In the long run, it is safer for anyone to live with their own kind and even at war than it is to try to survive amongst a world where even your own neighbors are kindly strangers.
I am not working for you people; I am working for me, and to help the people—get that shit right.
Here is to anyone who might start going off slandering my name that I am in any way, shape, or form copying another person’s work; I will defend myself in court—with proof, truth, reason, and logic. See you there.
Anyone can do art, but not everyone is an artist.
- I don’t do well in a social group.
- I don’t do too good working as a collective team.
- I am not your friend.
- I am your enemy.
- I am taking over.
Ms. Amine Batbouti
When one’s work is shared and still they wonder if they should state appreciation.
“Let me nourish my ego,” and then what.
“Being helped, sponsered, and/or supported in the art world is a childish and an immature concept that needs to end,” basically you want us dead—say goodbye to your reputation.
Stranger: Is this real leather.
Me: You like it. It’s made of genuine human skin.
Stranger: Wanna see your paintings.
Me: Wanna sponser me.
“Let me put on these gloves while I paint because Heaven forbid that I’m discovered as a day job painter; in any case, I hope they would be proud of me now because that’s the closest I get from looking like a real doctor.”
Tomorrow is never a guarantee, so I like to keep my dishes clean and my mind ready.
Nowadays, you don’t even know who are your friends anymore so you stop calling the cops and reach inside; scared, that they will turn bad against you.
One time a woman fell on the ground and as I reached down she thought she saw the devil. Next time an old woman fainted on the ground and as she reached up she thought she saw an angel.
The girl says; “I want no salad.” I’m pleased to hear that, now here’s some peanuts.
So apparently holding hands lessen the pain; great, let’s all sign along “Kumbaya my Lord.”