The Tree of Blood

   This thing is called The Good Life. It's the typical dollhouse mentality landscape of Senyore Kinkade, containing as it does a toy structure and a caustic stream and the usual tableau of strontium-90-in-the-air kind of pallor to be interpreted by the senile as paradise. The lobster red tree near the house is particularly disturbing in a painting of Thomas Kinkade's -  which are usually overrun with disturbing aspects - but this tree in particular seems especially craven. It is like a gigantic lung. It's got the capillary system of an xray hanging on a clip. It violates every known law of terrestrial life. It is like Creationism as bolstered and reinforced by the flailing compulsion known as the Thomas Kinkade Work Ethic: "paint as much crap as you can as fast as you can and as the years go by get worse and worse and worse." He's like a raging machine of sub- par-ability-gone-wild. Joe Francis could make videos of it.
   You would have to be profoundly disturbed to find this painting relaxing. You would have to have your head actually literally and physically up your ass to see any merit or virtue in this from a customer's point of view.
   The two fires inside the house aren't enough, the guy in the front yard -  who appears to be taking a wizz - actually has a third fire smoldering in the grass. Maybe he is going to burn the whole panorama down.
   The canoe could be used as a bridge over that fucking mercury stream, where the fuck is he going to sail it, down that piss trail in the yard? There isn't enough water in that rivulet to float the corpse of a goldfish much less a heavy canoe with a man in it.
   Bill and Hillary Clinton like this man's work. I just threw that in 'cause it came to mind. Bill and Hillary Clinton are supposed to be the two most astute human beings ever produced from American sperm and eggs. You should be frightened by that last sentence even more than your fright experienced from the painting itself.
   The ramifications of Thomas Kinkade's sales volume are, to anyone with a shred of intelligence or discernment, very unsettling. His entire Darkside psyche gets put on display for all to see, like a cry for help, and people - very odd people - just can't get enough of this dementia and drunken mockery into their living spaces. I suppose it will take 300 yards of yellow crime tape forming a perimeter someday, however, before anyone believes me that he is quietly going off the rails.