Rambles:
Hi I'm Becky, I'm a bit of a design flaw. Part future-hughes, part rambling geek. I babble endlessly for hours, or should I say minutes since its apparent time is something we made up to make our lives feel like they're spanned out across a set path, perhaps if we all ignored time we'd live forever and not even know it. Well any time would feel like forever thinking about it, heck, right now would be forever and we wouldn't even know as we wouldn't be constantly checking the time to see how much we've wasted on this piece of shit website, though I can't talk, I'm sitting here typing a pointless about me about whatever random idea comes into my head when really I should be attacking those hideous Topshop trousers my mother bought me for work.
Anyway, you'll never know how I feel. My make-up, clothes and apparent 'acid' personality (the hyped-up 'I feel WONNDERRFULLL' type, not the 'Oh man, I am so fucking high' type, they bore me, don't they bore you?) are the perfect cover up for any emotion, not that this is why I dress like this, far from it actually. Even I do not really know why I dress the way I do, its like a yearning I suppose. I'm addicted to the feel of creating something slightly spectacular that I'll hate in about a year or so and call one of the following; 'A pile of fucking shit', 'What the fuck, when did I think that was a good idea' or the typical 'Ugh I'm un-talented'.
I want to go into fashion in the future, it means more to me then anything. This sounds sad, but go through a rough patchy relationship with your parents, bullying or even being different and not able to fit in, your bound to fall in love with the idea of becoming something so huge that you can shove it in those 'mother-fuckers' faces and make them wish they'd been a bit nicer to you. This is also not the main reason I'm going into fashion, nothings simple with me, everythings a thought over a thought over a thought. I've been featured in a local magazine, but again like always, I was not impressed by this achievement, nor am I impressed with people knowing my name, the colour of my hair, my clothes, my grades, my 'art-work', my social life, my video-game skills or anything else you can think of.
In short, I'm a demanding little bitch thats never happy.
Oh, and I don't want you to read all this, I'd much rather you went out and lived a life rather then be reduced to reading some whiny pathetic fashion wannabes rambling page. Is your life really that bad?
DOMO ARIGATOU. I worship you.
LALA
