Beckett Drove a Deux Chevaux

A mantra for artists in this Golden Age of Things.

I live of late in Los Angeles, to use the term “live” loosely, where the breast are oddly round and the trees are oddly square.

Los Angeles is the hideous demon spawn that might result if the Statue of Liberty went to a bar, ordered a drink, looked away for a moment and woke up two hours later to find herself being raped by The Golden Calf. It is a place…