I had always been interested in drawing for as long as I can remember. As a small child I drew the normal things a child inevitably draws. Dead flowers, crying suns, weeping moons, fallen stars, burning houses and so on. Mother used to make small bonfires of these drawings [ This wasn't a problem until later on] And with her coven would dance naked around these small though intoxicating infernos. Flaming the fans of my imagination. I kept drawing all through my school years. I had hoped to get into art school. But because of Mothers need for fire from art. I had nothing to show these establishments. And so my dreams of a career in the arts was sadly extinguished. And so I got a job at the local undertakers. Using my artistic skills, such as they where, I made the dead look beautiful. And this is what I did exclusively, up until about three years ago. When upon checking a corpse for interesting possessions [ A perk of the job ] I found a D.I. Y. tattoo kit. And a few nights later on a lonely Christmas night [ Mother was communing with the undead in the local woods ] Drunk I took out the needle, filled the barrel with ink, switched on, and slowly week by week covered my arms and then my body with curious doodles. Until my face was the only available canvas I had left. I thought what the hell, I can hardly scare the customers. When even that poor space was graffited to within an inch of its life. I returned to my first love. The simple dependable ubiquitous paper. And so my friends, the results of my disappointing though heady past are what you see in this frame, before you. Please give generously to this marvellous cause. And should you require tattooing, coffin decoration, or even help to look your best, when you are no longer, quite of this earth. Please contact me.
The End.