i haven’t been the same since my first snow storm in 71. Even now every time i close my eyes, i see the white blinding the darkness of thousands of snowflakes. Not that you could ever see those tiny snowflakes, mind you. They were fast and they knew their way around the cold air. i remembers the looks on those boy’s faces when they walked into that village and… oh Jesus. i shouldn’t think about that now. Sometimes i still hear Tex’s slow southern drawl. i remember the smell of Brooklyn’s cigarettes in the frozen air. He always had a pack of Luckys. But the boys are gone now… i know that. It’s–it’s just that i forget sometimes. And sometimes all it takes is the way a snowman yard decoration looks at me… just it makes me think. Sets me on edge. And i feels like I’m right back there… In the blizzard… In the whiteout…

nothing but big robe propaganda.

who me? i’m just a poor lower class fine art patron.