the captain awakes well after lunchtime, he put his pants on and strode of down the hall looking for his ego and dope, mmm, he sits in his chair and lights up a big fat joint he made previously, he takes a big puff and leans back relaxing in his comfy chair and looks at his new pictures. mr. mojo rising, the first rock and roll shaman, a poet and philosopher a visionary with stars falling from his beard. with the dmt eye, with the cosmic rainbow .
i look at the vishnu in bondi suburban bliss, light blue skinned, jeweled and golden, enigmatic eyes and indian lips, her of the red rose, beyond space and time, her colors are strong and vibrant as she stands in the foreground staring at me, filling me with desire, i want a girl like that, my very own vishnu with blue skin and wisdom and some one who can help me stay true. i look at the angles of the lines in the buildings behind her and wonder how the painter captures those perspectives. it's beyond me.
all i can do is look in wonder. wow.
and in the middle sits the portrait of an artist as a young man, well slightly older, also a rock and roll shaman, a visionary a painter and poet, but wow, what a picture, what a perfect portrait.