Thursday, March 30, 2017


Yesterday I asked my son,"What is toilet paper in prison?"
"Gold," he replied.
I have schooled him well.

Hi. Howdy. Hola. Que paso? Yo soy Misti Rainwater-Lites, ugly ass gringa from the North Texas sticks. Soy basura blanca. Soy una bruja loca. I AM RAINBOW QUEEN. Hi. I'm an artist. Hi. I'm a writer. I am worth my weight in gold. That's a lot of gleam! Lately I am most intensely interested in the transient properties of art. When I say "art" I only mean mine. My art is the only art I am intensely interested in. Other art interests me but without intensity. When I say "transient" I mean shit doesn't last. Maybe it isn't supposed to. I'm currently working on a series of toilet paper collages. I've been creating collages since I was nine years old. I recently sold a collage for $25. I'm forty-four years old but I feel eighty but actually I'm twelve. I've created four toilet paper collages so far but there will be a hundred. When I say "toilet paper collages" I mean squares of toilet paper that are made more colorful and interesting with Mr. Sketch markers, duct tape and various cut out images, most of them tiny drawings I've done with black ink or markers. How can such art be preserved? It's quite fragile. Well. I ain't no dictator of aesthetics. You can wipe your ass with the toilet paper collages. You can frame them. The world is filled with frames and possibilities. Ask Kelly Ripa or Reese Witherspoon. I'm sure their homes are brimming with tastefully framed pieces of relevant art. I choose Michael's over Hobby Lobby and Jerry's. Better service, better coupons. People have been known to make their own damn frames. People have been known to wipe their asses with art then flush it down the toilet or place it in plastic bags. People have been known to stick art on refrigerators, thumb tack art to studio apartment walls, mail art to long lost lovers and coke snorting senators.

With my art I proclaim the only limits are those we place on ourselves. With my art I proclaim I don't have benefactors and I don't have a hot shit job so canvas ain't in my $800 a month broke ass budget. I do have a closet bulging with oil and acrylic paintings on canvas. I do have over a hundred original paintings and framed collages for sale.

Forget all the above. This is my artist statement. I am not here on this planet to be a fuck doll. I've been a fuck doll. Many people derive pleasure from being fuck dolls. I am not one of those. The only sex I have ever really truly deeply enjoyed is the sex that has occurred when I was madly truly deeply in love with the man who was fucking me with his cock and tongue. I don't enjoy finger fucking. It was fine when I was seventeen. I'm harder to please now in my old age. If there isn't mental engagement, emotional investment and spiritual connection I am not interested. So as you can imagine I spend a lot of time alone. Yes. I have a vibrator. This is common. This is my artist statement. All the time I don't spend being a fuck doll or being inebriated (I'm tired of puking so I do enjoy the occasional frozen margarita but I am not an alcoholic and I am not a raging social butterfly and I'm not the kind of hedonist that bows at the altar of Jack Daniels) I spend bowing at the altar of Basquiat. I don't shoot heroin or deer. I'm not any kind of cool that you could imagine. I'm boring. I'm vanilla. I'm a monk. I live in a tiny tower. There is only one window. I light candles and create magic out of nada. That is why I'm here.

Donations ecstatically accepted. Keep a bitch in Great Value toilet paper.


Bueno y gracias. End transmission.

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