peter brown / huguette clark
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“We’re conjoined. I’m curious whether either of us can survive separation.”
Art source: Kruiser
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I wish rich people went back to keeping artists as pets. Like when you’re wealthy enough you pick a cool weirdo to do regular commissions for you, and if you really want to flex on your peers, you’ve got several.
And you visit them every once in a while like “hello, I’ve paid for your rent and your tools, have you worked on that commission giant oil painting of me getting sucked off by my political opponent, who is unfortunately still the mayor of this town, like I requested?”
And your favourite feral art person looks up - mouth full of gravel and completely surrounded by art-related trash like “no, but I designed a helicopter.”
And you’re like “that’s fucking lit, the mayor doesn’t have a helicopter. Please carry on as you have.”
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The whole day did I wander or sit there alone, finding warmth in the sun, shelter among the trees, and a sort of companionship in my own thoughts. I well remember that I exchanged but two sentences that day with any living being: not that I felt solitary; I was glad to be quiet.
Villette by Charlotte Brontë
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Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Rival,’ Ariel
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