Why London is Genius...

Why we Love Japan...

Pathogens and damage between the internal and external environment in bodily defense

There is a Woman of considerable power. This Woman spends most of her existence as the head of an arts organisation which is generally regarded as "globally significant" (at least to those partaking in the ongoing tradition of Western art culture/theory). With this position comes intense responsibility resulting in the aforementioned 'power'..

Such a position can transform a human as all of us know. All of you have had encounters with these cats to some degree, be it
domestically, socially, creatively etc.

It is the later we are dealing with here. The, 'creative human'.

This is an odd beast. By nature of their practice they accentuate the ego. Even the most politically minded or socially conscious of these people are simultaneously unleashing a scream that declares a blunt 'look at me'.

When a person sits above this milieu, in a position which empowers a 'yes' or 'no' with regards to another's art or career, a
transformation can take place.

Of course, people are born into a very particular scenario, the language you speak, the neighbourhood you inhabit, the people that raise you, the economical situation of this environment, the political structure will all affect us, or rather YOU.

YOU suffer from anxiety, insecurity, a lack of motivation and a lack of confidence.

A position like the one mentioned can elevate one above such blight, but the resulting change is often significant.

With regards to our friend this change was substantial. Throughout her 'rule' she has gained a great deal of respect throughout the community. Her uncompromising and ruthless decision making immediately escorted her to Kudos city. Everyone in the community was aware of this woman and with her success came by way of respect
(front) and fear (behind).

Upon taking this role she was all too aware of the responsibility and level of conviction the task required. She soon developed a skin. This skin was thick. A skin that could deflect advice, trends, insults, tantrums, bile and basically any human matter that came her way. The years went by, the skin grew thicker and remained a solid armour for her public persona. It was this skin that people saw, it was this skin that people respected. It was this skin that had many terrified. Such were the layers of metaphysical epidermis that she built up around herself.

Initially this skin was worn as soon as she left her front door, over time it became a good bed mate as well. Nothing could penetrate this armour. As she grew older the skin grew older , it provided her with the requisite solace and satisfaction, but as years went by this suit began to constrict her, taking on theguise of a blindfold.

She continued to excel in her work, taking on the impossible and turning it into a successful proposition with absolute ease.

On a social level she developed an uncompromising reputation. She had her share of of unbridled decadence; ego-based narcotics, various fleeting partners and the usual fare that comes with prestige, respect and power. Despite this, many in her presence noted her absence. She remained distant even heavily under the influence. The 'act' had now
become 'fact' and many had seen little in this Woman comparable to that which had existed prior to her undertaking the role that would eventually consume her being.

Humans are not born with a facade, they create one for many different reasons, to cope, to impress, to manage, to succeed etc, etc

When people are constantly praised for their achievements they often lose site of the former and rely solely on the new front.

As it was, this Woman was out one night at a social occasion of significance. As is always the case many eyes followed her, a nervous attendee would approach, unable to articulate anything remotely outside of inane babble and as always she ate those she lusted and spat those she despised.

One gentleman enquiring about an essay in a recent catalogue was rebutted:

"YOU ARE A USELESS CUNT"
"YOUR PARENTS FUCKED YOUR LIFE AND NOW LOOK AT YOU"
"YOU ARE A DRUNK"
"YOU AMOUNT TO NOTHING"
"YOUR WORK SHOULD NOT EXIST"
"YOU DO NOT EXIST"
"SUBURBAN RETARD"
"FUCKSTICK"
"DRUNK"
"CUNT"

It was on this night that this Woman indulged in more champagne, she took more cocaine and inevitably took on the whiskey at some point. None of this was new. What was new was the method by which she descended the stairs from the second floor to the basement in the twilight hours. As it was she slipped on the 14th marble stair, a heel snapped and her hand made a clumsy attempt to regain balance from the rail which eluded her the second she made contact. She fell forward, HARD. She crashed face first on the 19th step. The champagne glass she had been holding was in perfect symmetry with her profile smashing a milli-second before her face collided into the marble landing which created a deep cut. The length of the tall champagne flute made a precise incision all the way down the side of her face. As she rolled onward the skin immediately tore away from her face revealing a bloody mess from the the top of her forehead down to just below her mouth where the blood ran, perfectly blending with the lipstick she had applied in military fashion five hours prior.

Days later the cut resulted in her requiring extensive surgery, the cut from the flute was deep and the fall had torn off a substantial amount of her cheek leaving a face half poised, half pulp.

The community were shocked, some of the community were appalled, some were ecstatic, some mocking, some malicious.

In the subsequent weeks she was left with a substantial period too look.

Alas, she chose otherwise.