Subvertisement Campaign

Posters and flyers from the exposure industry. Which is advertising and direct marketing.

The work that will happen for the copywriter is to get the word out. Exposure is my entire job, that priceless, paradoxical non tangible. Bobby has no trust in it, these posters that I've designed and scorned by magazines. Oh well, the scum of the earth will have to work with the tools that will help make a silly little furniture store 'famous', or discovered.

Something worth talking about? Yep, that's what It means to change the culture of the consciousness. Guerilla advertising and hip trending messages of anarchist bent, all commercialized. So it's made into formula to sell, yet again to be bought.

It's all a whatever it takes to get a stream of attention, At least this attempt I can try to keep the dignity. With every counter-trend it becomes the new normal of the machinated formal of recognition, that's then now a new consumerist opportunity to monetize.

I've done my posters, time to scraper.

Self-prodification does not work

Being a calculus, abacus to the point if others, I look around to the chains. Wanting to be an adult from the calculations of the adult genre.

These once chains, they were the mascot of horror genre, one with Scott Cawthon and others, what a cesspit that was. Now these creatures, they are adults with a point of view, something somebody could relate to on an adult basis, from the ground up.

How can they operate? How can they be human? Are they human?

5 min old goodie on the mystery.

He also has a 60 min talk.

Couch Ground Woes

There thing about having the toy love you back, or the one believing it.

Useless puppet to the machines of this place, a cog of service to deliver the specification of comfort on the moment of the benefit of an old lady needing her entertainment after a long day of hard work.

What can it be without then needs of other that I'm signed on to for such a home that has replaced the other, that council home gone. It's emotional, all settled down into the dusty halls of the new one, one that's made of a work environment that and can't tell life apart.

Figments of a wrinkled grin, of a thank you from my reciprocation, ain't that a charm? As it's all I ask to make the day for another.

Then used and sat on, pushing the air out. Such is a means to be means.
 

Cusion checking cg

In the spare room, Bobby has left me to clean the cushions so they are fresh and free of rot. Part of the furniture business with this mid-wife demographic.

These designs are meant to sell to the families, and I'm to act a child-safe effect. I'm not meant to show intimate love as a couch man. That's too adult. I can understand. The face of entertainment does not know what happens behind where the cushions are made. It's all stitches and stuff. What is raw inside ain't what's on show here.

Is that what the mascot form for? I'm supposed to be that form at normal hours. Hiding the hat under the cushions. That's the gig.

Beautiful enough

Are these untruths I tell myself for the advertising industry just? Am I sufficient? That fuzzled my brains to what is suitable to the eye as it were to everything else.

Bobby has seen his entire industry as me as his break in. The standard to which he aspires too. I'm the celebration, the celebrity, the well known well knowns of a tautology.

That's the job. This checking can't be good though.

Closet door

What do you expect for such a circle of ecstasy that has tingled with the now to it tingling no more? Leave one to their devices as our work to fill our coping mechanisms are like the appetite of food and water.

Everybody needs the sexual passion, that excitement of a thrill of freaks that know what the flesh is for. These are the work and toil for things that can't be controlled, no hypodermic needle. It's not a shopping mall of kinks that you can have a happy meal with.

You pay what is due. Sexual gratification is an obsessive revealer. It finds you with no announcement of its leverage till it's already got you. It's not genetically determined, but our shadows of our souls. Where it's not separated from our feet.

Chai Commish and the death of the author.

This commission I got.

I commissioned this piece from morninchai, while doing a gift art for there.

I blessed Morninchai with couch legs, gave a couch head too as a quick coloured sketch.

A more faithful interpretation with them at the podium.

Chai's time constraint and mine, we both made something of valued. Made me think of the death of the author in regard to how much effort is made, how much it matters to the end piece to what it's worth.

How much does it matter? Does an alteration with the detail here and there make more of an impact? Does not matter, it ships now, depending on the circumstances. The cost of going through autonomy deliberation was forgotten as Chai's stream uttered into a long lecture of ants that fascinated me.

Intent will matter more in more coherent collaborations. Death of the author.

Locked In a cathartic prism

Pretentious puffery, one locked with a cathartic reach of wanting to be better. Puffery needs to be tightened together and cut off to be made lean. That's what this doll was to the furniture merchant.

He brings the little doll in his drawer with his work schedule, used to the work. His business to keep his doll in check.

"Never underestimate how a hack will reverse engineer for the money then run, so you're here to bring to attention, more of it. For our profits. Lucrative body, lucrative mind." He mutters under his breath.

Customer Testimonial 4, Couch lunatic

 This Testimonial does not come from a model.

The camera is recorder this time within a smartphone describing a room of scriptures and scrawling off the couches as they go. Two-seaters getting more deranged, all leading towards the scuffed up man in the corner.

"The couches, I've seen faces. They talk, they scream, then warble out of the surfaces as they move like somebody is stuck within."

