It’s been stressful trying to figure out what to do as the money evaporates, but I’ve finally cracked the code and I’m so happy to share my good fortune with you.
It seems that all you have to do is paint, and hundreds of thousands of dollars will start rolling in.
It doesn’t matter if you have no talent. It doesn’t even matter if you’re a crackhead pedo degenerate.
Just do the righteous god damn Work of Art, and not only will you always have plenty of money, but your legal troubles will also just magically go away.
I wish I’d known this sooner and saved myself all that grief.
Of course I’m going to invest everything that’s left to me in canvas, and tubes of pigment, and brushes.
***
The word on the street has been that I’ve been down on myself, it seems.
It is true that I’ve failed repeatedly and that I’ve not been shy about admitting it, or describing how it happened.
It is true that my self-description has boiled down to:
Unfit To Serve
and that I’ve been vocal about all of what that means; unfit to be a Master or a house negro or even much of a field hand in the usual sense.
It is true that I was born broken.
But I haven’t been adamant enough that I considered myself broken in a beautiful way.
If you would rather hear my opinion on what an outstanding genius I truly am, I’d be happy to shift those gears and strike an accordingly cheerful tone about my own worth and image.
Plus there’s this painting career just over the horizon, and I’ll be damned if the success that brings to my life won’t improve my charisma and my grace and the way I sing my song.
Grey skies are gonna clear up.
I further admit that my attitude has sucked.
But don’t read that to mean that my attitude about myself has sucked. Far from it.
I’m broken, but I’m a beautiful lovely genius and everybody wants to be around me all the time.
As for those that don’t, well, fuck them–they won’t get paintings, or even the opportunity to buy them.
I won’t stoop so low as to sell my Art to bad people, or even dumb ones.
They’ll have to get along without my lovely smile, and I’ll be putting up locking bars on the windows, and an intercom system at the door, to make sure I never have to deal with their like even once more.
Sin against me in haste and repent at your leisure, m-f-ers. I’ve got paintings to paint, and caviar to swallow.
See you around maybe.