I got all the boring, mostly talentless versions of the most amazing “human” thats ever existed, so whenever we do hang out can you be the very best/worst version of the person that you wanted to be pls. and I’m a vampire so I won’t be rude enough to die on you whenever you’re having a shit time. Because people do have to have a shit time to become strong, especially our weird soul. But I know our script and I’ve got all the best spiritual teachers to help you through your hard times. Even in death you’re the most ridiculously sensitive person, which is weird because every you I’ve met seemed kind of heartless and quite terribly dressed (I know you hate photos of you when you’re overweight but I’d of fancied you all the same, if I’d of known that you even knew I existed.) (See – learning how to avoid a fear of disappointment meant that I only really crushed on people I happily knew I’d never be with) (If I’d of thought for a moment that someone like you could’ve liked me, you’d probably of become so self obsessed that nothing could kill you) (and then you’d of probably kept some significant distance because of all the attention) (I lived out our karma with other people and it never really went that well for me)
I know it bothered you that Isabelle liked your art more than she liked you, and if I’d of ever known you I’d of told you that you were having a pretty ridiculous temper tantrum because she was already completely adoring of you – probably more than anyone or anything else. We’d probably of ganged up on you a lot actually, and you’d of enjoyed it because I know you love attention.
It’s funny that whenever I met fragments of you, I actually really liked them for their personalities – not because they were nice, they were never nice… but because they were often quite unique (you have to be, to attract me!), rather than their talents. The thing that made this-you so incredible was that you could pull off being a bit terrible because you really were a creative genius.
Maybe no one else knows it, but I know it – that Isabelle had the perfect Warhol’s factory life planned out for me.
I know Isabella Blow was planning a life for me ♥️ taken from McQueen and I. I’d of found their weird arguments absolutely hilarious. I’d of run around for an hour or two a day, arranged for fantastic cakes and sandwiches and alcoholic hot chocolates, taken a million photos in various states of undress with all my girl crushes for my blogs on my favourite alt-porn sites and then slept for hours in a pile of skull scarves … and then I’d have woken up surrounded by people who didn’t even notice I’d fallen asleep and politely excuse myself to order junk food, watch all the anime and Disney and edit the photos and fall asleep completely and happily alone in some fantastic ten person bed, surrounded by my favourite belongings. MY PIGEON 😭I tumblr’d once about all the lost icons. This planet is such a fucking mess. We destroy the amazing people that make life exciting and fantastic and funny and interesting and worship the boring people. Ugh I keep bouncing from being upset about what could’ve been – and what is – and what could be. Being happy for a moment is nice, though. Imagine having his brain? People like that happen …once… every few thousand? Million? years or so. I know happiness is a choice but I also really, really know she was planning a life for me. Do you know the kind of guts it takes to actually walk around dressed like that? To pull off that kind of personality? She was probably really, really easy to despise but she probably got the people she came across to not be dull – and that’s more important than you think. I can’t imagine she was a person you’d ever have forgotten meeting.
I’m going to TRY and return the favour.
A fragment of us designed this hoody. It makes a lot more sense now.
This came out for you two/us two.
Oh god it makes so much sense to anyone observing your weird dynamic. You really did need me in your lives though. YOU’D STILL BE AROUND!!!! (Cos I’m technically a much bigger deal than both of you but not as talented as you are, or as wealthy or diva-ish as she is – BUT I GET AWAY WITH EVERYTHING. Get me thin enough and there is NO OUTFIT that I cannot pull off.)
Levi and Blood are both me, but I know my future kids want to look how I was supposed to (my lips were always quite big, but my teeth were way too small – haha, vampire – and I was born with eyes that went from blue to green… and then brown…?) And I guess I should take it as a compliment that she might want to look like me because I find her beautiful.
I don’t for a minute believe she’s anything like the badly brought up versions of her that I’ve met, because they’ve never appreciated people for their art or talents – they were just users. But she was so clearly obsessed and in love with you and your vision and I think she’d be fantastic.
Just for a second, future Miss B can have this song – cos we know I’m Lil Kim. Like I could at this point write a huge essay reflecting on the butterfly effect and the correlation between her experiences and mine but that’d be showing off.
I am a bit of a show off. But I wasn’t born that way, I was brought up that way
FYI if you two would’ve waited for – literally – like, seven? more years (I know you saw my childhood, and I know she must’ve seen her own childhood in what she saw of mine – so couldn’t you of waited!?!?!) I’d of really appreciated it. You’d of become a vampire and we’d be royalty to the most hated country in the world. AND YOU COULD’VE PICKED ALL OF MY CLOTHES. Which really seems to bother the yous that I know. I think the capacity for having a sense of taste and style – for our particular fragment went directly to you and Karl Lagerfeld, and that’s probably why I only started looking sort-of good once you had passed.
I think ALL the nice in our fragment probably ended up in me. Which is the worst, if I’m honest. I don’t need this much nice.
I NOTICED THAT CARDIGAN PHOTO, ALEXANDER. >:)
I haven’t seen a photo of you in brogues though. Which is rude.
I would’ve been obsessed with your bestfriend and everything (other yous have terrible taste in friends, myself included)
I’ve found a female version of your mum – and brother – trapped in a man’s body and everything. You’re going to that spiritual school I went to – the girl’s one – and you’ll wear that hideous skirt AND LIKE IT, ballet school, fashion school, film school and you’re joining the military – and you’re finishing. It’s not optional. You might get bullied, because people have a tendency to get jealous of us – and never really admit the fact – but you’ll be fine.
And then – after you acquire a decent rank in the military, you can claim your label back. Maybe. Oh, and you can marry Blue AND North. And if you even try to date anyone else I swear on my life I will throw a hot wok at your thirty-year-old-virgin face and kick you out of the house for three days. You’ll probably be stalked by Israeli military or something, who’ll spread lots of gossip about how you got kicked out of the house and started going ~weird~ because you didn’t have any drugs on you. (People love to create rumours about us, but learn to enjoy that, too)
And I know you’ll hate being kicked out of the house, because you love being by yourself in your bedroom, pretending no one knows you’re doing drugs.
But this time around, no one can make you do anything stupid on those drugs because I’ll be able to teach you about telepathy and we’ll make sure you’re given the most incredible Pleaidian guides – who will quite happily occupy the people that invade your inner space.
I don’t imagine you’ll ever go back far enough in my blog to actually read this, or that if you do you’ll get a massive paranoid freak out that everyone thinks you’re a virgin. DW everyone knows our fragment usually loses their virginity at about fifteen years old (That’s if someone doesn’t sexually molest us as an infant) – and that won’t happen to you because all the sex offenders/abusers I’ve known have met some kind of terrible consequence for it and nobody wants that.)
you’re writing your own eulogy, I know you’re that pretentious