Have you ever wondered ehat it would be like to date a celebrity? Well I have the opportunity to date with a bunch of them. No, I don’t actually date them in person. I have a strange ability that let’s me turn people into the clothes that they wear in the moment. It first happened few months ago. I was with my friend in LA and wanted to see someone famous. So we went to filing studios and waited for one. The first actor was Orlando Bloom. I wanted to meet him desperately, but he just went by waving at his fans.
Te next one was much better. It was Taylor Lautner. He came out of the studio and looked pretty sad. He greeted his fans and shouted. ,,Hey guys, I have a sad announcement. One of our actors who played a patient on Scream Queens has passed away. Well I would like to give some of you the oppurtunity to become famous. All I need is a tall young man willing to shave off his head.” O raised my hand and he saw it. Maybe bacuase there were only four other guys in the crowd. He said he will show me the studios, because he wasn’t shooting any scene at the moment. The last place he showed me was his locker. Then I felt sou horny that I practically throw myself at him. We fell on the floor and he screamed.
,,Please don’t scream, I love you. I want you to be with me.”
I didn’t know what triggered the changes, if it were the words or the feelings, but I knew that there was no going back. I wasn’t laying on Taylor anymore. I was laying on his suit. Where had he gone? How is this possible?
I looked at the empty suit that was lying under my heavy body. I didn’t hesitate and immediately put it on. It was too tight, I couldn’t even fit my hands in the sleeves. But then m hand went trhought like nothing, my pants fitted perfectly and shirt had more space then before. I looked into the mirror.
,,No fucking way! I am Taylor!!!”
Then I concetrated on his voice in my head. He screamed so much, he didn’t want to let me use his body. I teased him, because I was touching myself everywhere. ,,Wow, so long. This is gonna be fun”.
Then a woman came into the locker. ,,Sorry Mr. Lautner, it’s time.”
,,Hey can’t you knock?” I screamed at her ,,And what about that patient actor, have you found him already? No. Then go! I ain’t gonna wait.”
A photograph of the table in Eva Hesse’s studio, 1968;
The table top is gridded as if to anchor the objects upon it: an ashtray from ‘’Persia.’’ a kaleidoscope, a pencil, a thick-headed metal spike, a small pitcher and matching cup, each with some small object tucked inside. There is a roll of paper secured with a paper clip, and a small paper box, and a flip book by Robert Breer, and two squarish pieces of plastic - one of these is clear. Nearly invisible is a bristle of clear plastic tubing, standing up like a porcupine’s spines. There is a bowl with wrapped candies, and a a pile of books and sketchbooks, and a compartmentalized plastic box, its twenty-four hoppers filled with Canal Street trove - nails and washers and grommets and the like. There is another gridded lucite box, all order rather than diversity: a potlatch gift like the table itself, this is a work by Sol LeWitt. In and around and on top of these objects are bits of material that Hesse has put to the test: folded and poured and pinned and wrapped and skewered, fourteen such objects in all. Sandwiched between the grid and the things upon it is one further layer: words and pictures, each one chosen as if to stand for still other stages in the transformation from things to art. There is a typewritten list of titles for sculpture and a copy of the periodic table - elemental listing of the starting place of form. This is no impersonal inclusion; it is a handwritten object, signed and dedicated from Carl Andre to Eva Hesse. Is its strictly squared presence why the word ‘’Anti-Form’’ is nearby, legible though dimmed by a sheet of tracing paper? Next to it, even closer to the elements, is a photograph of an artwork - Repetition Nineteen I - as it was printed up to be used as the invitation to its maker’s first solo exhibition.
Meanwhile, the reproduction on another invitation stands in for its subject, the sculptor Ruth Vollmer, while playing a game of resemblance with the real works next to it. There are two clippings, one from the Times, on from the Village Voice. They are reviews of Hesse’s show; John perreault’s column, ‘’The Materiality of Matter,’’ is still half legible, but Hilton Kramer’s response has been wholly obscured by a vomit-like screen of plastic - ‘’Anti-Form’’ seems to be having its say.
Request: You telling Yoongi you are pregnant with your third child.
Genre: Fluff / Family.
There were times when Yoongi couldn’t arrive home before it was bedtime for the children, so when he finally got home the first thing he did was go to their rooms to catch a glimpse of their sleeping faces. Yonghyun slept in a mess of blankets and moved a lot, Taeyeon, who was recently sleeping on her own bed, slept more peacefully although you had to leave her a dim light for her to feel at ease; being that she was completely out, Yoongi turned off the light and went to your room.
You were still awake, which wasn’t odd, you would often stay awake until very late either reading or working; you two were alike on that aspect.
-Yoongi- you said his name and he gave you a little smile. –Welcome-
He had already showered at the company so everything he had to do now was take off the clothes and put on the pajamas. Yoongi joined you in bed, peeking at what you were reading.
-What is keeping you awake? -
You showed him the book’s cover. –Just a little novel, nothing too fancy-
Yoongi nodded and moved closer to you, now he was on his side, one of his arms placed over your middle caressing your waist, you noticed how his face was closer too and when he nuzzled at that point just below your ear you felt all your body tremble.
-Yoongi- you warned.
In a second he had taken the book from your hands and was now almost on top of you, his lips going up from your ear, to your jaw and finally your lips. You loved when he kissed you, his lips attacked yours hungrily, the room was getting hotter by each second and you felt dizzy, his hands were moving over your body but now all you could register was your head going in circles. You placed a hand on his chest for him to stop and he did when you pushed a little harder.
He sat on the mattress and you tried to do the same but you almost fell backwards, Yoongi’s arms preventing you from it. –Y/N, what’s wrong? –
You shook your head. –It’s nothing, I’m just a little tired-
Yoongi looked at you for a moment, like searching the reason for what just had happened. He kissed your lips one last time and helped you lay down. –Let’s rest then-
The first thing you noticed as
you entered the AOMG office was how unsettlingly quiet and desolate the place
was. On any given day there was at least one person in the lobby whenever you
entered. Now, however, there wasn’t a single soul to be found.
Your eyebrows furrowed in
confusion as you glanced around but before you could call out, Kiseok entered
the lobby behind you. “Where is everyone?” he questioned, just as confused as
“I’m not sure. Jay wanted me
to bring these papers by but he’s not even here to get them,” you huffed, your
lips forming a prominent pout.