I can't tell you how many times I've reached out to folks over my lifetime only to draw back a bloody stump. How many times I've confided my deepest thoughts and wishes, only to be told convenient lies that wore thin over time. Or until I, personally, became inconvenient. Like so many, I was spoon fed the slow acting poison about trying hard, keeping the faith, minding my p's and q's, etc. Now my days are spent still trying to maintain. Maintain my own integrity, my own sense of decency, my own dwindling routine of normalcy. How can people live cooped up inside their tiny heads all their lives? Shouldn't I be reading about heads mysteriously exploding? Or maybe about those who continue to function per normal even after losing their heads? This is a 6 by 4.5 inches gel pen drawing with color pencil and a bit of acrylic paint marker on medium bond manilla paper. Yeah, this is more of that Original Jones Art who thinks Jack Nicholson was right. 'You can't handle the truth' here in northwest Austin, Texas. Or anywhere else.