This is a crusty old drawer of combs and detritus; a shoebox of photos at the bottom of a broom closet; a pile of worn out shoes under the bed. These entries are torn out tongues and linen on the line; wind blown snake skins and beak-trapped lizard tails. A little about myself: my mother raced stock cars and my father was a pool shark. They etched my name in the sand, just as the waves were rolling in. I lived with gypsies as a young adult, but never learned to fly a hot air balloon. Everything I know I learned from the son of a beggar.






2 Responses to “EVERETT JAIME”

  1. volkmar ernst September 28, 2013 at 1:50 pm Permalink

    …Everetts’ childhood seems quite interesting (reminds me of Frank Zappas’…), …so I’d like to see more of his artwork…saw some great photos (I love your honest and unpresumptuous approach!) on his homepage…and hopefully next time in london…hugs Volkmar


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