The second, and perhaps final, installment of my semi-nude series. I find myself tiring of the theme. No, that is not it. I've taken on another assignment. Not true either. I'm bored of looking at women in their underwear.
Never, nevermore. Quoth the baron....
It's just that the life of a fashion photographer is a hard-one. Or should I say difficult... All of the free drugs, the late starts to each day, sleeping in, international first-class travel, champagne lunches, gracing others with the bulk of my work, knowing who to trust, and when to pretend... feeling totally justified at belittling and demeaning those that are lucky enough to work for me, especially the one's I barely pay, if at all.
What actually is an intern? Why don't you tern into a line of coke for me... ingrate is more like it....
My arm is sore from throwing my cell phone at people. Why haven't my very public tantrums produced better images, greater art... Is nobody paying attention to the genius behind the lens any longer. I might as well get a desk job, in the service industry.
And the models are just impossible, all cardbored and one-dimensional. Incredible to look at but starved for attention, either black or white.
Am I the only one that gives a fuck about beauty any more....
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