OKAY PLAY, PLAY, PLAY
I know that this generation don’t like to read – I know you guys struggle with long paragraphs. Don’t worry – I know I write a lot but I’m a good writer. Once you get into something I’ve written you’ll notice there’s lots of sordid gossip and the kind of stuff magazines would invest MILLIONS to publish a story about.
I’m one of those writers that shares so much personal information that it’s BETTER than the captions they use in Hello Magazine.
OK HERE WE GO.
I found out that my cheaper plastic surgeon’s employed PR –
Reading lesson – the stuff in brackets is okay to ignore, it’s just context*
*(a girl whose name we won’t mention) (she’s blonde) (some people are still sticking up for the blonde to become “popular”, even if it costs them ridiculous amounts of money, even if it could cost them their license due to malpractice – even if it literally does everything BUT make them popular – YOUR BIG BREAK IS NEVER GOING TO COME THAT WAY.)
(If you want to be “popular”, be kind to everyone, be hard working, be ‘neutral) (but if you watch people doing terrible things and remain ‘neutral’ – you will look bad later)
– is one of my stalkers and that she’s been using my ideas as ‘inspiration’. I even noticed a scan of what looked like (was) my sibling’s handwriting (a fine attempt at calligraphy) on some of the marketing for one of the surgeon’s products, in lipstick. Nice touch. I didn’t mention – she’s a friend of my sibling’s. (Not the one who has been stuck in a rehab for sixteen plus years because the only family that engage with his doctors are compulsive liars. They can’t help it, trust me they can’t help it.)
I noticed that this girl had botched her ‘marketing’ work when I looked at one of these sites – name dropping Cleopatra in articles they had poorly and irresponsibly written about dieting and juicing. My sibling and her friends are not the kind of women to know ANYTHING about Cleopatra. I’ve HEARD their chats.
Cleopatra was probably a Macedonian – probably a black relative of Alexander the Great – he got AROUND A LOT. (I’m more of a Cassander person – there’s this pokémon meme about these massive crime syndicates in the Poké Universe who get taken down by Ash. A thirteen year old little boy. Alexander the Great was a strategic genius, he knew his battalions by name, brutally and bloodily conquered continents and got low-key killed by a dude called Cassander. I think Cassander and Ash have a lot in common.) Alexander’s family raised and educated him to conquer – so it ran in Cleopatra’s genes. She spoke several languages FLUENTLY (and probably only so that she could academically belittle men) she was deeply spiritual (that word, to describe the Ancient Egyptians – to clarify – isn’t how we understand the word today. There were no buddhist singing bowls (love them) or hand holding peace circles and reiki hangouts. In those days – ‘spiritual’ meant worshipping some pretty nasty Gods and offering them gold/animal/human sacrifices, building massive architectural sculptures that Aliens used as meeting points back when they still bothered visiting our Planet and all just for dominion over their enemies and agricultural prosperity. The Ancient Egyptians BURIED SLAVES – ALIVE – when their Pharoahs died so they had people to take care of them on the otherside.) She was responsible for murdering her sister and brothers (probably her father also) and wasn’t apprehensive about human sacrifice – she was a cut throat (- literally – probably the kind of person to do it herself if she had an audience) “diplomat” who was portrayed as a seductress by the film industry.
Most historians will tell you that she wasn’t especially ‘beautiful’. She was a power hungry woman who belittled Greek men (have you ever belittled a Greek man? It KILLS THEM inside) and pit them against one another, when they had previously been quite loyal to one another. They probably went to school together. They probably hung out together, naked, at the olympics.
Cleopatra is not someone I would use to ‘sell’ cosmetics – however she did write books on cosmetics, so if you’re going to sell cosmetics using her name, IDEALLY inspired by literature she had authored that-you-had-somehow-managed-to-find-a-decent-translation of – you probably want to credit her.
You probably want to use the money you earn at her expense to offer her a tribute. (That means: BURN IT) I mean take it as a joke if you want but names carry vibrations.
