I wish rich people went back to keeping artists as pets. Like when you’re wealthy enough you pick a cool weirdo to do regular commissions for you, and if you really want to flex on your peers, you’ve got several.
And you visit them every once in a while like “hello, I’ve paid for your rent and your tools, have you worked on that commission giant oil painting of me getting sucked off by my political opponent, who is unfortunately still the mayor of this town, like I requested?”
And your favourite feral art person looks up - mouth full of gravel and completely surrounded by art-related trash like “no, but I designed a helicopter.”
And you’re like “that’s fucking lit, the mayor doesn’t have a helicopter. Please carry on as you have.”
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happy lesbian visibility week
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For Johnny Thunders
Closer to someone I've never met
Than to some people I know
Your music as personal to me as can get
Tell me why you had to go
Too much too soon
You were born to lose just like me
More mysterious than the moon
Locked in a cage, longing to be free
Tried to put my arms around a memory
Seems like I never ever learn
You've said it for almost half a century
Yet I can do nothing but yearn
All the nights spent on the bedroom floor
Crying and listening to all your records
Your voice and lyrics shake me to the core
You're a rose with equally petals and thorns
I light my cigarette on a candle
And for you I blow a smoke halo
You're so untouchable
Like a distant yet relatable hallow
Now without you I feel so alone
If you knew I'm still looking for a kiss
Could I summon you from the tombstone
So I wouldn't have to miss you
You’d want me to go out so I dress in leather
Deep down I know you must still be here
Legends are never truly gone forever
Still I'll close my eyes and shed a tear
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whenever i'm trying to talk myself out of buying something i don't need i always hear my old russian professor's voice echoing in my head: "WHAT??? WILL YOU DIE THE RICHEST MAN IN THE GRAVEYARD?" and then i make an unwise financial decision
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Carmen Maria Machado, from "Meat Eater No. 5" [ID'd]
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You are not ready for my poem dedicated to Johnny Thunders. You will explode from my sheer genius and emotions
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frick it. hyperspecific poll
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I hate work I should be at the (remembers I don't want to go to the club) the imagination
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