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By Alan Scally
Welcome in, droogies. Unfortunately, I'm not sure I know the way out. I do know that demons are made, not born. My demons were made in various places: The streets of Belfast. The coal mines of Scotland. The rain-soaked hills of Oregon. The magic city of Paris. The blues clubs of Chicago. (Vaya con dios, Son Seals.) And under the bloody red sun of fantastic L.A. In 1971, my demons sat in a cafe in Amsterdam sipping cheap whisky and smoking bowls of hashish, trying to remember where the cemetery was located. My roots are in County Antrim, Ireland, where the past is never the past because it hasn't happened yet. In order to survive roots must go deep. Roots never see flowers or the sky. When roots are told of blossoms, clouds, the sun, and infinite green spaces,they think they are being lied to. My art is my truth.