Blog Home Agent of Chaos City Poetry Zine Buy Stuff!
 
...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )
 
   
 
 

Archive for the ‘Morocco’ Category

LOST ART, MOROCCO

Saturday, July 7th, 2007

Art I made in Essaouira, Morocco. I left it here. I couldn’t find any art supplies in Morocco. I would normally apply liquitex over the surface which would give it some rigidity; wax alone is too delicate to get through customs without breaking.

These canvasses were made for me by our guide, who is also a carpenter. Usually I don’t use canvas; I find plastic or metal to use as canvas from garbage bins or the side of the road. Canvas is not very strong; it moves and flexes and cracks can form in the textured surfaces I like to build. So I prefer to use garbage instead.

Alcove where I left the art.

 

day after day after yesterday

Friday, July 6th, 2007

foto by smith

morocco’s still trying to break our will, but won’t. gotta respect a country that won’t give up without a fight.

past few days we withdrew a total of 10,000 dirhams from bank money machines. today we tried to convert them into 1,000 euros so we could pay our london and france rents for august and september. bank said no, we had to go back to where we got the money and have them convert it. walked to western union. they said no, try the bank where we’d just been refused. told lady not to worry, we could always convert them in london. she said no we can’t – it’s illegal to take dirhams out of morocco. we’re looking at losing $1,200 american dollars because of money laws we knew nothing about. we taxi out to the airport to try their conversion office. man said sorry, you need the receipts of where you got it. told him we got it out of the ATM machines. he said those receipts would do. we’ve been throwing the receipts away, but searched her purse and found enough to cover it. gave them to him. he found out we were leaving tomorrow so said can’t be done today, come back tomorrow when we leave. i’m getting tired of bureaucratic backwash telling us what we can or can’t do with our own bread.

tried to taxi back from airport. our first night in morocco, as we walked to the airport taxis, a cabbie asked if we wanted a ride. said yes. he took us to his cab – which was at the back of the long line of waiting cabs. before we knew something was out of sorts, he’d thrown our backpacks in his trunk and told us it was150 dirhams. all the other cabbies descended on him screaming cursing yelling pounding the top of his cab.

so this time to prevent a ruckus we went to the taxi at the head of the line. cabbie said 120 dirhams. told him we’d just taxied the same distance out to the airport for 80 dirhams. he said too bad. asked other cabbies for 80 dirham ride and several said yes. they all started screaming at each other. we got in one cab and another cabbie came over, open my door and demanded we get into his cab. our driver started backing up, the other cabbie hanging on to the door… finally let go.

we caused a ruckus the first time by not knowing the rules. we observed the rules this time and still caused a ruckus. there’s no way to win in morocco. we’ve seen a dozen screaming mad shouting matches, and they’ve all been between taxi drivers. no physical violence though. where’s Travis Bickle when you need him?

as we leave morocco and fly to london, which is where we began our journey last august 2nd, there’s two framing facts of coincidence… flying to mid-60s weather in london last august, we’d left the 100+ degree heat of chicago, and flying into the mid-60s weather in london tomorrow, we’re leaving the 100+ degree heat here … and … my first day in morocco was spent with vomiting and diarrhea from food poisoning i’d gotten from eating at the madrid airport, and here my last day in morocco i’m again suffering from food poisoning and diarrhea. i love it when the author frames the action like that.

day after day after yesterday…
arrived london yesterday. passport control guy an arrogant rude snot. we smiled anyway.

foto by smith

 

wall of bird

Wednesday, July 4th, 2007

foto by smith

woke up to a wall of birds chirping this morning at sunrise. tonight at sunset we heard them again. this place has an inner courtyard open to the sky and our window wall is 90% covered by ivy from the ground floor to the roof. we saw maybe 300 small finch-like birds fly from the sky and nestle in our ivy wall for the night. vociferous critters. they’re magic, right out of a fairy tale. that’s one of our open courtyards above.

foto by smith

lady k finished 4 art pieces in essaouira. they were too delicate to mail, so she left them on the ramparts by the sea to be taken home by whomever. this is her second free art offering – the other was pula, croatia. she’ll have her first solo gallery show this october or november in cleveland at the brandt gallery.

