okay. this is what goes down on tuesday (or whenever your thingy is...which i'm pretty sure is tuesday):
'sup. my name is emma. *point to nametag/flash portfolio* it's rather large, isn't it? yeah, i kinda rock. *take drag of cigarette...'cept it ain't lit* random artist dude: why isn't your cigarette lit? you: because cigarettes are beneath me. it's for the image, 'kay? random artist dude: ahh. okay. kinda enhances the starving artist look. you: exactly. *'nother drag...imaginary smoke is exhaled* random artist chick: describe your work. you: ummm... random artist dude: bitch, please. i don't have all day. *taps fingers* random artist chick: bitches ain't shit. *awkward pause* you: ben folds fan? random artist folk: chyaa. you: oh god, me too. random artist folk: shit, kid. what are you doing here? A + and a million bucks. now go open an art store.
and then you crush your never-been-lit cigarette under your left heel, give a combat baby kick with your right, and skip outta the place.
art store is opened, maybe a gallery or two. you don't own any shoes ('cept a pair of combat boots, which you keep in the closet...just in case). you sometimes dance around the store in your underwear. in fact, every wednesday is dance around in your underwear day. and life is real fucking peachy.
'sup.
my name is emma.
*point to nametag/flash portfolio*
it's rather large, isn't it?
yeah, i kinda rock.
*take drag of cigarette...'cept it ain't lit*
random artist dude: why isn't your cigarette lit?
you: because cigarettes are beneath me. it's for the image, 'kay?
random artist dude: ahh. okay. kinda enhances the starving artist look.
you: exactly.
*'nother drag...imaginary smoke is exhaled*
random artist chick: describe your work.
you: ummm...
random artist dude: bitch, please. i don't have all day. *taps fingers*
random artist chick: bitches ain't shit.
*awkward pause*
you: ben folds fan?
random artist folk: chyaa.
you: oh god, me too.
random artist folk: shit, kid. what are you doing here? A + and a million bucks. now go open an art store.
and then you crush your never-been-lit cigarette under your left heel, give a combat baby kick with your right, and skip outta the place.
art store is opened, maybe a gallery or two. you don't own any shoes ('cept a pair of combat boots, which you keep in the closet...just in case). you sometimes dance around the store in your underwear. in fact, every wednesday is dance around in your underwear day.
and life is real fucking peachy.
'kay glad we've got that all planned out.
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You = My Hero
emma
xoxo
PS: I finished my artist statement... its pretty okay now :D
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