the early years

the first studio, a garage with plaster walls, and black floors and a wood stove and tracklights, white footprints painted down the alley walk, letting the world know i was here, a sandwich board sign singing out in front, art for sale, i'm here, jamie is here. early am coffee at DTS the local most famous hip meeting place in the universe, all the writers, artists, actors, hey that's ali and tommy lee and gene h comes in in a slouch hat but don't bug me man this is santa fe and it's cool to not be famous even though you are, and we don't care every one is famous here and i've got my rat pack, patrick fitch the art dealer from hawaii, billy the writer and michael b, traveler and klaus kinski look alike, and victoria the photographer, and stevie m, the remodel king, and stacy the artist builder, and the conversation hot and thick ranging from art to music to travel, to writing to women to camping out and reading art mags and the coffee flowing almost but not quite as fast as the rap and then Mar back from hollywood and anyone else who wanders into our fly trap, pass the chocolate, and the noise rising and reeling ,the real church i call it, fitch and i are the princes, us being there everyday, we are the poets, tribesmen, fitch dressed in alfani hip and come on sit down what do you have to say? and i'm letting everyone know i've arrived, the savant artist is here, i'm here, jamie is here and Mar telling off someone he calls euro trash and eddie g getting in a fight with some guy in the parking lot over a bike and the cops coming and who is the best artist in town? and did you see that guys show and being dissed by artist L who won't talk to me and everday patrick fitch and me holding court. Damn, patrick i need another coffee, how about you?