foto by smith

watched scorsese’s “aviator” film with leonardo dicaprio – great movie but sad. makes one wonder why anyone would ever want to be famous. the first dicaprio film to show me what a great actor he is. unlike any other film i’ve seen by scorsese.

used my usb memory stick at a marrakech cyber cafe and picked up 5 viruses. that’s 9 marrakech internet cafe viruses so far. good metaphor for morocco.

marrakech operates on a higher, faster, denser pitch than essaouira. of course marrakech is 22 times larger and more than 3 times older than essaouira. and this is a desert city while essaouira’s seacoast. more dirt, more poverty, more desperation, and hungrier more aggressive sales sharks here as well. marrakech is uglier, hotter, more demanding – depressing too. yet marrakech is much more interesting, packs more in each minute. shows you the dark side of the human soul.

i’m hashless in marrakech. was told one couldn’t walk anywhere without being offered hash, but i must look too old and lady too healthy for us to be approached here – although in essaouira we were offered drugs 3 times. maybe reality wants me straight. i could go to our ex-guide’s house and get some, but i don’t want to see him again after his show of greed our last day here 2 months ago. i’d rather be straight than enter that manipulative pit again. looks like my principles outweigh my need.

can’t wait to land in england tomorrow. of course that’s going to be a hassle too because england is on high terror alert, which means it’ll take an hour or more to get through passport control. our bags will be going around and around the baggage conveyor belt unattended while we wait to pass muster.

i’m off-flow today. the heat, the bad sleep, the greed, the need, plus moving to 3 hotels in 2 cities in 4 days have depleted me, have me thinking dark thoughts. my natural buoyancy is bounceless, my brain slow, my mind numb, my body sore, my will tired, my spirit less. the two bright points in my life right now are the lovely Lady K, and not being in Amerikkka – land of fascist KKKorporations, KKKristian fumblementalists, and KKKleptomatic war KKKriminal election stealing “vice” president and president pretend..

foto by smith

 

in the belly of the salmon

Monday, July 2nd, 2007

foto by smith

i am not inclined to eat in restaurants. i find the tables small and too close together, and the atmosphere false. but last night i found a way to enjoy it: get stoned before hand, then get to the restaurant early. our food and conversation were good, and we were 3/4s done before a second couple came in. two more followed. i’m an empath – i’m like a tesla coil for people, i pick up their discordancies. the more people around, the more turbulent the mental and emotional airwaves, the more i shrink into myself.

so tonight for our last night in essaouira, we got stoned and went to dinner even earlier. figured earlier in, earlier out.

sat down at 7:15. during our tasty waldorf-ish salad, a fiddler and 3 percussionists came in, started exotic ululating foot stomping song. waitress danced. band danced. customers danced. drummer ululated. we ate crab bisque soup during second song. whole band sang. bisque good. heavy drums in small concrete room loud. ululating loud. fiddle loud. ears ringing. conversation with my lady drowned out. dancer goes among tables extorting tips for band. at 9 our main course finally comes – tough tasteless fish and passable vegetable pastilla. cheese and crunchy sweet for dessert.

mediocre main course, lack of conversation, being held hostage for 3 hour dinner, and management making the fleeced pay for forced entertainment left a bored distaste in my mouth. did appreciate that between each native folk song by the band, the cook turned the radio on and played arabic techno. the band knew 3 songs. they played 6.

next day.
back in marrakech again. we found the ibis hotel too humdrum after what and where we’ve been, so canceled next 3 nights to stay in the shererazade riad inside the old city walls instead. by the time we start camping in north england next week, we’ll have changed addresses 5 times in the 9 days. bit much don’t you think. all the moving about coupled with the brutal marrakech sun has drained us. it’s at least 20 degrees fahrenheit warmer here than essaouira… saw one sign that said 113 degrees.

tried to buy straw hats because the sun here is so brutal. street vendor handed me 2 and said 140 dirhams ($16.47 US). i said too much, handed them back. he asked how much i’d be willing to pay. told him last time we bought 2 hats, we paid 40 dirham total ($4.70 US). he said ok, handed the hats back. because we’re gringos, he’d upped his price 350%. that one transaction pretty much sums up morocco.

must have had 30 friend requests on myspace today from false women asking me to pay money to look at naked pictures of them. told lady i had a load of slut requests… she replied “you have a slut glut.” say that real fast 5 times – it’s harder than “toy boat” or “rubber baby buggy bumper.”

