Did you know that my head sometimes gets so down that it's hard to see up? My brain must be deficient of seratonin, my mind scrambles constantly, making me wonder if what I think is sane. This isn't some sappy teenage ploy to get attention. It's just an observation. It's been observed.

My brain churns, or as Jenny would quote "buzzes like a refrigerator...". I think it exhuasts me. No sleep. I sleep in fits and bursts. I'm hungover tired day in and day out. But my brian churns.

Churn. Churn Churn.

Did you know that I think you should just take it easy, sit back and take a tour of my gallery, I promise there are no advertisements or subliminal messages, well maybe two or three subliminal messages. The gallery is called access point, spanning bridge. I finished a research project that involves art.

Did you know that I went to the National Redwood Forrest? Yup. I did. And I drove along the coast on highway 1. I saw really cool trees, and fantastic coastline. I went to several tourist traps. I got car sick and nearly vomited on the side of the road. I saw Paul Bunyon and Babe the Blue Ox. They are cheap imitations of the original statues located in Northern Minnesota. I also drove through a tree. It was on Drive-Thru Tree Road. You see the beauty of being employed and comfortably stable is that you can spend money on tourist shit. I don't have kids, so it's a guilty pleasure to pay three bucks to drive through a tree. I mean, kids can't drive, so I might as well have the fun.

After driving through the tree, I backed through the tree, because I thought not too many people had done that, and, well, I paid three bucks.... I'll drive fucking sideways through the tree after paying three bucks.

You have to admit, that's pretty cool.

You know, I think it's my life dream to own a tree that I can cut a hole through and charge people three bucks to drive through it. I mean, there is such a minimal investment to make to have a lifetime return on investment. I mean, people will do it every year, make it part of their travel traditions. Write it on their calendar, buy a postcard (a shrewd business owner collect royalties on over-priced trinkets).

Did you know that there is this girl that loves me? It's true. Her name is Jenny. And I love her, too.

Did you know I never get any snail mail? That's the stuff that the US Post Office delivers. (Snail Mail is what us industry insiders call the postal service, cool huh?) Anyway. If you were to send me mail to:

T. Jay Fowler
c/o Studio Verso
512 Second Street
San Francisco, CA 94107

I will probably respond. I like creative mail. Now, don't send me any dead rabbits or anything. But I like drawings, pictures (you know, those blurry beginning and end of the roll photos?), bubble gum, beer labels, bottle caps, pages torn from library books, a nice rock, or even some money. You gimme something. I'll give you something back of equal or greater value. At least send me your business card. Come on, a 32 cent stamp, and you could have your choice of my HotWired,Suck.com, or Studio Verso business card. I promise. Really. You can trust me. I mean, look what i have already told you.

Did you know that if you hit reload , you'll find out more about me?