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.