Hystamine Cream

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(The title of my post has nothing to do with anything, it's a title of a wanna-be brooding poem I wrote)
I'm not going to stuff your livers and brains full of nonsense, especially not mine. My mood has been very mellow and on a rather creative path so I'd like to speak. I've been channeling Ginsberg with the thought that everyone is out to get me. They are. I e-mailed a pro-Afroamerican fashion blog about the future of fashion blogging, especially for the very few fashion bloggers that are black. To be frank as always, there aren't any famous black fashion bloggers. It's upsetting to me, to see an industry that's supposed to be for all be dominated by lighter skinned people. That sounds a bit shallow and hollow minded of me to say, seeing the acception of the few black people that have contributed to fashion, but it's all to relatively real. On my life however, I've been trying to find creative ways to style my outfits. I'm going to need summer clothes, seeing as of how I spent all my time buying chunky knit sweaters, my favorite pair of Dolce Vita brouges (from Target, I'm a spendthrift), Bohemian jewelry and black tights. I'm going to need things covetable, but since my mother resents thrift stores and goodwills now I'm going to be resulting to scrapping things together from what I already have. People think I'm superficial when I talk about clothes, but clothes also make whom you are in a very small, impactful way. I'm a very artistic, loony person and quite frankly I want to look like one...with the acception of wearing the things I already have. Trying to grow and be more severely mature, I'm going to do the right thing and buy what I need, not what I want. The trip I thought was going to transpire to the goodwill turned out to be a major flop, my mom choosing to stay home instead of (unkown to her) forfill my inner most selfish desires of cat-print sweaters and long, pleated skirts. So when I heard about NewYork fashion week comming up, I wasn't excited as much as I was my freshman year of highschool. I hate American designers now, everything is blending together in a plain, stupid blur of patterns and wanna-be minimalist qualities. Thus, this is my opinion. Everyone who thinks their into fashion at my school thinks that it's the best thing ever. I hear their conversations about it all the time, whereas they try to "culture" eachother on the break out American designers that will make their way out onto the runways. I'll be the person quietly dreaming and thinking about those fantasies I have about me and Christopher Kane talking about how amazing the people of our zodiac are. We're both leo's(sentance fragment?) I of course may even be being a hypocrite, seeing as of how once I get myself established as a designer in America I'll attempt to get my designs shown at fashion week. This is just a thought, seeing as of how I'm learning French only to become based in Paris.
Then, possibly, me and Karl Lagerfeld will have tea parties and I can tell him how he looks like grim dead and that he should stop wearing teenage hipster clothing, whereas he might come back with a whittier remark...resulting in us being in an awkward silence.

The pictures above really inspire my mood. They remind me of myself in the past few days, resembling me like the neo-Ginsberg, Warhol, Twombly, Kloeky, Kerouac, Sedgwick that I am. I'm not a person to say that I'm like a dead celebrity, but I feel as if I am similar to them personality wise. Like Nelly Furtado said:


"You say you’re identical to no one, but you’re identical to some"



I feel as if I’m too young to criticize established designers, but ones age does not signify their state of mind.

-Ashley xxx

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