Hey corsair, you mad photographer person you. If you need my corpse for your zombies, I suppose I could mail it to you. But if the cops get there before it does, it was a gift from an unknown yet stunningly beautiful princess from a country that is now extinct. One of my good friends was going to do movies for EEEEEEVERYTHING, because he was insane, yet stunningly good at it, but he gave up on his one for ext 2, because making movies takes a whole lot of organisation, and it is against the HSC code (leaving everything to the last minute then bullshiteing your journal) to be organised enough for that many movies. But a guy from my school got into art express for his movie last year, maybe you saw it, it was about his teddy bear going missing or something, I can't exactly remember, but the guy played a mean cello in his former years.
A thousand chocolate coated blessings upon your house, oh fair and graceful luscious llama. Might I ask why you are named after such a nobel pachiderm? Admittedly Cindy Sherman's work can be vastly gross and confronting, but that was the point of it I guess, so it's successful art. Still if you had a print of it in your house all the time, you would probably go insane and start building a giant termite and peacock farm or something. You know, like you do when you have a confronting work in your house.... I know I'm not the only one, guys, fess up. I like that Sherman does get all political about the use of the body in the media. The Canadian writer Margret Atwood has a theory that guys don't actually have bodies, because they aren't on magazines, because on guy's mags there's skimpily dressed chicks, and on chick's mags, there are less skimpily dressed chicks, so where do all the guys bodies go?
