JODY BARTON

"I'VE grown a beard that's two and a half feet long, and I feast on roasted blue-tits caught fresh from the tree. I drink creosote to get high and I ride a donkey to the marketplace. I think the world is about to come to an end. My eyebags are by Chanel, and my girlfriend is a bicycle. In the morning I arise to lick dew from a log, and rub sticks together to make shit. I have devised a system for living. Listen to the groan of my plumbing and the gush of my waterspout. I emerge from my tarpaulin as white as maggot to face the new internet dawn and read the newspapers online. My investment products are growing above the rate of inflation. I'm laying down some supplies for when I'm invalid."

The world screams - and Jody feels its pain and cries out mournfully in a terrible chord of Teen Angst. After a period living in The Status Labyrinth, he now lives in quiet seclusion with his elaborate bicycles in the deep countryside of the County of Countryside. His dwelling is so remote that there are no roads out at all. No shops, no lights - only the howl of the owl, the inquisitive friendship of the weasel and so much mud. To pass the time he makes pictures for anyone who asks. Scrawling pictures of dead and dying dolphins, weeping over empty treasure chests, getting mental treatment for having been an inmate at Her Majesty's Prison Art College and painting portraits of death help to fill the time between sleeps. In the long nights he manipulates electrons on distant hard-drives to bring the joy of websites to the world. There's nothing like a roasted blue-tit for breakfast. He uses Mont Blanc gold fountain pens, a scanner and the iMac Apple PC Dell Dimension Intel Inside-Outside-Upside-Down Celeron Celery Acorn BBC Micro Laptop Desktop Flat Screen Wide Screen Sony Solar Easeltop Mini Organiser Mulberry Blackberry Raspberry iBeret to make his works. It is his last wish to have his ashes scattered in Chapelfield Shopping Centre, Norwich.