for parents.They are really oblivious. Some people think Bath salts come from the bathroom.
They come in powder form.  Sold in head shops.  They will turn your child into a weird ass zombie.  Smoked with meth. They turn you into a whole nother person.
Where your not even human like.  You can stay like that forever.  One kid slit his throat. Tying to make the bad trip stop.

I see the meth problem growing in Midland.  It's scary.  We don't need to lose anymore kids to meth.  Getting a kid off meth.  It's a battle that's almost impossible for a parent to win.  Even harder when the kids an adult.

Nope, Not gonna fix this tooth.  People find it sexy.  Plaid shirt dude.  The guy that asked if ZI was Allergic to duct tape.  Who knew?  A girl told me it adds to my character.

Dog poop should have a better smell.
We give these dogs room and board.  But, if it did.  Some asshole would put it in our candy.

Dog poop should have a better smell.
We give these dogs room and board.  But, if it did.  Some asshole would put it in our candy.

No one writes the script for us.  We write it for ourselves. You can be a victim, a hero...... a super hero or a villian.

We can blame others for our choices.  But, in the long run.  It's you who decides what you do.

Write a book.  Do cocaine. Join a cult. Be a preacher.  Be a sinner.  Be a saint.  It's our own choice.     I see the world.  Blaming everyone else.  For their choices.   It all up to you.  Not anyone else.