There I was in my rubber soled hiking boots shuffling backwards, on the safe side of the gravel-lined breakdown lane, facing the steady traffic of Hwy. 62. In my left hand was a cardboard sign that read, “Truth” with an olive branch drawn beneath the greeting. The thumb of my

(This is me wearing a pair of 1950’s grandpa glasses I bought at Century Vintage on Central Avenue three years ago. They came with the bifocal lenses. Photo by David Alan Goldberg, 2009)

My first pair of prescription eyeglasses were nested gently on my nose and ears at the tender

Time was that all advertising was plotted and created entirely, exclusively by hand and it showed. At a period when the contemporary artists of the day effortlessly (or, so it seemed) tapped the vein of the current condition, turbulent yet hopeful with a hot new breath of cynicism blowing in,/

As human beings with divining spirits, our constant need is to find some reflection of ourselves and some unidentifiable new quality that locks us in forever, despite ourselves. Some are subtle, quiet reflections. Others rage out of control with unbounding light and life. Steadfast. Consummat

Okay. How do I begin this post? Jesus. Strength.

I have no earthly idea of what smoking crack cocaine is like… but, if it is that damn good to the user, if I could fathom any sort of real or imagined correlation… I would go for the imaginary option/

“I am not a comic, I have never told a joke…The comedian’s promise is that he will go out there and make you laugh with him… my only promise is that I will try to entertain you as best I can. I can manipulate people’s reactions. There are different kinds

There was a time when all that was mass produced was brilliant to a six year old. That six year old was me and that time was the early 1970’s. I loved fast cars and I was a cereal killer. I was one bad little dude.

Mattel Toys had

It occurred to me the other day just before I left Zephyr Falls for the vast infinite otherwhere: I may never return… and I don’t want to ever return! It’s all beginning to sink in, now. My humble apologies to anyone and all who may perhaps unearth this journal one

The river is calm. The day has broken wide open through the hickory trees. The water is clear and running with new life. I see a turtle basking in the refracted rays, perched on a large rock. His neck is long and arced upward. Whatever his thoughts may be, he

Scratching squirrel hair cat’s tongue brush on masonite cadmium yellow and red oxide form vibrating humanity, embodying humility, emboldening the stars of titanium white and dark expanse of vermillion clad cobalt blue, Jésus of Nectarine busied himself at his easel on a typically hotti

It’s quiet here. No one around for miles. I can be anyone or anything I wish to become for an hour, a day, for the rest of my life? It’s entirely possible, it really is entirely possible. Had to get away from the community as I knew it. Too provencial,

Growing up as a typical Clean-Cut American Kid in Ohio in the 1970’s, I was gladly subjected to much classic consumer culture and helmet hair on German American disco youth who secretly worshiped Heino, the Tyrollean folk crooner.

Ahem… however, what I miss is Burger Chef,

(Yes. That would be Norman Thomas, the Socialist speaker. All for Socialism, STAND UP AND HOLLER!!! GIMME AN “S”…)

Tuesday evening went off nicely. Jim Nicholson and I met up at the Starbucks at 7th and Pecan Streets here in Charlotte right on the dot of 7:00 P.M. As we

(My father spending some quality time with me when I was a little dude.)

Until I can regale all of you once again with my musings, I must shower up and get ready, as I have been invited out for Thai eats by my friend, Jim Nicholson. Two artists must