CONFIDENT: DAMNED IF YOU ARE & DAMNED IF YOU’RE NOT

I’m not calling myself an artist, but the creative process is lonely. You start talking to yourself for hours, days, sometimes years, so you can create something real from those crazy pictures inside your head. You drown yourself in imagination, ignore the world, and you expect the same people who resent you for it to lift you over their shoulders when you’re finally ready to present them with your masterpiece. You deconstruct and reconstruct over and over and over to the point where everyone around you thinks you’re insane. You know what they’re thinking, and you get why, but explaining it would take too long, and you’d rather stay in your crazy head, because you think it’ll all be worth it in the end. They’ll see. You subject yourself to painful, and sometime vicious criticism. You end up doubting yourself so much that you deny your own virtue, so they stop beating it out of you before that last bit of fire goes out. You go back into your lonely head, and start fanning the fire again, hoping that next time, it’ll be undeniable, but it keeps happening over and over and over… No wonder so many of us try to numb it with drugs.

If you choose to sacrifice certainty for happiness, prepare to walk through that door 1000 feet tall, because you will get cut down with every step you take. Hope that you’ll find the happiness you seek before there’s nothing left to keep you going, but know that the taller you walk, the harder they’ll hit.

This is the life I’ve chosen, and I’ll take it any day over being shackled to a desk at an office.

Mr. Brainwash celebrates the Diamond Jubilee

In celebration of the Queen’s 60 years on the throne, Mr. Brainwash will be releasing “Jubilation”.
An eight-color screen print on deckled edge archival art paper.
Each print is signed, numbered and thumb printed by the artist.
Half of the edition will be available online Tuesday, June 5th at 12pm pst, and the other half will be available in London.

OMG They just made #Coachella sound so much more fun!!! #4shizzled, #luvmezsumpotz, #justhadbuttsecs, #westcoastSodomyFTW, #Ihatebeingwhite, #Looking4sumHos

1. No this is not a humor website.

2. Are these the same people who support people like Rick Perry and Michele Bachmann??? If so, we’re in big trouble.

[http://christwire.org/2012/01/why-are-parents-letting-their-teens-attend-the-coachella-2012-pot-smoking-black-sodomy-orgy]

Why Are Parents Letting Their Teens Attend the Coachella 2012 Pot Smoking Black Sodomy Orgy?

coachella2009 Why Are Parents Letting Their Teens Attend the Coachella 2012 Pot Smoking Black Sodomy Orgy?

Children who attend Coachella 2012 will be exposed to forceful anal sex intrusion while sinfully high on hydraulic Pontiac chronic, supplied by chocolate skinned urban dope dealing assassins. This year’s ring leaders are no other than hipped hopped’s deadliest homicide duel and ghetto thug kingpins, Snoopy Dogg and Dr. Drea. These two gangstas are trying to dip their menthol marinated, mocha fingers into the panties of America’s youthful white women via pot smoke and potty mouth music beats and at the same time training your young boys into lowering their goals to become minimum wage working nobodies.

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These two king blacks will be brainwashing your porcelain skinned babies with melodies of cannabis musk and welfare pornography. This year’s Coachella is allowing them to bring their thuggary streets to white America’s front porch and your children will be coaxed into becoming future $2 Compton hookers and pimps waiting on their street corners looking to partake in thievery and cracked coke caned slobbery.

Twitter hashtags will not be streaming typical hipster festival party talk, no, Twitter feeds will be tagged with graphic vulgarities like, #4shizzled, #luvmezsumpotz, #justhadbuttsecs, #westcoastSodomyFTW #Ihatebeingwhite and #Looking4sumHos. Pot is known to drive women into wanting to dip their feet into the world of Sodomy and Snoopy Dogg and Dr. Drea will be encouraging your young princesses to post thousands of bandwidths worth of Twitpic photos of themselves tampering with pot smoking anal orgies to their food line friends in hopes of scoring some free amateur demon whacking materials.

The beer gardens will not be filled with America’s favorite beverages, instead it will be flooded with Mad Dawg and Old English 40 ounce bottles. This is the devil nectar that blacks use to quince their thirst from a long days worth of pot smoking and sexual taint tickling.

