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Painting - Oil On Board W/ Found Objects And Narrative
I can't help it; the desire to win is in my Jeans. For my money, there's nothing so satisfyingly life-affirming, so pedal-to-the-metal invigorating as a well-tailored pair of Jeans, but don't tell them that; their needs usually come before my own. Yes, fool for my Jeans though I may be - and much wiser for it, I might add - sooner would I risk my own life in a race to the finish than allow my Jeans to be judged by those who would hold my achievements in low esteem. Certainly, it can be argued that those who know how to win the race often outnumber those who know how to make proper use of their victories, but most have no idea of the hidden potential that lies within the creases and folds of a smooth, well-worn pair of Jeans. As everyone knows, we Andromedarians are veritable racing machines created by our Jeans, drivers whose next win depends solely on the efficiency of the body for which the existence of a good pair of Jeans is even justified, a body that they helped to build, no less. . .and a good fit will always come in handy on those tight hairpins. Yet, though the fundamental unit of a qualifying run can inevitably be found in my Jeans, I'd still venture to say they were born selfish. Alas, we racers are not very stable, but our Jeans are the fleeting denizens of the cosmological gauntlet. May the Devil take the hindmost - racing is in my Jeans, and Jeans are forever!
December 30th, 2011
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