all the conscious ones of us do it... consider ourselves rich, rightly. haven't you..? guess i could throw a 'go fuck ya self' in here in that case, but for the moment i'll assume you have your shit together and know the truth about yourselves. being Rich.

so you meet your most amazing friend AmandaRay on the sidewalk out front of your arguably luxurious 500sqft one bedroom floor through. then you swing by her friends bananas loft on Delancey (but get real, theres roomates somewhere in those 2000sqft) and her friend's 30 year old argentinian already-a-dad artist/chef boyfriend pours you a glass of pelligrino when you ask for water.

then you go to one of the most exclusive but still cool lounges and have $14 shots of tequila that you sip in appreciation of the liquid's sheer quality. then you start talking about art and you tell two different girls, the girls youre out with, individually, separately, about people they know that are dead that they didnt know had died within the last few weeks... and then you start feeling like the grim reaper and shit and start wondering whats up with all the skulls on your tattoos, your clothes, your doors, etc.

then the coincidences start piling up again and you realize that you are just who you are. that artist kid who didnt give a fuck about his future and spent ten years learning how to pay the bills and be rich while retaining the art, even if in smaller doses these days.

see you later.

p.s. want more bloggage and recomendations..? ask for the link and its yours.

all the conscious ones of us do it... consider ourselves rich, rightly. haven't you..? guess i could throw a 'go fuck ya self' in here in that case, but for the moment i'll assume you have your shit together and know the truth about yourselves. being Rich.

so you meet your most amazing friend AmandaRay on the sidewalk out front of your arguably luxurious 500sqft one bedroom floor through. then you swing by her friends bananas loft on Delancey (but get real, theres roomates somewhere in those 2000sqft) and her friend's 30 year old argentinian already-a-dad artist/chef boyfriend pours you a glass of pelligrino when you ask for water.

then you go to one of the most exclusive but still cool lounges and have $14 shots of tequila that you sip in appreciation of the liquid's sheer quality. then you start talking about art and you tell two different girls, the girls youre out with, individually, separately, about people they know that are dead that they didnt know had died within the last few weeks... and then you start feeling like the grim reaper and shit and start wondering whats up with all the skulls on your tattoos, your clothes, your doors, etc.

then the coincidences start piling up again and you realize that you are just who you are. that artist kid who didnt give a fuck about his future and spent ten years learning how to pay the bills and be rich while retaining the art, even if in smaller doses these days.

see you later.

p.s. want more bloggage and recomendations..? ask for the link and its yours.