Sometimes it's a fumble game to navigate my way through a garage and pray that a 71/72? triumph... two 65 Honda's and a dirt bike that I don't know the name of... Well, that they don't jump out in front of me while I make my way into a basement. My home. I suck in the gasoline fumes as i pass through and try to cover the musty damp basement smell with Nag Champa. Hippie maybe, but it comforts me. Infact, it burns in front of my Ganesh that helps me over-come obstacles. Like.... the pile of clothes that are perpetually on my floor... that's a fucking obstacle. The walls are painted with the guts of beautiful spiders. I shall keep coming back as one until I am smashed a million times with shoes.
It's lonely here with a garage full of gasoline fumes and basement full of nag champa. My dreams are too big for this space... but until I can over-come this obstacle, i will continue to move art.
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