I’m practicing with my body paints for just in case I happen to somehow, somewhere, sometime find myself out in the desert with a bunch of naked women who want their bodies decorated. Hey, it could happen.
I didn’t realize Bob Dylan lived in Malibu.
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2009/03/how-sweet-is-li.html
I’m not sure exactly why that bothers me. Just don’t seem right. But then I was one of the idiots who felt betrayed when he went electric, about a hundred years ago. Seems inappropriate for an “earthy poet” type like he used to try so hard portray himself as, to want to live out there with all the posing, preening Hollywood assholes. I mean, Tom Waits lives in Forestville, by the Russian River up in the woods of Sonoma County. That makes sense.
But hey, what do I know?
Wow. You sure as hell can’t get these in Roswell.
I was going to build a raft out of water bottles, really, I was. Now I don’t have to. I figured it would probably occur to somebody else. Sure enough.
This is way better than I was gonna do. I was gonna make the sail out of plastic bags, but I wasn’t gonna sail it to Australia. 
Here’s the article. link
A year ago today, Luis Jimenez‘ 32 foot fibreglas mustang sculpture was installed at the Denver International Airport. It had killed him the year before at his studio, an old apple cannery in Hondo Valley, which is just up the road from here. We used to see him at some of the Art Museum events here in Roswell. I ran into him at ABQ once on my way to California to paint a ride. We talked for a minute or two, I gave him a couple of my comics. He was a nice guy. That’s a scary horse. Biggest thing he ever did. And it killed him!