Readin' someone else's mail
Here is a picture of me and Clyde Jones my favourite Outsider Artist from Byno, NC. Also a pic of my favourite painting hanging over my bed of two snakes with Buckhorn nut eyes by Clyde. Romantic ain't I? Sorry Baryshnikov I have a Clyde and you don't. I got this painting for driving Clyde to the gas station for gas for his lawnmower and thanks to my friend Fred Johnston for asking for me. Fred read Clyde's mail because he can't read.
Mr. K fired my gas kiln on Sunday full of his Covid crazy abstract impressionist jugs, mugs and one offs. He has a real job and can't come till Saturday for the unload. The kiln is cool and I've looked at the kiln several times and thought oh I should just have a peak. No, that is like reading someone else's mail, opening someone else's Christmas present and I won't do that. There is information in the kiln that is private to Mr. K. It will excite or disappoint. It's personal.
When I fire with my crew there would be a mutiny on the Bounty if I unloaded the kiln without them. It's their work and their labour so I get it. I am so religious about this I have never gone into a woman's purse even when told to. I take the purse to them. A person needs to have a private space.
Some Americans seem to believe that "freedom" means having no responsibility to other people and creatures
—even in the face of the fact that thousands of people have responsibly cooperated to build their roads, grow their food, make their medicine, sew their clothes, provide them with water, electricity, and garbage service, give them jobs, create their entertainment, and sustain their internet. Rob Brezney