next next day (july 2, 2007).
wrote down 3 lines to use later in poems – they’re almost a poem by themselves…

in the belly of the salmon
full moon in Marrakech
slapstick reality

foto by smith

 

olkiklk;kil;kjukl;lkjn lok,.koijm

Sunday, July 1st, 2007

foto by smith

lady cried today. walking around our last day on the west coast of africa, we came across 4 starving black kittens. could see their ribs and spine through their fur. they ran up to us pleading for food and affection. lady asked if we could bring them some food and water. i said no, they’re almost dead anyway, won’t do any good and might even prolong their suffering. lady sat on the sea wall, tears running down her face. i held her. the kittens came over and lay down at our feet. too much need and sadness for me, so i relented. we went and bought them some bottled water, 4 small yogurts, and 6 tiny silvery fish. came back, only 2 kittens there. their little teeth couldn’t get through the fish skin, so i placed the fish on rocks and stomped them with my heel to break the flesh. the kittens feasted away.

on the way back out, saw the 3rd kitten, so i found a plastic bag, picked it up and carried it to the fish. can’t touch the cats here because they’re all diseased. on our way back out again, found the 4th kitten. i left it where it was. figured i’d played cat god enough. the kittens took an hour of our day… it was a good hour. my rationale for helping the kittens is we made them happy and kept them alive for 1 more day… maybe tomorrow another soul will take heart and feed them again.

what a sad, unforgiving world this all too often is.

afterwards, we had coffee and pizza at an outdoor cafe. a pregnant black cat asked me for a bite. gave her a couple, and she lay down in the sun at my feet and slept. that’s 5 black cats laying at my feet today. sounds like good luck to me.

i constantly think i hear willie nelson singing here – the reedy slightly off-the-beat male arab singers sound very much like him. willie’s one of my 3 main want-to-dos – i want to get stoned with willie nelson, have bob dylan record one of my poems as a song, and do a word/foundsound collaboration with jack dangers of meat beat manifesto. it’s important to have goals – though my main goal is to make lady happy, and my second goal is to get our memoir of me published.

we have one small toke of hash left for today – i gave half of what we had to guests for their journey. looks like we’ll be hashless in marrakech tomorrow. or not – if we’re supposed to have some, it will appear.

the baby seagulls below are up on our hotel roof.

olkiklk;kil;kjukl;lkjn lok,.koijm

cleaning my keyboard created the line above. i figure it’s as germane as anything i write, so may as well leave it.

foto by smith

 

leftovers

Saturday, June 30th, 2007

foto by smith

decided to move to a hotel for our last 2 days in essaouira instead of fighting fates and time… no use staying anyway once a place turns on you – never know when it’ll attack again. so we’re paying 5 times here what we already paid for 2 nights there. go figure. life is strange, reality stranger.

* * *
there are many paths, and they all lead to Pathsville.

* * *
MySpace advertising programs read the blog you click to read, evaluate it, and present 4 ads across the top which might inter-relate with the blog’s contents. at one site, the 4 ads offered were:
1 – Jesus Christ Loves You
2 – conversion to judaism
3 – Born Gay? pro/con
4 – Kick Boxing Manchester

* * *
my baby’s cummerbund and cherry pie – so come on cum bun, be my very why.

* * *
a note in lady’s handwriting in my notebook: “When I draw my breath it’s for a thousand inhabitants, each parsing their own slice.”

* * *
endaltated, i’ve a lazy bones jones. that’s why i’m blogging using leftover notes from my back pocket pad. purgatory panache. or would that be purge-atory? they purged a tory when they got rid of Margaret Thatcher and stopped Thatcher’s Tory rape.

* * *
Lite Verse

We come from light
We go to light
But what a heavy in between

foto by smith

 

UPPERCLASS FLIES

Friday, June 29th, 2007

That there fly must be an upperclass fly. Because it’s far too expensive to let common house flies in this fancy hotel.

“I would think it would be even more difficult to segregate them. How can you even tell the difference between normal and upper class flies?”

By the fly by. Upper class fly fly by’s contain a certain *savoir faire*, classier, buzzier, more confident. That’s it. That’s all I know.

“Maybe it’s the acoustics in the upperclass room.”

No, because when they fly by you get a contact buzz, and I know the difference. I’ve had a few buzzes in my day.

