It's strange how, when you're writing your autobiography, you come to the point of your life called now. Now. Even as I write this now moves along the timeline, time moves on and life happens. I guess the trick will be to keep adding to it until I die or get too old and goofy to continue.

I've heard that one should not view time as always passing, but as always arriving. Here in my 60's a realization grows. I'm coming around the corner to the last lap. Like time is slipping away. Faster and faster as if I'm falling. Funny how that time arriving concept has an end to it.

So, that's grim. A life lived. A lot of time has come after the beginning of my experiences. It's like more has come than what's gonna come.

That's ok. Actually living is kind of tiring. If this is it I don't think I want to do it forever.

Movie, music, latest oils, writing Three ladies, Winter.

The medium missing from this Autobiography that I've kept up thoughout these years is writing. Writer? Well, hell yes. I've been wrtiing a novel for thirty years. That novel included the arctic ice melting into a pleasant ocean, radical back then, but as I write this in the second decade of the 2000's the arctic ice is melting away. Mine is a great story about a guy's spiritual quest that he really didn't want to be on and the lady who saved him from insanity. Post Apocolyptic scenery. Asteroid winter. The thing got so fat I had to make it a trilogy.

I wrote a short story about a love drug deal gone bad called Canned Love. My mom disliked it so much, go figure, that I wrote a cute story about a girl in 50's Indiana. A little girls adventure nesessary to aquire the perfect kitten. Three Ladies. The girl, a kitten, and a spider.

The Canned Love story has turned into, guess, a trilogy. But it's cool. Apocolyps as it happens and a loving family that grows within that. A sword the bond.

And music.......Like the clown, a musician lives in me.
A problem with my whole art career is most of the works I've done over the decades is still in my studio, or in my case, my garage. I'm great at the flying but not that great at landing back on the earth to do the business. It's been said that I'm one of those artists that gets famous after he's dead. I'd better hurry up or that's the way it's going to be. That's if I get famous, dead or alive.

What's to come of all this work if I was to pass on to the great whatever.

Is the results of my life's endeavors just dumpster chow?

....Trying to Find the Right Light....INDEX....
21. To Conclude