my dad has always said that I have a sick fascination with "the dark side"... I never understood what he meant. I was the principal lead ballerina in my dance company. I was running around picking flowers and putting them in my hair... but I guess he really started noticing my "fascination" with the darkness as he so kindly refers to it as...
when I was six years old and my brother almost cut my finger off with a butcher knife... because the fucktard asked me to hold a can of fucking something fattening and stupid to bust it open... such a douche. well- as my nanny Helen is screaming and praying to the heavens holding my finger attached loosely to my hand... i was fascinated... the blood running down my hands- the sensation of the bone protruding...
As I was avidly studying art growing up as the wild beast of burden I have become... two things are absolutaley clear... I cannot even let the thought of an animal coming to harm enter my mind or see it- nothing of the sort or I will break into a full blown panic attack- and then let's not go there... but It's almost disturbing that I can watch the death of a human being without anything other than fascination.
If I say the words Grey's Anatomy... unfortunately to you lost souls it means some cw tv show or something about people fucking each other at a hospital and changing up who fucks who every week... as for myself... it's the book that has fed my hunger of my appreciation and love of the human bones... the structure- the skeletal system. the nerves. endings. shadows. shapes. everything... and then Otis took my hunger and gave me a feast...
foundation year- life drawing was the first class I LIVED for... first semester not only did we learn the entire skeletal system- and have to be able to draw it to a discerning precision... but learn the name of every bone in the human body. I get off on the fact I know the illiad crest is your hip bone and your great trocanteur is the bone that protrudes from the side of your femur as connecting to the ball and socket joint from your acetabulum...
one of the best compliments I have ever received was when I was talking with a photographer and I got my "evil face" as my emo kid calls it- as I excitedly said how I wanted her to have a black and blue punched eye- like he really beat the shit out of her and means it... she's dead in a pool of blood- fresh trackmarks on her arm- and the only shred of what could be considered wardrobe on this beat to shit prostitute junkie? diamonds... diamonds... diamonds... diamonds...
when I was six years old and my brother almost cut my finger off with a butcher knife... because the fucktard asked me to hold a can of fucking something fattening and stupid to bust it open... such a douche. well- as my nanny Helen is screaming and praying to the heavens holding my finger attached loosely to my hand... i was fascinated... the blood running down my hands- the sensation of the bone protruding... 
As I was avidly studying art growing up as the wild beast of burden I have become... two things are absolutaley clear... I cannot even let the thought of an animal coming to harm enter my mind or see it- nothing of the sort or I will break into a full blown panic attack- and then let's not go there... but It's almost disturbing that I can watch the death of a human being without anything other than fascination.
one of the best compliments I have ever received was when I was talking with a photographer and I got my "evil face" as my emo kid calls it- as I excitedly said how I wanted her to have a black and blue punched eye- like he really beat the shit out of her and means it... she's dead in a pool of blood- fresh trackmarks on her arm- and the only shred of what could be considered wardrobe on this beat to shit prostitute junkie? diamonds... diamonds... diamonds... diamonds... maybe I am a sick twisted fuck with a very dark aesthetic and have a fascination with things that disturb most- but like I tell my dad in the moments of my breaking points... dad- I so fucking get it why Van Gogh cut off his ear... artists... we're rare. we really are. everyone's sick obsession with the facade they have and to whom, the ass kiss game- the blowing kisses bullshit is just something that makes me feel sad for all of you bullshitting pill popping martini lunching cunts... I'm comfortable in my skin- and I have a bulemic brain. you can put cutesy cuts on your wrist- but my shock value? my shock value is plain and simple... my shock value is the truth... I'm that brutally honest- and if you're offended... then bring a pillow to wrap around my words if you have the balls to speak to me. that's all... Xx bella
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