I am living life’s grand folly
Blinded by my own silver, eye shadow
A flash in the pan
But, I do what I can
Break up or make up
Is this the one?
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

Now I’m playing the game
So, don’t wait, deal me in
And, this time I’m ready
I’m going to win
I’m going to move up
And, then move over one
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

I’ll be playing real nice
I’ll be throwing the dice
I might throw them once
Or, I might throw them twice
I’m going for a laugh
And, I want to have fun
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

Although words never do
Quite what I want them to
And, nobody knows
Where the winding rose grows
When all’s said and done
We have had a good run
I am going to tell you
I think that we won
Going under the moon
Going over the sun

Bulletin Bored

I am standing
Under the orange moon
Wearing black silk
Drinking black milk
Snake’s skins in my wet hair
Wishing I had fangs
And, something to sink them into

I am wearing
A rock hard, snappy, neon, radioactive, exoskeleton
With clenched jaws and jingle bells
Disguised as a purr
I have venom in my triple tails
Under my nails
In my wine glass
On my breath
Trying to guess
Why I am wearing
Velvet panther fur in my throat
Covering my flaws with a growl
Wrapping my wet hair up in a towel
The weather isn’t going to give me a break
And, lipstick isn’t what it used to be

These shoes aren’t adding to my stature
I have nothing to illustrate
This isn’t going anywhere
And, neither am I
Swimming about in a fish net
Happy as a box of frogs
I am wearing iridescent perfume
Dizzy under a spinning moon
Unsteady in the wind
Irresistible as a car chase
No time to waste
Take me for a ride
Nothing new
Just like last time
In the same room
With the same wine glass
With the same laugh
With the same mistake
Everything is exactly like it used to be
Except, there are a lot more corners

The leopards have nothing to say
They have all turned away
They have forgotten what to do
And, how to do it
The weather is getting wetter
Am I really getting any better
Or, is it only getting later?

February 2021


Oh, what a restless and relentless way we weave, way we achieve, we seize, we tease, we do not leave. Believe. Deceive. Retrieve. Disillusioned. Discontented. Dissected. Infected. Inspected. Circumspected. Insurected. Dissolved. Involved. Infiltrated. Disintegrated. Filled with doubt. Want to shout. Wonder what its all about. Now, its starting to look like we’ll never get out. All wrapped up. All wrapped down. Lost in a maze, in a daze, in a clown. In a spider’s silver web, an unexpected face slap, a sudden, viral Venus fly trap. Caught and haven’t got a map. Hypnotized. Drugged. Bugged. Mugged. Dancing on the edge of the ledge. Singing a song. Can’t get along. I’m not wrong. A celebration of confetti. Cut up. Shut up. In the fog. In the living room. On the fire escape. In the wind in the tunnel. Underneath the volcano. In the roots beneath the trees. In the wings of bees. Behind the shadows of the breeze. In the darkness. Without a sound. Halfway out the door. Halfway to nowhere. Thirteen levels down. Don’t slip up. Don’t slip in between. Don’t go into town. Don’t end up on the wrong side of the solar system, on the wrong side of the track, going forward, going back, grinding, whirring, way too fast, running out where nothing lasts, out of breath, without a mask, without a match, without a disguise. Without a weapon. No time to waste. Hurry up and make haste. Run with an hourglass and shark’s teeth ’round your neck. I know that now its getting late and I think that I’m a wreck. What a grand, slam bang, quicksand, last stand. Going down. Waterfall drown. Doesn’t matter what you found. Everyone’s trying to not make a sound. Circle back. Go on around. No one is coming out to play. Black is night and white is day. Everything I see is gray. Nobody’s going to want to stay. No one has anything to say. So, I think that I’ll just go away.

Why Art?

5 & 1/2″ x 7 & 7/8″ Collage from Wonderland

Art for the sake of beauty is not possible as beauty is too idealistic –
Art for the sake of love is not possible as love is too intangible –
Art for the sake of dreams is not possible as dreams are too ephemeral –
Art for the sake of immortality is not possible as immortality is unattainable –
Art for the sake of imagination is not possible as imagination is too untruthful –
Art for the sake of glory is not possible as glory is self aggrandizing –
Art for the sake of money is not possible as money is meaningless –
Art for the sake of control is not possible as control is too corruptible –
Art for the sake of enlightenment is not possible as enlightenment is too unreliable –
Art for the sake of morality is not possible as morality is a tale told by liars –
Art for the sake of the gods is not possible as the gods are not interested –
Art for the sake of humanity is not possible as humanity is too capricious –
Art for the sake of celebration is not possible as celebration is always passing –
Art for the sake of entertainment is not possible as entertainment is frivolous –
Art for the sake of art is inevitable and thus art exists for the sake of its own madness


She was the daughter of Nagakanyaka, the primal Snake Girl and Behgonay Ghizig, the Galaxy, and the sister of the River Queen, Amaratatini, who married the Sun and became the Mother of Beasts, and the sister o f the Snails of Creation who taught everyone how to dance.

