A Brief History Of Troy: My Art, Part One.

Why does an apple taste so sweet? Why does a Clown hide tears behind his white, plastery, make-up? Does a clown lie? Perhaps, yo. According to Wikipedia, there is no such thing as clowns, no such thing as life, no such thing as love. I sit here, a drink of Ginko Baloba nested in a nice ceramic mug, one of misshapen parts, a sad handle. Outside my window are movie trailers, moving here and there, going for they own, doing what they do. Up in this, I think thoughts of brilliant white stars, constellations, god made creations -- Sharon, an angel -- not from these parts. Her better half resting on my lap, well, in my dreams.

My art. Thats why you all came here, millions, hella waiting to hear the finna correctly taught words that flow forth from my boca (mouth in Spanish, check babelfish if you think I'm a liar, ass). My art. Photographs, photography if you will. Life is not dissimilar to KODACHROME or ILLFORD brand films. Are we then, yo, not unlike a camera? We being human-beings? Is my eye not like an apeture? My finger not like a shutter? My back not like a film-plate holding the film of life against my heart, lungs, thorax?

One day we will be able to capture our images as fast as the human eye captures a tear of sorrow, as fast as our hearts capture the flutter of love. Well, love can be taken from you...quite.

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