I read a quote somewhere saying something like "modeling is making art with your body," which I vehemently (I pronounced this incorrectly the other day. Also used the social idiom, "walking on thin air") disagreed with in the beginning, but thinking back on Vonnegut's idea of art being the only remains to exist after one is dead, that person was absolutely right. I only remember the best of certain beautiful people. 

However,

I would ACTUALLY consider it an art if models would do their own thing and look the way they wanted, without (this is different from being influenced) mimicking the world of what's popular. It's one thing to live in the modern world, it's another to be a puppet.

That being said, there are some incredibly beautiful girls out there. Whether or not they actually feel they are beautiful is another thing. How many boring girls out there do you think latch on to handsome fellows simply because they provide instant self-reassurance? How many guys? Nearly everyone I reckon, which might not be a bad thing; my idea of what's attractive may absolutely differ from yours and I'm not out to change that.

All I'm fucking saying is this:

GODDAMN IS IT HARD TO TYPE ON TAUSCHERS SHITTY IMAC COMPUTER ! I HATE MORNINGS ! I MISS TERESA! I WANT TO FIND A GIRL WHO CAN MATCH MY MANIC PerSONALITTYTY!!! {aka new subject YA!}

a story:

Teresa and I actually became romantically linked through episodes of ghost writer. For some reason the idea of a flying sphere that solved mysteries was more than enough artistic inspiration for our souls to mingle and our bodies to intertwine. 

the truth:

we're both creepy as hell (and hard to get to boot. well, not her. and not me. we're actually pretty easy, you just have to know the triggers.

for example,

teresa's trigger is either a fried tofu block or the idea of doing something absolutely against her own morals. for instance, she is a vegan, and after watching everything you wanted to know about sex but never asked i decided to tie her up and forced her to eat lamb and pork and lots of bacon, bacon wrapped bacon, bacon wrapped kittens and puppies and lots of children while i bathed an inuit in sauce (~VaGueE~ ~mYstERRIOUS~)

needless to say, she sang.

my trigger is anyone actually running their fingers through my hair. this is true, and has caused me to fall in love with sixty or ninety people at a time. i've decided that i should actually encapsulate my beauty on film, and will be doing so upon my return to montreal.

speaking of montreal

GOD I MISS YOU

luv

goradffdaggad

p.s.

teresa and i were flirting through text (anyone who reads that stuff besides us would probably label us as romantic as a couple of staplers. staplers actually have better grammar than we do sometimes), and we both talked about how silly it is of anyone to try and correct grammar. it's the oldest "i identify with this theory so i will battle it til the end" deal. no one really identifies with anything. 

here is a description of how i've recently thought of myself:

i am a crystal hovering in the sky with every possible light shining through me. whichever colour i am is a mystery! 

(in other words, i am a chameleon and a notewriter, a mannequin harlequin in disguise as a boy. whether or not you choose to believe me is inconsequential)