Kraken was acquainted with all of the mysteries of life and some of the mysteries of death. She had studied long and hard and she had earned her esteemed title, “The Octopus Wizard”. She understood beginnings. She knew all things began with energy and once nothing other than energy had existed. Nothing but movement. Vibrations. Reverberations. Waves. No space. No force fields. No directions. No time. Neither before nor after, not above nor beyond, not over nor under. All was One. One was everything.

In those days, since time did not exist, forever did not exist, and so, nothing went on forever. Instead, One changed, fractured, split into Two. Energy became polarized, both negative and positive. Electrons and neutrons. The atom. Matter. Yin and yang. On and off. In and out. Up and down. Two was the creation of matter and matter was positive. What was not matter was something else. It was space, which was a negative place, filled with nothing, the void.

Now, One had not gone away. One was still around, the forward movement, the energy, the spark. It moved into the void and turned into a myriad of frequencies, a flame, a fire. Transformation. And, when energy encountered matter … One met Two and Three was created. An idea was born, an invisible vapor, a consciousness, a mind, an awareness, a gas, an atmosphere, a breath. And, once there was breath life followed. Feeling. Emotions. Water, liquid, in which everything was created.

Kraken knew all this and more. She knew about the darkness and the depths. She knew about the shore, the ocean and the earth. She knew about science and magic. She knew how to come and go. She knew what to say and to do.

She knew what others were thinking and she knew how to disappear. She knew how to live underwater and she knew the way to the Heart of the Ocean. Besides this, if she had not kept her promise to her mother her half-sister, Atum Khepre, the Sunrise Sunset Queen, might have never returned and if she had never fallen in love with Adribarhas, the Steadfast Stone, and become the Mother of Lizards the Mermaid Seer of Atlantis might have never learned to see the future.

But, all this did happen and so it is that we are where we are today.


Art was once a work of magic. A spell to speak to spirits. Then it told us stories. Histories. Lessons. It captured the essence of a being. Kept a lost one with us. It celebrated beauty and happiness. Balance and harmony. It encouraged tranquility, peace and healing, appreciation, gratitude, the glory of God.

But, then art was used to glorify war, to provoke, to incite, to entice, entertain, propaganda, Madison Avenue, keep up with the Jones’s. Art became a tool. Art became a game, a toy, a joke. A performance. A circus all on its own.

Today it is as crazy and complex as we. Crossed over into the subconscious, surrealism, stylization, symbolism, the collective unconscious, the spiritual, the archetypal, the abstract, the impossible, cartoons, comic books, video games, computer generated graphics, the possibilities and impossibilities of the imagination portrayed in ultra realism, the better to make us feel that they are real, or they could be real, to change our perception of reality, to change the reality we create.

This world is only darkness and light, day and night, black and white, death and life, evil and good, what you should not and what you should, splintered into colors, rainbows of intentions, saturated with emotions and infected with attitudes, propelled by beliefs, reactions turning into actions. An eternal battleground in an endless war. Everyone has to take part. No sitting on the sidelines. No end in sight. Don’t give up the fight. I no longer know who I am. I know who I used to be. But, that was a long time ago. Now, everything is different. I am on the edge. On the edge of the ledge. On the edge of the edge of the ledge. One little slip. Trip. Flip. Going over. Going down. No one around, to catch me. No one to watch me drown. Too late to grow wings. Might have been nice to still have some dreams. Something to hold onto. Someone to whisper into my ear. To call me, my dear. Isn’t that what you’d want to hear? When all has been done and all has been said, who needs a kiss on the forehead, after they’re dead? Well, this has taken a turn for the worse and I’m not going to follow because I’ve already gone off my meds so I have to keep myself on the straight and narrow. Straight as an arrow. Fly like a sparrow. No doubts. No strikes. No outs. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’ve got the whole world in my hands. Oh, well. What the hell. Maybe everything really is swell. Don’t ask me, only time will tell.