Two things threaten America, pot smoking hipped hoppers who try to lurk inside your daughter’s baby doors and sodomy. Both are creeping their hands up Lady Liberty’s virgin thighs and we as guardians of our children’s future must stop festivals that promote lazy black drug smoking lifestyles and festivals that teach our children to have sodomy styled sex acts.

Before allowing your sweetheart to go off to Coachella, just remember do you want your daughter’s milky nutrition tanks fondled by thousands of strangers and have their fecal cavern trained by sweaty hipsters and nappy headed Harlem hobbits?

pic2 Why Are Parents Letting Their Teens Attend the Coachella 2012 Pot Smoking Black Sodomy Orgy?

pic1 Why Are Parents Letting Their Teens Attend the Coachella 2012 Pot Smoking Black Sodomy Orgy?

Just Call Me Hitch-ette

As part of my friendship duties, I often find myself giving my homies advice on relationships. It’s probably my tendency to use words like “homie” that makes the guys especially comfortable, but I have to say I kind of love being asked. In a weird way it actually helps me learn about myself, and how I should handle my own relationship problems. It’s true that things are easier said than done. Sometimes I wish I had someone like me to go to, because as good as I am at empowering my friends to make good decision and be happy in their love life, I can’t say I’m able to do the same thing for me. The hardest thing to do is to remain logical about a situation when you’re emotionally invested in it.

That being said, my “expertise” so to speak isn’t entirely absurd. Growing up I had a clear understanding that my parents needed to get a divorce at a very young age. Their relationship was based on a foundation of deceit, their values clashed, and the only reason they stayed together was because my mom didn’t want to lose custody in a country where women have no rights. By the time we moved to America when I was a teenager and they finally filed for divorce, I couldn’t be happier.

My mom’s second marriage however ended up being worse than the first. She met a clinically bipolar man with a prescription drug abuse problem who flip flopped between a really generous guy who took her on nice trips and bought her expensive gifts when they were dating, to a neurotic psycho who cried and accused her of wanting to take all his money after they got married. At this time I was living in Seattle and she was in California. She would call me everyday, a lot of times crying and unhappy, but she was too emotionally weak to leave him, so I moved down mainly because I needed to rescue her. My 20-year-old self rented a U-Haul, packed all her shit up and rented an apartment for us to move into, so she could get the divorce process started again.

Meanwhile, I had a year off from school because I had to gain residency in California, so I started looking for full time jobs that didn’t involve me serving food or selling clothes to people. One day I saw an ad for a job where I could control my own schedule with an expense account and pretty good pay, so I went in for an interview at a Beverly Hills based matchmaking agency that was basically designed to introduce “marketable men” to “eights and above”.  My job was to recruit the girls into the agency from bars, malls and porn conventions. Essentially I was being trained to be a madam.  As a part of my job I learned how to bring women’s guards down so I could pick them up, spent hours asking them about their past relationships, and discovered a whole lot about women’s wants, expectations, and how relationships go from paradise to hell.  At the same time, as much I wanted to help my mom meet someone, I knew the agency wasn’t the right place for her, so I created an online dating profile for her and she eventually met her current husband, who is amazing, on there.

By the time I was ready to start my last two years of college in San Diego, I had to turn down the Agency’s offer to be the director of their San Diego branch. Now I had a different problem. I needed to make the same amount of money working half as much, so I walked into the largest engagement ring store in San Diego, and after three interviews convinced them that based on my experience as a matchmaker and a teenager working at the mall, I was qualified to sell diamonds to prospective husbands. They bought it, so for the next couple years I spent hours every weekend with various guys and couples, pulling on their emotional strings, listening to them talk about their relationships, and making them believe that moment was the right time to apply for a high APR line of credit and max it out on an overpriced engagement ring for their one and only love.  Yes, I killed it there, and as glaringly obvious as it was that a lot of those relationships were going to end in divorce, I did it anyway and put myself though college working 2 days a week. Maybe the reason why I haven’t had a boyfriend since then is karma, but I did learn a heck of a lot about men’s wants, expectations, and the difference between healthy relationships and bad ones.

All this combined with two live-with boyfriends and almost six years of breaking hearts and getting my heart broken in the single world have given me a unique perspective on this crap… but only from the outside. I guess it is true—Those who can’t do teach.