Intro

"A painting must have a painter!" 

The voice peeled out across cyberspace. It was harshened by a  New Zealand twang, but also had the optimistic lilt of an unmolested choir-boy.

I heard the words flow from the screen. He must be a Poe, I thought, but the look on his face didn't seem to say so. It was hard to tell though - that same naive face was obscured by the kind of moustache that had filtered many a cup of holy sacrament.

That mo' spoke with wisdom, like an old-timer at a bar who comments on the game and how he could have played football, if only he hadn't been illegally tripped over in the 14Ds by Charlie McPhee.

He was the only man I heard of who openly admitted to thinking a banana proved an entire religion. His books came forth like a colony of Streptococcae, numerous, mildly offensive and almost exact replicas.

He was Ray and he was not ashamed.