FYI she quite liked to bath in slave semen, asses (DONKEY’S) milk and water with a very high salt content. That was her idea of an anti-ageing beauty routine. And fyi, semen is a great moisturiser – so she had a point.
Anyone who studied an MA with me will confirm that the lecturers stupidly put me in a class full of people who were not artists – that didn’t think creatively – that had not been prepared to study with people who had studied at competitive schools like London College of Fashion, where your classmates are your enemies.
I mentioned a friend – called Alexander, ironically – who wanted to direct perfume advertorials and put a ‘scent’ to a ‘visual’ when I was asked to introduce myself to my class, and I said that I wanted to be an Art Director. No one in the class had applied with that ambition. After I spoke – everyone on my course decided they ALSO wanted to be Art Directors.
On a course that had already been structured around ‘data management’ powerpoint lectures and was mis-advertised (ironically) to myself.
I wanted to incorporate my knowledge of the Arts, the Classics and create advertorials AND PACKAGING towards a degree that would ideally have prepared me for employment.
A group member I had – out of pure retardation – kindly invited AT HER REQUEST into my group, decided my vision wasn’t a good angle and to avoid the expenditure of energy after a conflict and trauma rife period – I stupidly listened to her. She RUINED my degree. If it wasn’t for this girl I could have had a fucking Masters degree by now. She fancied herself a graphic designer. If you saw her art you’d be mortified.
Anyway. Nothing new to me.
I had wanted to work with luxury cosmetics for years – the conversation came from the fact that I loved to photograph ‘fancy’ things and was studying fashion. It is not something I just woke up one day, and decided I’d be really really ridiculously good at.
Here are perfume bottles I photographed. The swarovski one on the far right was a gift my sibling’s ex boss gave to her, she took that back one time when she noticed it in my room. It was empty – I just liked the sparkling light effect – as most people with eyesight like mine do.
This is a golden mac eyeshadow I got given for my eleventh, I think birthday. I took the photograph at twenty years old. Thats how old it would’ve been. I was never taught how to apply make up, and I was taught to keep things by my “mother” – who had a collection of make up in a bag that she boasted had lasted for many years.
It’s sitting ontop of a floral fabric thing I purchased from a charity shop and used to cover my scanner/printer with.
Here are some bits I did when I was NINETEEN. I think I scanned in various bits from magazines and kids story books and collaged those – so don’t worry, I didn’t make any money from an idea that I know has made companies billions of pounds making a piece of art to put on a flickr account.
This was inspired by a visit to Uganda – where I learned that women didn’t have access to products for menstrual health. That women were expected to work and teenage women expected to go to school, even if they were on their periods and even if they didn’t have sanitary towels – and it was done LONG before people were having pads delivered to their homes via Apps. Which I hear is a thing now. Please find a DATED original here.
Here is a perfume bottle I designed – adopting the word ‘nymphette’ from the novel LOLITA by NABAKOV. THERES A LARGE VERSION HERE.
The large version is better.
Anyway. Lets get awkward. My sibling’s friends have been stealing from me. I knew she had been stalking me online, when she was working for footballers wives – I didn’t care then and I ought to have.
Here is the latest: here; we have some painted flowers. Glass bottles dripping in fuchsia.
Months ago, I started filming a video for my Spiritual Kids Channel. It involved dying roses, using blue dye and using gold food dye for the mis en scene.
My sister was over that day and something inspired me to share the idea with her. Really I was trying to make conversation. I told her what I was up to and then said “you might like to tell a friend, I know you have friends that like to host fancy parties”
First of all – if you’re selling luxury items, hire someone who LIVES for writing – to author your copy. Try snooping through the people that write for Vogue if you’re struggling. These are people who have to get degrees to have the fucking AUDACITY to call themselves writers and they probably hate themselves for weeks every time something they write gets published. Artists really suffer.
