The Story Behind The Story

I recall, a thousand years ago, I’d just returned from Vietnam, messed up big time and completely alone. My self declaration of “freedom” had launched me into a lofty atmosphere of dreams and a feeling of destiny was so overpowering that it proved difficult to walk among other mortals. Not that I revered myself as “better than others,” I just knew I wasn’t playing on the same exact field as others. I felt like an alien, no home, no purpose, no leadership yet destined. A very strange place to abide. I’d rode with some outlaw bikers right after the war and was into drugs so much so that my mind was a type of Disneyland.

After several months of dangerous fairy tale living. I was worse off than ever. I decided to make my own set of colors and ride as a lone nomad. Thinking and pondering all biker type avenues I might take, evaluation my war experiences and the fact that I’d lost my right eye. I sat at my mother’s kitchen table with a sketch pad and there they came, like words from beyond – The Blind Angel. THEY FIT LIKE A GLOVE. That day I truly became the original Blind Angel. 

Death Card
12/28/13 – The feeling of being a messenger and having no idea what the message was haunted me throughout the many long years of toil, anger and frustration. Fact is, I had no idea what I was angry about or what I was frustrated with. I was just pissed off at the world, supposedly without a reason. As I matured and hardened lights begin to come on in my attic, if you get my drift. A figurative image of-sorts, like a cocoon started to open. I had finally escaped my walk through the valley of the shadow of death, or so I thought. College and the years following were somewhat of a break from danger and disaster. As my conscious started piecing the puzzle of life together “in my attic” things became much cleared. It was as if a base camp for future conflicts was being assembled within my soul. Lights came on big-time. The messenger was formulating the message, and it was a harsh one. (come back for more:))