Dear Barry,
One year to the day since your death.
How are things in heaven?
There are many misinterpreting you from interlopers in Ibiza
to Richard Long’s comments on your three pieces at the Royal Academy.
I write on, in competition, no doubt, with those who know you, now you are dead.
And those, of course, who must know you, cos they do not grasp, not knowing anyone!
Mainly, these are those, who do not know themselves.
But your Hares leap on like the lenses of Art, made by those whose talent pales, before the dance of your Bronzes.
Good luck with God I’m sure you will charm him.
Love from the Earth
Robin
Tony Blair/B-liar’s sense of self importance is almost as large as the Grand canyon.
His fictional account of himself and colleagues is an example of how not to be human.
He cried for lost lives but so do other murderers.
If he, prophetically, knew the state of the economy in 2005-
How come he didn’t tell George Bush let alone his own political party?
I am astounded by his vanity and avarice.
Enjoy hell when you get there.
Innuendoes, superstitions,
Writings on the wall
Took place here
In a Space,
Named me.
Wasted, atrophied,
Only dark remarks
On broken phrases.
The vast forever of death beckons
Before the little light of life.
