i want to be rich and i want lots of money. i don’t care about clever i don’t care about funny. i want loads of clothes and fuck-loads of diamonds. i’ll take my clothes off and it will be shameless but everyone knows that’s how you get famous. but it doesn’t matter cause i’m packing plastic and that’s what makes my life so fucking fantastic. and i am a weapon of massive consumption and its not my fault it’s how i’m programmed to function. now i’m not a saint but i’m not a sinner. now everything is cool as long as i’m getting thinner. i don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore, i don’t know how i’m meant to feel anymore. when do you think it will all become clear, cos i’m being taken over by the fear.dressing up and dressing down in my maison martin margiela beige aids benefit cotton tee, viktor & rolf grey wool roll neck sweater, brown marc jacobs hand painted belt, cheap monday indigo denims, ymc grey and white checked plimsoles, vivienne westwood brown napa leather driving gloves, balenciaga olive green aviator coat, balenciaga weekender, smelling of ysl when do you think it will all become clear?
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