One day I'll write a story called "The Suicide Window." Before Castle Frankenstein was built next door, I could see from my sleeping room to the far end of the block and the apartment buildings on 87th Street. Not quite like REAR WINDOW, more blotches of white behind trees and my neighbors' garages. But one building always had a light on in one window, and it never went off until well after dawn. It might have been a hallway security light, being on the top floor, but it spooked the hell out of me. Before I started my bipolar meds, sleep was non-existent. I would sit and stare at the square of yellow while the 2006 Winter Olympics hummed quietly in the other room. I saw a painting online that made me think of my story, which basically is one where the only people who can see the light in the window are those that commit suicide, and within two pages, I saw the quality of the paintings shown (NOT by the same artists) nosedive. The Nixon one baffles me. I found quite a few robot paintings, and I might post a few at a later date. To end this time, here I am as painted by Rick Therrio, whose link can be found to the left. I actually had a shirt with the pattern Rick painted--he sketched it as I was reading at the Red Lion back around 1996--one of those items of clothing I never wanted to part with. Things happen that involve bleach, sadly....Wayne
