Shitao/drawing

Tim O'Brien 5' 9" Middleweight Right Handed Illustrator Portrait painter Father Husband

Anthony Marshall, the late Brooke Astor's only child, was found guilty on October 8, 2009, of swindling his mother out of her famous fortune as she succumbed to Alzheimer's disease in the last years of her life. The witnesses for the prosecution included a Who's Who of New York society, all captured here by court sketch artist Jane Rosenberg.

Lion Sleeps Tonight

Ee-e-e-um-um-a-weh
Ee-e-e-um-um-a-weh
Wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh (4X)

/ G C G D / /
/ G C / G D / :

youtube.com/watch [youtube.com/watch]

In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight
In the jungle, the quiet jungle
The lion sleeps tonight

/ G C / G D / :

{Refrain}
Ee-e-e-um-um-a-weh
Wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh (2X)
Ee-e-e-um-um-a-weh
Wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh, wemoweh (2X)

Near the village, the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight
Near the village, the quiet village
The lion sleeps tonight

{Refrain}

Hush my darling, don't fear my darling
The lion sleeps tonight
Hush my darling, don't fear my darling
The lion sleeps tonight

Ballad of Another Ophelia

Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard,
Lamps in a wash of rain!
Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard,
Oh tears on the window pane!

youtube.com/watch [youtube.com/watch]

Nothing now will ripen the bright green apples,
Full of disappointment and of rain,
Brackish they will taste, of tears, when the yellow dapples
Of autumn tell the withered tale again.

All round the yard it is cluck, my brown hen,
Cluck, and the rain-wet wings,
Cluck, my marigold bird, and again
Cluck for your yellow darlings.

For the grey rat found the gold thirteen
Huddled away in the dark,
Flutter for a moment, oh the beast is quick and keen,
Extinct one yellow-fluffy spark.

Once I had a lover bright like running water,
Once his face was laughing like the sky;
Open like the sky looking down in all its laughter
On the buttercups, and the buttercups was I.

What, then, is there hidden in the skirts of all the blossom?
What is peeping from your wings, oh mother hen?
'Tis the sun who asks the question, in a lovely haste for wisdom;
What a lovely haste for wisdom is in men!

Yea, but it is cruel when undressed is all the blossom,
And her shift is lying white upon the floor,
That a grey one, like a shadow, like a rat, a thief, a rain-storm,
Creeps upon her then and gathers in his store.

Oh the grey garner that is full of half-grown apples,
Oh the golden sparkles laid extinct!
And oh, behind the cloud-sheaves, like yellow autumn dapples,
Did you see the wicked sun that winked!

David Herbert Lawrence

Growing up terrorizing a small town in Oklahoma, Anthony spent most of his childhood exploring abandoned structures, getting dirty in creeks, and pestering his fellow neighbor kids. During his perilous escapades, he'd hoped to discover a new unrecorded aquatic species, a real live ghost, or most importantly a true friend that was at least half as crazy as he was. Whether or not these aspirations ever became a reality is hardly relevant. His childhood ambitions stewed and fermented in his soul and his head throughout his life. They evolved and spun into all humanly possible directions getting expelled and contorted through drawings, mud sculptures with yarn hair, homemade forts, puppets, and finger paintings in the process. If the neighborhood kids didn't fear Anthony's capabilities, they might have envied them. But mostly, they ended up loving him because he brought something unique and priceless to the town and to the world.