Or listen to me wax poetic on my ecclectic background. I grew up in the countryside. To some this might bring to mind God-forsaken lands with terrible weather conditions. Some of that is true--Wisconsin is famous for seven merciless months of winter--but I can not forget the nobility of untamed animals, the spreading sky reflected in a flawless pool fed by an underground artesian fountain beneath the sculpted sand dunes.
There is another thing about this wild place: the people, too, are wild. Amidst the every-day daisies there are wild flower minds. Some of them are poisonous: Wisconsin's Hannibal the Cannibal, David Koresh's family, the original Psycho, and so many other's not as famous. Others are a precious breed: Native Americans still gripping dignity, the outcasts who reject society, the artists, the geniuses, the wild creative minds. Perhaps, I idealize. To tell the truth, I was totally ridiculed for attending Harvard. The majority of Wisconsinites are feign to believe there is a world outside it. They must have thought I was on a kind of Don Quixote quest. Harvard was . . . . hard. There was nothing simple about the experience. It was the military for the mind. Everything was dreadfully rigid and discplined. Now that I am "honorably discharged", I stretch my imagination and let myself slip into the sea of unfulfilled fantasies. There is my art. That is the whole of it, except one thing . . . It is all meaningless, were it not for a Creator. The orginal Artist, and Author, and Designer is God. Like a wise old man in the mountains of Korea told me once, "There is only God."
