I hate my website. It is so boring. Maybe the woman I met at Cucalorus will help me. Wow perfect connection.
My website is so bland because it’s lingering from that early 2010’s art school aesthetic. You know, crispy clean white walls, with an obscure and generic artist statement stuck on the wall to the right of the door.
[Redacted] was the chair of the Photography Department. She used to say, “Oh, so-and-so just had an opening in Chelsea”. Well, I was a regular Brooklyn ABC hot-girl circa 2015-2019 (never taking up residence there of course - except for that one stint my junior year of college, which would have been my gutter-punk era, so, I’ve digressed), and, let me tell you, Chelsea Art District vibes SUCK ASS.
At least they did then. No wonder it’s called ChAD (it’s not. I just made that up. But I doubt I’m the first). I went out one night. The coolest thing was a room full of dirt in some random 7th floor office space. So now I’m up there, peering over a 3 foot glass wall at blah blah pounds of dirt, the whole scene illuminated under bright fluorescence. Now feeling a little gaslit, I make up a little game to see if I can hold my breath for the length it would take to soak up the essence of this lazy exhibition and the 6 minute elevator ride down to 23rd Street.
I didn’t do that. I fucking ate that shit up. I just did that now, writing this, as a way to breathe in all this gratitude for how I’ve grown since her.
Anyway, thank you Professor Redacted for teaching me how not to be a leader.
I was shut-out for expressing my world differently than the way Redacted’s Heathers imagined up in their clammy brains. But I was already callous to that sort of shallow treatment when I rolled up from over yonder, sweetheart. And be it naivety or willful ignorance, I boldly paraded my “rolling locker” as the “number 1 mess-maker” through the condominium-turned Narcissist Harvesting Site, complete with mirrored walls and a coy pond. How fitting.
But why me? How did I receive the coveted award of the Number 1 Mess-Maker?
I see the scene. funGUY-deprived fuckboy’s white-glove dawned chode fingers pull her from the 9900 and pecks it right in a puddle of goopy substrate. Runs to Mommy Redacted.
I’ve always been the perfect scapegoat. But that day, I said “Not today, Bitch” (metaphorically, of course).
TBC…
Anyway, I’m looking forward to hibernation where I plan to mail the homies handmade Christmas cards and bring life to my bitch-ass little peepee website. After having recently resurrected myself, this should be a cakewalk.
#famouslastwords