“I think you’re right. I think flies are telepathic. I really do.”

Well, that’s what their eyeballs are for. All those little millions of facets on their eyeballs catch vibrations from every angle, 270 from the room. Peoples’ thoughts emanate; they leak weak energy which bounces off the walls and ceiling.

The fly picks up all this radar feedback, knows what yr thinking about doing, and triangulates where you’re coming from.

“Do you think flies are intelligent?”

No. They’re actually little microbots. They’re not real.

“What are the common flies like vs. the upper class flies?”

When common flies regurgitate their stomach acids onto their dinner plate, they splatter all over the table cloth. Upper class flies, it’s like little regurgitative sips, delicately applied to their prey.

“Kinda like bank fees. I want to set up my own exploitation scheme. But a benevolent one. So really, the flies are telepathic, but it doesn’t matter.”

It’s not really telepathy; it’s programming, systems analysis.

“I could believe that. They say they put a wire in a cockroach’s brain and made it turn left or right.”

I’ve seen that done with religious fundamentalists.

 

strike the set

Friday, June 29th, 2007

foto by smith

reality always starts playing with us near the end of our stay in each place… it’s as if this scene were over and they need to strike the set for their next shot.

usually it’s loss of internet access, but since we don’t have that, tonight it was the apartment owner. she’s a long robed arab woman named fatima who speaks little french. lady k speaks some french. i speak mute. fatima has the impression tonight is our last night here. we have the impression we’ve two more nights after tonight. none of us seems to understand the other.

we’ll call her english-speaking relative tomorrow and work things out. either we have 2 more nights, or we don’t. if we don’t, we’ll go to a hotel with clean sheets and hot water. this place isn’t worth fighting for, or paying more.

we already have 3 scheduled moves in the next 9 days – if this goes against us, it’ll be 4 moves. wherever our next move is, it will be number 34 in the past 12 months.

all that’s neither here nor there. point is we’re sitting here tonight happy from our friends’ visit, watching a thought provoking film about hitler’s last days titled Downfall when unchained reality rudely interrupts. no matter which way this goes, this country has twisted another nice moment into one more moroccan money-grubbing grab. glad we came to morocco. be glad when we’re not here anymore.

next day. situational update – we haven’t called yet, but we’re packing up this morning anyway and going out to find a 2 night riad. some folk look for a 4-star hotel – we look for a 2-night hotel. this place has been tainted by unpleasance. thankfully our guests had left 3 hours before our eviction notice.

bad is easier to blog than good – i should be grateful to morocco for providing so much negativity to write about. so thank you morocco – may you drown in your greed.

i’m looking at this as just one more realital lesson in zen balance – after all, light needs dark to be light.

foto by smith

 

INTERVIEW WITH BLUE7, URBAN-JELLEN TEST

Thursday, June 28th, 2007

Urban-Jellen Test’s site is http://www.myspace.com/ujtest. This is an interview with their lead singer Blue7, who stayed with us for five nights in Morocco.

“Black Cat here is one of my favorite songs. It has a bit of swamp rock.”

I’d like to quote Ducks Deluxe when they said, Down in the swamp, Daddy put the bomp in my soul.

“Swamp Rock: is that a category?”

Creedence Clearwater Revival. Swamp has Louisiana Soul mixed with Rock’n'Roll. You’ll also find rhythms in Louisianna from this continent that are played down here in Morocco because they were originally influenced by Africa.

“Your music could be a Rockabilly Noir.”

That’s fucking awesome, that’s fucking beautiful. I’ll go with that. Down in the swamp, Daddy put the bomp in my soul.
A swamp is slinky and sensual, like a vampire that dances really good creeping through the swamp. Voodoo. Voodoo boogie woogie.

I wrote my songs in the order they would be played live. I also wrote most of them chronologically as I saw the life of a man.

“Do any specific songs that come to mind which epitomize the development of a man?”

Several. There are several that epitomize the maturing process of a man.

The opening piece that I play with Thym, the one that is a four section piece. The beginning section is about the nebulous other place that we come from, then conception, then birth, then adolescence. So that one piece is the creation process. Then it goes into some dark shit, then some super duper dark shit, then some beautiful information that I had to work really hard to get but I’m glad to have it.

