Aimless Noman had a headache. An industrial strength triple AAA rated screaming damn headache. A headache caused by life, consequences, a feeble attempt to scam the IRS, toss in the aging process with all its complimentary side effects and PRESTO, one nasty headache. So Aimless decides on a remedy for his ailment. Noman picks up his solution and racks the cure. Aimless places the business end of his self-prescribed fix all snug under his chin, settles his finger on the dispenser, then engages the action that will unleash a horde of steel bees that race at the speed of gun powder to work their magic on a human body. Aimless takes a last longing look around his domain and then paints his room in a macabre Jackson Pollock work of abstract imaging. Art being of course whatever one can get away with, Aimless Noman has used one of the oldest of artistic mediums. Splatter and so a seemingly worthless actuality, his headache, his regrets, his existential agony of existence terminates into darkness. Aimless Noman no longer has his headache. Machine art is next doncha know.
boo duh -
a crossing over -
DISCLAIMER...the preceding might not be for anyone of delicate sensibilities. 😎
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