atlasphere is an alchemist, a soul archaeologist, a force of nature, a cultivator of desires, bridge builder, a mystical vortex that transforms all meaning from mundane to magic. she's "the monarch of her own skin," an exquisite heart filled with savage intentions that amount to nothing less than paradise on earth! she has won my deepest admiration. i love her passionately, adore her sincerely, and am so incredibly thankful to have benefited from her being in my life. i raise my glass to the circle and ask that we all drink in honor of her magnificent, earthly power!

I will not demean Altasphere by calling her a “free spirit” or a merely a “Doer”, nay she is beyond these simple terms. When we see Atlasphere in action we must ask ourselves simple question, beyond the inadequate title “Unclassifiable” how in fact does one classify one such as she?

Imbued with strength of character, wisdom, intelligence, warmth kindness, and vision….yet, in such perpetual evolution we would have better luck trying to measure a fish while it swims.

So, I invite you all to try, but know this: Even if you succeed in locating some descriptive terminology for our dear Altasphere,
By the time you have successfully implemented it as a standard of identification it will be holistically obsolete , like a photo where live transmission is required.

Floyd is courage and generosity personified. I have seen her choose sadness and loss over self-loathing, and from the depths of her personal hell she threw me a rope ladder to the sky. She has felt enough pain to know the value of joy, and she makes it with her hands and her mind and her will. Gratitude is hardly the word.

Singin' in the Rain, lyrics Arthur Freed
You are my lucky star.
I saw you from afar.
Two lovely eyes, at me
They were gleamin', beamin'.
I was star-struck.
You're all my lucky charms.
I'm lucky in your arms.
You've opened heaven's portal
Here on Earth for this poor mortal.
You are my lucky star

I have this friend Midori, and she is beautiful and infinitely cooler than I am. Well, I had this "moment of clarity" one day and I realized that I was seriously looking like a homeless version of Jane Hathaway from The Beverly Hillbillies. So, I asked Midori for her hairdresser's telephone number as a step towards becoming a recreated goddess. Prior to this, I will admit (but only to you ) that I was seeing a $15 Viet Namese hairdresser who cut my hair in like 4 minutes. I had her do highlights once (which took like 20 minutes) and walked out looking like Martha Washington.

ANYWAY, connecting with a hairdresser is like blind dating. You are not quite sure about the vibe/chemistry until you get there. I was excited to be in a salon and to be able to sit and read magazines, because with two kids that is such a luxury. I also love the smell of all the dyes and sprays and potions at a salon. Ahhhh Zen......

When it was my turn I took a seat, and SHAZAM! It was Altasphere! She so cool and beautiful and had a magical quality. Instantly I said "You can do whatever you want" because I totally trusted her - and knew that she "got it". After a bit of conversation, I could tell that like me, she had life's wisdom - but the soul of a 14 year old. She is still excited to see what is around the next corner - because after all, the greatest pleasure is the anticipation of it, yes? I could totally picture her in a bubble bath at 3:00 a.m. drinking champagne with friends and singing old TV theme songs.

As I was leaving, she told me she was an artist and gave me one of her postcards with a website on it. Now, I can make a mean paper bag puppet - although I always have difficulty with making the fold over part the mouth so it can talk - I usually screw up and make the mouth on the flap (and then it has to talk out of it's neck). Well, I looked at her art and do you know, it is BRILLIANT!! One day I will live in an "airy" house with her paintings all over and a fountain and vines with purple flowers on the outside. It will smell of expensive candles and I will invite you over and we will do Jello shots on the patio and listen to Vincent Gallo.

It was 1966... It was well over 100 degrees and I was desperate for a hitch out of the desert...somewhere in the desert. I collapsed along the side of the road, my mind raged in a psychadelic blitzkrieg. I remember suddenly seeing a streak of light in the distance slicing through the hazy horizon like a scissors, and a faint scent of petrol tickled my nostril. I squinted my eye and saw the shape of a small black and white canine...no it was a vehicle of some sort...racing towards me. I could make out knuckles, white with desire, grasping the steering wheel, massaging my soap covered brain...my sweat tasted like linseed oil. A pinky finger shot out and took mine. My body twisted like a flag of freaks and light burst out of my eyes. I blacked out.
I later found myself waking, sitting in a chair, looking at myself in the mirror. A mustache had been painted under my nose with oil paint. I got up and walked home. I later realized atlasphere had struck again.