As a 21st century artist, I have to compete with more media and imagery than any other era of fine art production. It is this competition that is the spirit of evolution in my choices in size, medium and content. Narrowing down the infinite possibilities concerning what to put to canvas, is my own aesthetic filter. Applying my personal opinion to the limitless wealth of digitized pictures found on the internet, I extract context and meaning for my work from otherwise separate imagery.
I was typing that first part on my iPod while I was still in bed, and posted it so if the battery died my masterpiece would not be lost.
So, I leave the party and follow directions to someone’s house, apparently to meet up with Natalie and Babefriend shortly. I arrive at a small house set back from the street, lower than street level, decorated with vines and candles (Halloween style). No sooner do I get there, the girls arrive.
Entirely sober with re-grown hair Natalie walks up and begins to talk about the rings with Hottie McFriend and about how hers is the best because the pearls are spherical down to the atomic level. I was impressed with that seemingly impossible bit of trivia and after all conversation ceases for a moment of silence and affirming looks that it is time to move on, they invite me inside to what is the largest jacuzzi ever.
Im sort of amazed this fixture even fits within the width of the small townhouse, but they made it work. It was even somehow suspended off of a second floor balcony, and seemed that the bottom was made of blue, luminescent glass. It was a pretty neat trick and I was more fixated on the huge glowing, floating pool than I was on the fact that there was an equally active party going on at this house and that sober, long-haired Natalie Portman was explaining to me the benefits of dating her and that I should really consider it.
I agree to the terms since she was making valid points, and am otherwise unaffected by the news. Everything trails off into a party atmosphere filled cutscene to a flash-backy type montage of us on weird dates.
Most memorably we were riding a flatbed train-car down the middle of a highway that was under construction and she was saying how nice the construction workers were to her. I suggested it was probably because they were construction workers and she was Natalie Portman or a Natalie Portman Doppelganger, and construction workers anywhere would usually respond positively to anyone with such a description. She suggested that it was more likely because she went to Harvard, and all of the construction workers turn and nod in unison. I stood corrected, and felt dream guilt, having made such an unfair assumption of the construction workers.
There may have been more to it but It’s been lost to conscious short term memories since I’ve been awake.
OMG I JUST REMEMBERED HOW IT ENDS
So Natalie, The Babe and I are out for a stroll when everything gets really dramatic and they both go off on some vindictive rant and It sounds pretty serious besides the fact they both pull out Patriot machine pistols from Metal Gear Solid. They are definitely still good guys but now I’m Daniel Craig as James Bond trying to talk them down from their inevitable doom and thus, my return to a life where I am not dating the most exaggeratedly feminine version of Natalie Portman.
Natalie seems pretty bummed as well, but despite their remorseful faces, both her and Babe #2 rack the charging handles on the tiny M-16s that they pulled out of nowhere.
My debate skills in shambles, I watch them run off, side by side into danger. Close up on sad-face Bond, possibly doing the Arrested Development dejected walk.
Some small clip of post script footage played where it says everyone lived happily ever after, and the twin Weasley brothers from Harry Potter were making counterfeit money out of cork board to pay for their Dad’s medical bills after he got beat up by that giant snake. Or maybe cork is really expensive somewhere and these dollar sized pieces of cork were actually worth something. Or maybe they were going to use their magic to turn the cork into gold. Or cash. Or fully endorsed checks.
I woke up at 6:35 for no other reason than to remember this epic dream.
Halloween episode and my costume was an expertly crafted TAB soda can mascot. I was in a position to visit Garrett and bond over stories involving wearing a beverage costume. He was at a loft/gallery with the white walls, bare wood floors and intermittent TV art sculpture along the floor. He and his gallery friends were congratulating me on my TAB costume but I took a que that I may have been embarrassing him so I walked downstairs.
Somewhere along the line my costume was life sized and made of strawberry ice cream and I was eating it. Much like any handheld ice cream it started to melt and I soon had pink melted cream all over my hands.
On my way to wash up, the most bodacious, uncharacteristically curvy, Natalie Portman or Natalie Portman look-alike, notices me or just my strawberry mess and proceeded to flirt with me in the most obvious way possible I doubt it would technically be flirting at that point.
Both she and her goth, equally hot girlfriend start trying to taste up the residue of my impromptu TAB ice cream sandwich. I’m initially grossed out by the sheer volume of hands and mouths and licking, but then I realize they are probably girlfriends in the platonic way and not actually gay as I had originally assumed. So I deal with the grossness and proceed to go along with it as if licking ice cream off a strangers hand is a normal pick-up routine at this bizarro art gallery celebrity Halloween party.
I was just getting used to that when I realize stacked Natalie Portman is 1000% drunk, and her babe friend is making one of those knowing faces like “Sorry about my drunk friend, I would normally not go along with this but Im being copacetic so as not to make her feel embarrassed”. Which I thought was pretty selfless seeing as she just had a strangers hand in her mouth for almost no reason since Natalie pretty much got all of the ice cream residue on the first pass.
But, you can’t be 1000% drunk for too long until you can no longer stand, and begin to puke into trash cans.
Im right there in the trenches alongside Natalie and her hot, sober friend, in position to hold her hair back when I realize she’s fresh off some GI Jane scenario and for a second publicized time, has a shaved head. I guess that’s a good thing right now and I also decide that if a chick is still totally fine with 1mm long hair, she must be the hottest ever to compensate for such a lack of style and surplus of weirdness.
Hotfriend hands me a half dozen platinum to silver rings with varying sizes and qualities of pearls set into them and asks me if I could do them a favsies and drop the rings off at their place so they don’t get lost in the drunken stumbling that is bound to happen when they leave the party.
I agree despite the monumental responsibility of transporting hundreds of thousands of dollars in antique jewelry for Natalie Portman. The rings are received, looseleaf into my hand, and I set off
Despite waking up at 5am with a vicious sinus headache, I was able to pass out again before dawn. Maybe that sharp cranial pain influenced my most recent subconscious adventures…
I was traveling around Europe with my sister and Kiley on some sort of business. I was really excited to nonchalantly pass by and recognize buildings designed by Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier. I took some pictures and carried on with business, impressed with myself for committing something from an art history book to memory (WITH NAMES).
We were done with business and the girls went off to be girls and I was privileged to witness a secret pep-talk between Harry Potter and a Berlin nightclub owner. Harry was explaining that they needed the key codes kept in Hitlers private office in the back of the club but the owner was reasonably hesitant to go get them since Hitler was probably in there doing some kinky weirdo stuff, per usual.
Harry convinced the guy that his efforts would be worth the consequences and the guy seemed pretty inspired. Luckily enough it was a costume party so everyone was masked. Nightclub guy was cloaked with a screen quality reproduction of the Scream mask and burst into Hitlers secret office with little to no subtlety. He dashed straight across the room and picked up a set of keys off the wall, all the time ignoring Hitler’s presence in the office.
But this wasn’t a business as usual office, this was Hitler’s kinky weirdo literal-underground German Nightclub office. Strictly off the record for good reason, as Hitler was rather involved with kinky weirdo business that would take place in a kinky weirdo literal-underground German Nightclub office. Hitler’s shock of the breach of privacy was the saving grace for Harry Potter’s accomplice as his mere seconds in the space were able to go by with Hitler only flinching in reflex embarrassment until he was back out the door, in relative safety and obscurity.
Hitler tried summoning the damage control guards but it was far past that being a useful option since Harry had the keys in hand, and it was all over at that point.