There are times in the lives of some when we reach out for
something that we can’t define, when we search for a
lifeline, a sign, or even just a clue to point us in the right
direction.  In effect, we grope for hope!  You see, Ike had
begun to suspect that he was merely the burned out husk of
his former self, that he was drained like--well, dry, and there
was little that remained of his non-flouridated precious
bodily fluids.  Then, suddenly, along came Odd Jim Dotty
who made Ike realize that he himself had just as good a
chance, for romance or anything else. Dotty wasn’t sitting
on the bench at the beach, wondering whether to take the
big swim to China!  No, he was out there workin’ his way
through bad teeth, bad habits, bad breath, bad whatever, and
he was not hang-dog sad about anything.  Why, instead, he
was a veritable dynamo of dazzling audacity, hacking his
way through every obstacle:  “What obstacles, I see no
obstacles," he would say. Which brings us to his dot
painting of
"Blue Freud."  Look into Freud’s eyes ; what
do you see?  Whatever you think you see, I suspect you are
not going to see self-pity. Nooooo.  This guy looks like he
could eat nails, if you see what I mean.  That is the look in
my book of iron clad determination, and there you have it in
a nutshell. Blue Freud is saying that if you can’t work up
some downhome genuine determination about anything, then
you are a dead duck, and you might just as well go drowned
yourself…So, those are the words that Ike now lives by,
and he is quite determined to make his point, just as soon as
he discovers what that point might be...
Grasping At Threads When You Need A Lifeline, Part II  by Eucalyptus Ike

And what do you suppose might be the point of the next
Dotty  work called simply "Separation"  Well. If I can figure it
out you will be the first to know about it. Looks like we got us
some blobby blue clouds floating around in it. Off in the
distance we got some dirty brown dirt with some bluey goo
purple mountains after that, so good so far.  Next in the
foreground, we got some grass with the remains of some dead
cat guts sticking up right in our faces.  There’s a lot of red
lines separating this patch of grass from that patch over there,
and that seems to be about it.

But, you know that when those cat guts rot down, there will
be some fertilizer for the grass. That’s good.  ‘Cause grass is
good food for cattle.  Cattle eat grass and give off gas.  That’s
not so good ‘cause it messes up the clouds.  Then the rain
comes down sort of purple brown and stains the dirt and the
mountains get all bluey purple, which is not so good either.  So
these things all ought to be kept separate, so we wouldn’t have
all these problems in the first place.  End of story. Anybody
needs any more help with it than that,  you are going to have
to talk to Dotty…          
Blue Freud
There are always those who fail to see as we do, in spite of
the fact that we think we see better than most, and we are
gifted  with the vocabulossal vocables vouchsafing us victory
in vertiginous as well as  vainglorious combat with the bats
not only in our own belfry but with those in the belfries of
bilious back sliders as well.  Ordinarily we are not inclined to
deal with the pernicious panaceas offered up as procrustean
palpitations, factored into disguise as mounded mammalian
monstrosities; but in this case we have been granted a
digressive dispensation (by Dotty himself) in order to deal
with our inherent indecisiveness relative to certain delicate
dichotomies before additional breast removal surgery
deconstructs this dissertation into even more flavorless and
flawed Malpighian mammography.  Usually I am not one to
remonstrate over the loss of duality dependent upon certain
deconstructionist tendencies apparent in the school of loopy
art where luscious lymph nodes are seen as simply too
pendulous to pretend to appreciate.  
A Lopsided Loopiness In One of Dotty's Dreamy Ditties
Frankly I’d rather be  just totally up against it… and if you want my idea
of what mammalian beauty is all about, take a good look at either of
these planetary class pulchritudes beside which any dude with his
cajones set on straight would just love to pulsate like the glow emanating
from his great white dwarf.  These pictorial pectorals presented in all
their delicious duality would electrify the garment eel of any strictly
constructed stud no matter what side of the bed he woke up on. Though
I feel like 68 year old fondle foolishness to admit my lifelong bias,  I
most violently disagree with anyone who assumes he can improve upon
the star studded world class bovine beauty of these twins, so talented
and tumescent as to titillate the very tonsils in my throat.  Never have I
seen such roseate sag , such rotund abundance, such cantaloupian
dimples, such continental cleavage.  The raw edges of my very craw
daddies crawl forward and upward with the impulse to disclose in very
close quarters the spurt of my indisputable support for this imaginative
application of nature’s well designed  inspiration, and I am almost
speechless to express the gurgling process of my fluid flow factors so
infected am I by the lickable likeness of these two lucrative lactations
looming so majestically above the now tortured tirade of my groveling
unctuous giggle gobble.
Frankly, I have to disagree totally with the nearsighted, neurotics who regularly appear among the mouth breathing segments
and the insipid sectors of American society.  I say if you are going to give us tits, then give us two tits so that we can make the
most of it. As a card carrying member of Mediterranean Club Mammalia, I don’t want to see just one tit half camouflaged to
look like a mounded up round of gourdy ground, slightly lopnoggled with a big bite out of the side of it like some copyrighted
Adams Apple logo, crowded up against the nightshade of a scratchy looking  homemade shirt some poor dirt farmer’s squaw
had to weave out of horse hair and cheap traders thread.

                                                                                                   Newsletter of the LA Underground Art Scene
Ancestor Figure
plus quam perfectum [Latin: meaning literally, "more than perfect"] A clitical preview by E. Ike

The Dotty Technique: An Exhaustive Examination of his Plu-Perfect Performance
Well known for the rigid colonic puckering of his Sphigmoid Preoccupation, here, Dotty exhibits all the qualities of excessive potty training in
this pasteurized portmanteau of his personalized post partum permutations [the infamous era of his life now known as the Blue Droid
Loco-Motivation Period.]   
Dogged Distortion of Dark Shifted Viewpoint
Twirled Sphere of Freudian Atmospheres
Posterized Digi-Titus on Rhodes World Map of Scholarship
Inverted Freudian Introvert in Ink Blot of Nerd Water Color
Sumee of Freud on Idolized Water Paper
Chromed Flocculation of Ike's Freudian Libido
Rorschach of Freudian Ink Blot Summation