Second of all – go through anything and everything I’ve ever written and you’ll see this tag line was written by someone who had not been reading the classic books they photographed, but had DEFINITELY been reading MY BLOG. – this – is MINE. – this – is how I speak, too.
Third of all: If you could possibly believe that this wasn’t ripped off from my work you are on crack or heroin or coke or all three combined. Maybe also overdosing on acid.
Here’s a piece of work I did at University. Before the Kardashians were buying white roses from florists. (That was what I could afford.)
I’ve blogged about the visual at length somewhere, I’ll find the post and include it shortly.
I still have one of the roses. The nature of my work is consistent – I like flowers. I like flesh. I like vibrant colours and I like DRIPS.
I painted this dresser using purple, pink and yellow sprays. I painted my door using copper spray. I painted the second hand concrete bottle using gold, metallic paint. I painted the rose using blue and gold food dyes.
(Incase you need an explanation of the laughter – because this really isn’t fucking funny – I laugh when people throw around the word ‘daddy’. It’s like when children laugh at adults making out. It makes me uncomfortable.)
Here’s another example of a concept that was stolen from me. I appreciate how simple you think this might be – but it’s not. Or YOU’D of thought of it BY YOURSELF.
Nicki Minaj can do whatever the fuck she likes, she’s a freaky girl. It takes a lot to be a freaky girl. Next song please.
Nicki Minaj teaches the little girls not to chase fame but to STAY in SCHOOL. An important point.
You know when you watch stuff, and you think “oh shes so me”??
I wouldn’t want to be either of these little girls, but I’d sooner say I was the MUTE one that bigged up her ‘friends’. The confident brunette was so poorly raised (I think both were) that she just interrupts Ellen – if I had done that as a child my “mother” would’ve threatened to slap me in public.
Here was the response I received.
[Edited 15th Feb] I’m sure it’s entirely unrelated and coincidental, but what’s going on with Monmouth Street? I got a ‘discount’ email from Bloch today. They recently (personally) invited me to visit one of their new stores to ask me “What I think”.
Hm. Back to that email.
My… usual self? You’d have to pay me – I mean pay me a LOT – to go as my “usual” self. My “usual” self can wear baggy pants and have chubby, wobbly, hairy legs and still make you (in your lipo-suctioned, injectibly “sculpted” body and MUA applied foundation lipstick and blusher and £100 faux tan) want to actually kill yourself. Figuratively. (Yes, how dreadfully and obnoxiously self absorbed of me to say, but I assure you that it is healthier to love yourself than it is to hate yourself – especially when you are robbed fucking BLIND by people who HAVE MONEY that made you feel ugly – nay – HIDEOUS/talentless growing up.) (And when you have a sibling who was funded for £50 plus wash and blow dries at the hair dresser – it’s not difficult to be made to feel like that.)
You can’t see it here but I’m hiding a cigarette burn. Ewwww amirite
It’s not as well lit as it could be cos my lamp is missing some lightbulbs but I have stretchmarks on my breasts. GROSS. How selfish is it of me that I’ve not even had them removed????
And if I’d of gone to this awful event, I’d of bathed in Beyonce’s perfume because I am literally non-stop working, I don’t have the fucking time to shower. And I’d smell better than anyone else there, assuming there might’ve actually been other people there – do… do people actually do launches for perfumes…? I wear Beyonce’s perfume now. Probably forever.
Also – I know that tobacco is a plant and that Marc Jacobs actually uses it in his fragrances but I also know that men are REALLY threatened by women that smoke more than them. I don’t mind my clothes/hair/mouth smelling like tobacco or like weed (I haven’t smoked in ages 😦 ) but I prefer to smell of perfume. I can’t afford the perfumes I’d normally of liked to of bought right now, and I’m glad of the fact – cos Beyonce’s is my favourite.
BTW a nude photo of me is worth more than a nude photo of my sibling or her friends or any of my other stalkers – including the famous ones. I laughingly remind myself of the fact every time I convince myself I’ve lost my phone.