Everything is a self portrait. Copola says, “No matter what you think you’re making, what you’re looking up at is you on the screen.”

It’s true. Everything is a self portrait. It’s what I choose to give energy to. It’s like that. I read a book by Mark Levin, Technicians of Ecstasy. The subtitle is Modern Artist as Shaman. He made a good case for saying it’s the artist’s job to create and heal culture.

On and On, what’s that really about?”

So finally at the ending you look back to see that you were only dreaming that you were far from me… It’s a song about choosing oneness with the universe. It talks about choice and the Other, and it’s something that I consider to be a really good affirmation.

Every song that someone ever wrote is a mantra. And when I wrote these songs I wrote something that I actually thought was healthy and positive and worthwhile enough to demand the attention of an audience, and something that I wouldn’t be embarrassed, or wouldn’t want to sing about fifty years later.

I know that broken hearts exist / but what I want to know is this / what did you learn when a broken heart happened.

“Can you explain Irony is Dead?”

I think a lot of what passes for irony is a game of one-upmanship, and very often it’s disguised as the brilliant art of irony. It inhibits intimacy though really. Groucho said one-upmanship like that kills real communication.

A lot of what passes for humor is just insult. All they’re doing is using language as a fucking bludgeon. But who really wants to do that? Not me. So I see it as a control mechanism, how these guys use language.

For example, people from England use what they refer to as irony, which American’s don’t get supposedly, mainly because there are so many English cultural references that leave Americans behind. But really “irony” too often is just a bunch of insults that derail, undermine and destroy, in the guise of humor, and it’s really nothing more than a control mechanism. You can say anything in the world as long as you finish it with, “It was a joke.”

Billy Crystal, in “Mr. Saturday Night” during a scene with his brother. He said, “You were always jealous of me.” He said, “When you’re up there and things are going right you got the crowd you feel like the most powerful guy on Earth because every woman wants to fuck you and every guy wants to shake your hand.”

But humor is a pwerful way to control the room. It’s so powerful because it’s powerful.” A powerful comedian is fucking powerful. I am asking for people to ask themselves what is this humor thing? And to use it for building, not for destroying.

Everyone calls me a stick in the mud but I think they don’t really know what they’re talking about. So I ask everyone in my organization to speak to each other with kindness.

“Do you remember why you had the insight about irony, or when?”

I spent six months or a year not talking to people. And made up my mind that I really didn’t have much I wanted to say so I’d just listen for a while. Except for “thank you” at the gas pump I spoke to nobody for a year and would just listen. Even if they thought I was strange I’d just sit there and listen.

I found this goes through all cultures, this language war that is based on humor and irony and I disagree with it. I think it stops communication. It’s really just a battlefield. It’s just something people learn how to do.

I do not think that irony is truly dead. I love irony, but by stating it the way I state it, I force people to try to understand what they think of irony and humor as a whole in their culture.

“I think you said that Burning Man changed your life.”

I would describe it as the first time I felt what a community actually felt like. Everyone talks about community but that was the first time I actually experienced it. It felt really fucking good, really natural.

“So I see your band as a cross between the ecstatic and the scientific. Encapsulated by your name, Urban-Jellen Test.”

On some level, yeah. The entire experiment. When I moved to Krakow, I started to experiment with many philosophies. I didn’t go to start a single band. I started an entire scene based on the concept of good heart. And upon that I built a dynamo of energy that has invigorated dozens and dozens of peoples’ lives.

We’re proving that magic exists. At the fundamental root level of everything I’m doing there I proved that magic exists, based on good words, good heart, and good choices.

“Did going to Thailand help you develop your philosophy?”

No. It was just a place for me to relax and enjoy. It’s a country that my country had never bombed. I kept hearing about the wonderful Thai smile. I thought, I would like to be around that. It’s a Buddhist culture, southeast Asian, and it has the longest oldest reigning monarch in the world. It’s been a kingdom throughout the whole colonization era, never colonized. Everybody else was. So I wanted to see what was going on there? How were they able to stay so soft and not be colonized? I wanted to be around that. Mainly I wanted to find some beautiful place where people were smiling and it was off the grid. I give them a smile, and they gave me a smile back.

And I went to go paint some paintings which were describing what I would call my third psycho spiritual paradigm shift. Those paintings describe concepts that I finally formalized by making those paintings. They record my transformation that took about five years to go through.

