Axel, what would you do if I ran away?

Dear Axel Rose,

Apparently you're too busy being stupid to answer my emails. I'm so upset with you Axel, I thought you and me would do something together? Something to challenge the status quo? THE TRUTH IS, maybe YOU ARE the STATUS QUO. Remember when you wore those NWA hats all up onto of your head? Well, now you should wear RONALD REGAN hats because you're probably voting for him or Martain Landau in West Wing, DICK. I'm so tired of you rock stars, 'importantes'' as the french call them. You should be SEEKING me, I shoot photographs wonderfully, beautifull works. I act my soul out on film, even on VIDEO, I connect with my AUDIENCE, and I release. When was the last time you had it with a girl? I bet not just the other day, because I did it for so long the other day I was relatively sore in my box. You probably don't like it, hah hah. You would probably rather NOT RETURN PHONE CALLS than DO IT. You are missing out on something that would make CHINESE DEMOCRACY A MAJOR HIT RECORD...me. Forget Slashman, forget Duffet, forget the guy without an arm, or the guy with a bucket of chicken ontop of his dome space, you need me. I was brining you soul. MY soul. You probably sold yours to el diablo ages ago, right after 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' came out and made money for THE ESTABLISHMENT. Well, maybe I will pull out my HOLGA MEDIUM FORMAT CAMERA and shoot some SNAPS, yeah -- it has light leaks, BUT FUCK CONVENTIONALISM. I AM AN ARTIST. When was the last time you sang inside your MIC without counting those green duckets, you? Think about that when you are driving your Mach 5 down the street, punching baby walruses in the face and eating dolphin meat straight from the bone, JERK.

What would you do if I ran away? Just left this place? Would you MISS ME THEN? I bet you would, I bet YOU ALL WOULD.

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.