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Art, the sport of madmen who make ganderous pieces of self-contained envy, with faux-subliminal meanings and even more faux yuppies who beleive they perceive a deeper meaning to it. But the real arts aren't forged in some white-lit gallery in Soho, they've carved into the supple fishnet-coated thighs of a scummy tramp named Bernadette or Lucider or Felicity or Charlotte.
The tools of my trade aren't expensive French brushes, tipped with only the finest petrified fox-fur, they are claw hammers and scalpels. Surgical or brutal, sometimes both, I tear and scratch my masterpiece into human canvass. It's never displayed in some echoing public gallery, only in the theatre of skin, as I like to call it. To my select few admirers I am a prodigy, a visionary, a dreamweaver - to my artistic contemparies I am a perverted psychopath, a desecrater of humanity. It matters not.
In the end they all become art. My art. My style. Mine.
Art, the sport of madmen who make ganderous pieces of self-contained envy, with faux-subliminal meanings and even more faux yuppies who beleive they perceive a deeper meaning to it. But the real arts aren't forged in some white-lit gallery in Soho, they've carved into the supple fishnet-coated thighs of a scummy tramp named Bernadette or Lucider or Felicity or Charlotte.
The tools of my trade aren't expensive French brushes, tipped with only the finest petrified fox-fur, they are claw hammers and scalpels. Surgical or brutal, sometimes both, I tear and scratch my masterpiece into human canvass. It's never displayed in some echoing public gallery, only in the theatre of skin, as I like to call it. To my select few admirers I am a prodigy, a visionary, a dreamweaver - to my artistic contemparies I am a perverted psychopath, a desecrater of humanity. It matters not.
In the end they all become art. My art. My style. Mine.
I just wanted to write something.
Once again, you have completely stolen my style and tried to claim it as your own. I'm flattered yet disappointed - my tutelage has obviously had grave effects upon your self concious - and, after reading any of my works,who wouldn't be paranoid, after all?
I've contacted my lawyers, who are currently on the case. Expected to be served any day soon.
My work was without fruit, I see.
I'm going to go and listen to The Darkness or whatever it is goths listen to, and probably kill myself.
Bye <3<3<3 xxxx lol.
Nice. :)
I truly didn't plan it or even have a coherent or consistant idea in my mind when writing it. Just words and stuff.