Photo by: ArtStation – Man of Chrome, Bjarke Pedersen
May 2, 2019
Chapter VI.3 Preview
Often the art will grab you, and with that very same breath a thought packaged with creativity to utter inspiration. Make the words your art, and let the people know this is where the creativity sparks. We are free in the works of words that undo us. Lights across a city’s skyline, how first of many men who have betray us.
Pulling Yanaka’s SpaceHead over my noggin came with a bit of fonk, because Boris had just pulled it off his sweaty head of foreign hair. It was apeshit season all over; putting on the helmet of boom to serve the field. I was the rover last a wore headgear snug as this. The virtual view was proof time and technology at its quintessential phases can take us anywhere.
The deal was that I refer investors to his firm, but by then I knew he was only a partner. Beautiful liars love you until you catch them, but my gut told me to watch. Let him be thyself, thus allowed the build of my wealth. This was my payback, perfect because it meant he thought he’d be looking like the Billy Ocean out the deal.
The roommate I did last, made it well aware where funds came from out his firm. His parents’ will left him millions, and he still chose law school. Approbation must be a bourgeoisie thing.
I said yes to the project once the esoteric meaning was in play for my motivation. A forever fuck you to America, but what middle-class born Port Avantian would have the audacity to architect so. The little boy in me was screaming inside via thought, “pick me!”
If it wasn’t for the injury I wouldn’t have known shit about architecture.
From ground zero the signature signing began in my head. Two weeks away from the retainer, a village negro was bout’ to get paid!