Why this piece reminds me so much of Martha Pauper of the Esplanade, I cannot say.  Perhaps it is the Pensive Purples.  Perhaps it is the Curves, the Ornateness, the Feminine Principal, the Ambiguity of chance that pastes this Pastel dream-scape together.  We know not these things.  But one thing for sure, this piece reeks of Art, Artists, and Altered States.  Alan Ginsberg and Lou Reed would revel in the Inner Spaces created by this extrremely sensitive and captivating Creature.  If we could name it, what would that be?  "Heidelburg", I think, or "Pasqual's Last Dinner".  Graffiti like this begs forgiveness of every cell in your pancreas.

At any rate, it's time to move onward to Bigger and Better Solitudes.  Now for some SOLID SUBSTANCE to the tune of Gambling Casinos, Harleys and Flashing Neon Lights. A poker hand with the Brothers in tne Night.  A dead bird drops from the bell-tower of the Cathedral.  The clock strikes 12 precisely. 

No one could say it louder.  I can almost taste the Bud (weiser, that is...); the Stars and Stripes, the Iron-workers at the Foundry, the Metals decorating the Wounded.  This piece is amazing.  It could be a cop riding a Cadillact to Church.  It could be a Biker Band, playing a Rolling Stones tune.  It could be Billy Graham and Donald Rumsfield having a gay affair in Black Leather.

It's neanderthal, yet it's Upright, like a Steinway Piano.  The color wheel is simple, yet it speaks with the vocabulary of an Army Surplus Store.   If "HSA" was "USA" and letters were freeways, this bomb would take us travelling on Highway 66 in a '57 Chev Belvedere.

Could we pray for anything more?

A little magic?  A slide-show behind the Looking Glass?  "Just Ask Alice, I think She'll Know; when Logic and Proportion - have fallen far below....".   The mystery of Cartoons that tell us more than we know.  The mystery of fairy tales that were read to us by Nannies, Grannies, Teachers and Preachers.  The mystery of the Magic that will never die in any of us, but will only remain silent, polite, and embarrassed.  Humbled by the Colors In The Can.

What makes visiting the Beaches so Tolerable?  Murals like this Graffiti piece on the Right.  Goddam, kingdom come!  Put the Klingons in the Blender, Stir your Salad Sideways.  Look to the Right, look to the left.  Cross the Street triumphantly - and get run down by an Intergalactic Oldsmobile Omnivore.  All in the name of "doing your job".  SEZ can't help but doing a little bit of Panoramic Philandering for the sake of your Drunken Tonsils.  Click here or on the pic below to see all... (it's a biggy, 100k for you Modem Romancers...!!)

But, fear not.  Life goes on, even after 40.  What do old Taggers do?  Spray the wind with their farts?  We'll nail down Pablo Fiasco for an interview some day and find out what goes on when Creativity Meets Grey Hair. Who knows.  Maybe we all forget the Magic Passageway that Alice showed us and end up just another Rabbit in just another Cage in Just another Pet-Shop.  It's all in the cards, they say.  But who's the Player and who's the Dealer?  Who stays for coffee and who plays for Tea?  Who travels beside you and who travels inside you? It's an interesting Life, this one. Whether you believe in reincarnation or not, if the shoe you wear is not fitting, don't wear it.

We leave you on the Beach at this point - to make the best of your afternoon, before the Whales arrive.  Or the Police.  Or the Arrogant SUV drivers.  Or the Blondes-With-Cellphones-For-Brains.  Makes you wonder JUST WHO is behind the wheels of all the cars who die on lonely roads every day, no?  If no one's watching, it didn't happen.