It Isn’t a Game

Insanity isn’t a game. It is a river. It beckons. It sparkles. Flashes. Catches. It carries you away and never brings you back. It is like being hit by lightning without knowing it. Transparent fire, the smoke invisible. Electrocution. No one sees the cracks. No one can follow the tracks. You only fall apart later. Worn down by the mesmerizing, growling, growing storm. Torn down by singing whirlpools. Whispering, underground thunder. No shelter. Itching to be free of the tic tock of howling mermaids with wet breath and dragon’s claws. Monster’s paws on a magic carpet ride to the day glow moon, into the avalanche. The wicked quick sand. Flowing into the ocean. Going into the ocean. But, no one ever gets there. Can’t save the day. Get out of the way. Let down your hair. Don’t stare. Don’t swear. Don’t care. Don’t try to stop when you’re on the eighth stair. Listen up. Be aware. Don’t you dare. Atomic blood is on the rise, open your eyes, breathless, falling, out of the skies. Calling the snakes crawling out of a cloud? Don’t be surprised. Don’t scream out loud. Don’t ask the crowd. Because, no one else knows. That’s just how it goes. It’s how the wind blows. Once you’ve insane you can’t be overgrown, can’t be overthrown. You are all on your own. You are really alone. Don’t bother to moan. And, it’s really a shame, there is no one to blame. Insanity isn’t a game.

The Thorn

They call me a carousel, cartwheel gypsy,
Crawled out of a different world,
Smiling wild and skirts a swirl,
A witty, a giddy, a tilt-a-whirl girl,
Wearing silver sequins and gold shark skins,
A silly smile and a wink that says,
Someone always loses,
And, someone always wins.

The tea leaves say it is time to pray.
The fireflies say it is time to pay.
The spiders say we should turn away.
The path is narrow, come what may.
The day is dull, the night forlorn.
The rose is smaller than the thorn.

Merry-go-round, a circus sound,
A fireworks dance, all around the town,
Sometimes turning upside,
And, sometimes turning down.
Something dreadful is being born.
My dancing shoes are thin and worn.
The Tarot cards have all been torn.
The rose is smaller than the thorn.

Crazy in the corner. I still try to smile.
Dizzy on the door step. Maybe it’s a trial.
Insanity is in my eyes. I am laughing all the while.
I’d tell you what I really think, but, that’s just not my style.
Stay on the way and do not stray.
The black clouds say we should not delay.

So, Cracker Jack. Oh, Cracker Jack.
He is the leader of the pack.
Flip a penny. Plot a hack.
Defend, protest, or just attack.
Say, yesterday has gone away,
And, it’s never coming back.

You think that I have run away,
And, don’t know where to go,
But, really that just goes to show,
You are not in the know.
The dark night comes at the end of the day.
This is a war. It is not play.
The demon plays a pitch black horn.
The rose is smaller than the thorn.

The world is big and tall and wide,
But, everything goes on inside.
Inside of me. Inside of you.
Observe and think, and feel and do.
Our worlds are made from what we perceive,
What we accept and what we leave,
From where we go, from what we know,
And, from the things that we believe.

Now, it’s time to grieve not to be gay.
It is time to fight and have your say.
The night is thick and the grave is gray.
The sand is quick and the earth is clay.
Much is left to do before we mourn.
The rose is smaller than the thorn.

V. Castellanos – August 2, 2020


Everything starts somewhere. This started here. Started in my dreams and hopes. In a hallowed heart.

I live in a forest. Love a forest. Branches and shadows. Leaves and light. Whispering replies to the breezes. Dancing with rain drops.

Twilight between the trees. A lavender dawn.

Golden mornings.

A flurry of flowers.


Perhaps, for me, there will be no more painting, no more drawings, no more sculptures, no more art. Not much of anything. If you want to know the truth of it, I’m hardly here anymore. Losing the war. Out the door. Far out. Way, way far. Go-away far. Only one color left. Blue. Blue as the sky, blue as blueberry pie, blue as the blue birds, flying high, blue as a blue bell, what the Hell, trying to hang on, singing a swinging, cover up sorta song. Cobalt blue hidden under shadows, turquoise blue hidden in the hills, aqua blue in the opal sea, periwinkle blue in the old windmills. Bright blue, fierce blue behind the mermaid’s eyes, gray blue, ghost blue inside my moans and sighs, faience blue in whirlwinds and in Saharan dust, all my world is sinking now in sapphire silver rust. So, where are we going to go now and what are we going to say? I think I am going to say, it is always this way, at the end of the day.