shit all over the walls; this is when i go fucking ballistic
i saw some heinous, awful fucking art the other night. i cannot take the mindscreaming anymore.
you should all go see what is on the walls right now at Teacentric off of Hualapai & Charleston.
her name is CHEEZ & she's got a monopoly on Teacentric, apparently.
because she's got a lot of emaciated friends with really bad haircuts who work / loiter / mate there. she's on myspace, i fucking know it.
i cannot even begin to explain the shit that is all over those fucking walls. god. completely indescribable. just. BAD. WRONG.
sorry, i just believe that you shouldn't put trash on walls.
yes; i am a bitter person. i am a complete art nazi. i am an asshole. in this city, only sluts get shows.
now i am just going to yell about it.
oh, and i did see her in person, at the show. she carries her head too high. for this, i am justified.
DEAR CHEEZ THE ARTIST, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I CAN SHIT THINGS WITH BETTER OR AT LEAST PRESENT COLOR SCHEME AND COMPOSITION, AND IF I EVER RECOGNISE YOU IN PUBLIC, I WILL SPIT VERY NASTILY IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION, IF YOU ARE LUCKY, AND I WILL DO IT FOR THE SAKE OF VARIABLE LINE, WHICH I AM QUITE FUCKING POSITIVE YOU KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT. YOU ARE AN UNEDUCATED, TALENTLESS HACK AND YOUR DISGUSTING DISPLAY OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY HAS MADE ME PHYSICALLY ILL.
I COULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO LOOK, BUT MAY YOU ROT IF THERE WERE PRICE TAGS ON YOUR SAD EXCUSES.
AND, YES, BITCH, I CAN FUCKING DO IT BETTER THAN YOU. I CAN DO IT BETTER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE ABLE TO DO IT IN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE.
SO I HAVE THE RIGHT TO A CRITIQUE.
YOU MAKE ME FUCKING HATE ART.
FUCKS LIKE YOU MAKE ME FUCKING HATE ART LIKE I HATE SNAGGING MY FINGERNAILS ON COTTON.
um. well.
its one of the few things that i actually hate. yeah.
but, oh, i do loathe it with such vehemence.
you should all go see what is on the walls right now at Teacentric off of Hualapai & Charleston.
her name is CHEEZ & she's got a monopoly on Teacentric, apparently.
because she's got a lot of emaciated friends with really bad haircuts who work / loiter / mate there. she's on myspace, i fucking know it.
i cannot even begin to explain the shit that is all over those fucking walls. god. completely indescribable. just. BAD. WRONG.
sorry, i just believe that you shouldn't put trash on walls.
yes; i am a bitter person. i am a complete art nazi. i am an asshole. in this city, only sluts get shows.
now i am just going to yell about it.
oh, and i did see her in person, at the show. she carries her head too high. for this, i am justified.
DEAR CHEEZ THE ARTIST, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I CAN SHIT THINGS WITH BETTER OR AT LEAST PRESENT COLOR SCHEME AND COMPOSITION, AND IF I EVER RECOGNISE YOU IN PUBLIC, I WILL SPIT VERY NASTILY IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION, IF YOU ARE LUCKY, AND I WILL DO IT FOR THE SAKE OF VARIABLE LINE, WHICH I AM QUITE FUCKING POSITIVE YOU KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT. YOU ARE AN UNEDUCATED, TALENTLESS HACK AND YOUR DISGUSTING DISPLAY OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY HAS MADE ME PHYSICALLY ILL.
I COULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO LOOK, BUT MAY YOU ROT IF THERE WERE PRICE TAGS ON YOUR SAD EXCUSES.
AND, YES, BITCH, I CAN FUCKING DO IT BETTER THAN YOU. I CAN DO IT BETTER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE ABLE TO DO IT IN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE.
SO I HAVE THE RIGHT TO A CRITIQUE.
YOU MAKE ME FUCKING HATE ART.
FUCKS LIKE YOU MAKE ME FUCKING HATE ART LIKE I HATE SNAGGING MY FINGERNAILS ON COTTON.
um. well.
its one of the few things that i actually hate. yeah.
but, oh, i do loathe it with such vehemence.