There are days we have burned into our memories so strong we can feel the warmth of a certain day, the sounds of people walking around and asking questions, the smell of a multitude after shave and perfumes. Every instance freezes and seems as though it has always been, that we knew the words yet to be spoken and the thoughts going through our minds tells us we're all a part of some strange play or movie for the universe. That was the day I met Devon Oxford was like.  Casa Grande has had bookstores come and go, not much of a reading populace to sustain one for long. This moment in time we had a real one with the works, books, magazines and other little items. I'd read about a book called the 'Necronomicon' being published in hardback as well as a limited edition of (Yep) 666 signed and numbered. At that time I only wanted the regular edition and asked the owner to order one for me. From behind a voice say 'Make that two.' I looked at the voice and that's w

  The strange thing about age is that we might not be able to tell you what we had for breakfast that day but the images of twenty or more years are still there for better or worse. We can grab those memories, turn them around and twist them about until we can spin a happy little tale but the truth will always be there in your mind. You can't run from it, you can't hide, and you simply can't forget. That was the 80s for me. It was a decade long binge where I tried my damnedest to kill myself with virtually anything that could erase the pain I had inside my soul. I was serious about trying to wipe out my memories and my life and I failed at each and every turn. I was productive artistically, had sold out gallery showings, worked for more than a few magazines and role playing games...Guess I was the stereotype 'Artist' in that way. But the real world?  Really didn't want to be a part of it. Finally I not only hit rock bottom, I had a shovel and dug a great deal fu