And the beginning of that transformation, that’s what ‘Bad Man’s about.’

“So the concepts are magic exists…”

Oh yeah, Baby. And irony is dead. Most of what passes for irony is destructive, so it is dead. It’s death.

And also I’ve told all the people with whom I work that there are four questions we put our decisions through: 1) does it have good heart 2) does it have wisdom attached?, 3) is it great art? and 4) is it fun? I’ve asked everyone since day one to use those guidelines in decisions regarding our project. And it bore great fruit.

So everyone works well together, holding those values. And I proved that magic fucking works based on good heart and good words. And everyone busts their ass because it is worthwhile. Everyone fundamentally appreciates and agrees with the sentiment. Everyone says, “You know what, that makes sense to me.” The universe supports love, and efficiency, and airplane wings.

“Why did you decide to leave the US?”

I wanted to get the world inside me, and the United States out of me.

“Are you going back to the US?”

Perhaps. I told Thym I would go back to the States as a touring band.

“You usually avoid politics. Why?”

I’ve tried to formulate that answer to a reasonable level, but it’s pretty complex. Fundamentally I believe the political agendas of the world get enough energy already. My job is to be a spiritual person talking about spiritual things. It’s a different path.

On a personal level, staying aware of current newsworthy topics, for me, is extremely debilitatingly depressing. I’m not supposed to be paying attention to the finer details to all these problems because they’ve existed for all time. Pinochet, George Bush, it doesn’t matter. The names change but it’s always the same. I’m trying to write lyrics about after the heartbreak.

This is all based on good heart. So this is a musical paradox. The first name for the album was going to be “Smuggled Love.” I think the tensions between opposites is powerful. It’s how paradigms are created, the fusion of opposites. And I was trying to create a powerful paradigm with a community of artists.

“Are you afraid of being tied in with the hippie ethos?”

No. But a lot of Europeans, especially the English, like to brand me as the hippie guy.

“Where do drugs fit in to your life?”

I think of drugs as sacramental.

“Are drugs necessary?”

You can never say never and never say always. It’s impossible to break it down to that. That’s a ridiculous question.

“Are they transformative?”

Of course they are. That’s what they’re meant to do.

 

21st century schizoid man

Thursday, June 28th, 2007

foto by smith

our guests go south today to inner africa. they don’t yet know where they’ll visit, how long, or even when.

this is the second time overseas we’ve hosted friends i know but don’t know. last december in croatia we had 2 cleveland poets for a week. this time it was a rock&roll artist couple visit spread over 6 days. i’m not a natural host – i have to fake it. i lack people skills, social nimbleness, chit chatter – although i am getting much better at it all. keep practicing and i might get the hang of it. i’m more lone artistic collaborator than social commingler. i’ve become even rustier since i’ve had no one to talk to in english for most the past 8 months. lady says if we’re going to make it writing books, i have to become more sociable, less curmudgeony, that i’ve got to stop biting the hands reaching out to us. told her i’ll try, but they taste so good.

that said, it was a good visit. we learned, shared, got inspired, got to know two people better. blue gave us a copy of his up-coming not-yet-final-mix Urban-Jellen Test album – good stuff. last night he picked up a 3-stringed gourd guitar moroccan instrument that came with the apartment and sang “black cat” (my favorite song from the album). song has a bit of swamp rock to it. lady labeled their music “rockabilly noir.”

foto by smith

i read about a scientist who downloaded christmas carols into a computer, then taught it to write its own. trying to simulate the process of dying, he unplugged memory chip after memory chip until the machine lost its ability to think. its final utterance was pure poetry – “all men go to good earth in one eternal silent night.”

21st Century Schizoid Man

I’ve got certified rats in my rafters
Of legally voided mind waste
So excuse please these cancerous laughters
This spewing of petrified paste
Vague seeking through demented hereafters
I can’t find my mind’s been misplaced

Electron wails mournful my nay brain
Err trails its zinc aftertaste
This drivel due mad jolting sane pain
Embraces thy sameness posthaste
Dying I burp up my madness again
I can’t find my mind’s been misplaced

of when of where of what am i o god of whom of why
for seeketh then thou me thou see the be that thou belie

collage by smith

 

 
Copyright (c) 2009 Smith & Lady
Designed by Lady K