"They don't know what they've done, they are locked! Inside and trapped like I can't do anything!"

He warbles on till this small video ends. There's a distortion and blurred rush at the end.

Customer testimonial 3 Furniture adorer

 Testimonial comes from a model.

"I've created a temple of soft furniture, it's a cult that's made a successful inclusion of a couch comfort club."

She's firm and convicted, here gaze that of a fanatic into the camera lens.

"Why do you resist? Our couch pillows and furniture dens bring us back to being children, where we play forever. With adults to connect with our innocent side, something for we will be smothered."

Another satisfied customer!

Customer testimonial 2 Couch Connoisseur

This testimonial comes from a model.

Another customer, this time a bloke with a warehouse in the background.

"I bought this for one thing, to fill my love of furniture! Had to file a divorce and my own house, who needs that now."

He chuckles like the reporter has the problem. There's a satisfied grin with his endorsement.

"Whenever solace is need, my top-down need for entertainment and comfort is provided by those furnitures, it brings! It helps! It placates any otherworldly desire from downstairs! Never had such a sweeter experience within my life."

He was getting excited.

"One sit, and you'll never leave!"

Customer testimonal Couch Lover

 Now, let's hear our testimonials from our satisfied customer! Sandy smith.

"I've become an avid furniture collector, Bobby's models are so decent now. They treat me right."

It's made me come again and again, buying all their furniture and turning me into a collector. I've had a backroom filled of furniture and couches that my husband objects.

"It's all for the seats! Those delicious seats. Yes, my hearty recommendation."

Testimonial comes from a model.

Golomino

Couch Gregor:

The place of the contract of being part of the marketing deal, advertising for a couch upholstery.

That table, that plea and that contract. Where all the deals have been doing as to break from the monotony of the exhausting schedule of moving meals and discreet messages.

Around this room there are various golem mementos and quirky ornaments. Now is seen, that tilted bowler hat of my new boss. A crooked smile to a deal.

One deal that was not a deal beyond the fine print when it came to be. This was the life that was meant to be, yet not. You do what you can to get the payment for the good or services, even when you're not promised. The magic ways within this town keep surprising me.

Frozen in time.

What feels like something for social purposes, feels like a thing that's a larger responsibility.

I must apologize, you're not a reflection of myself any more, you're a character now, not a persona.

If you have to be my persona, then I'd have to age you, that's tragic. The wheels of time shall not stop for those and their bodies age. Creators will have to hire assistants, editors, and branches of brand for their business's.

From the design, from the flatness, from the idea.

I have to think of you as a business design for my impresario work, you may not even be there any more as I age. I'm only a freelancer who may work for himself or for solvency (I haven't decided)

Thank you for being a projection.

Looked the other way

What happens when the way of the salesman pays attention to more to his craft of selling rather than the other thing?

The thing he's been working.

Yet, this way of life is a way of living.

A way of living that brings togetherness and a roof over my head. It's a living that's better than most.

Is this the right way to live?

Smartphone Disfunctions

There's this weird smartphone mishap, that happens during the nights of the Bobby's upholstery, it starts to malfunction, still usable. Like some kind of spell that has been inflicted, I should get a new one.

No internet or communication, yet the torch app works. I don't get it. Distorted apps and error messages, lines on the smart screen, things that fizz out as the press of my couch thumb.

Vixona tells me to brush it off, yet I can't escape this feeling something about this place.

What is this place, has it made things dysfunctional? The corded analogue emergency phone is still there regarding everything. The emergency exit is there. Yet I cannot figure out what's right at times.

Yet the shuffling is heard.

I'll see if I can get this smartphone checked by the Smartphon shop.

The hacking behind the wall

As it turns out, another night that feels sleepless has come.

There's a beating of a heart as I walk. Through the sofas downstairs in the showroom, things start to beat through my wooden skull.

It does not stop, it keeps beasting, then it's not a sound, yet a crescendo of beating. It began to sound like the beating of a axe, a dismemberment could be heard. Was something being dismembered?

Hit was gone, where was the source? The source could not be found.

So that was another sleepless night.

That couch h

For a while, I've been looking at this couch.

No way will I make an odd fetish my selling point. That couch though.

It's making me feel something in this height of all this couch hyping. It looks odd, it looks bizarre, this couch body is making me feel things unbeknownst to what is before.

What is before is that I really, really like couches.

Like like, it too much, is that a fetish? Out of boredom? Out of spite?

Yet out of all things, there's this middle crevice that my fisheye buttons cannot deattach from.

Yet I keep gazing, with ideas.

The liminal Bedroom maze

When I woke up one time, I wondered into the bedrooms to browse twitter.

Yet here I am staring, I get up. Motor clumsiness dropping the phone.

I walk through the beds, the horizon line seems to drag on forever.

Step by step, it does not end. It keeps going on and on, into infinity. Time here feels meaningless as it goes into exhaustion. Then I collapse into the bed.

The bed ain't there any more, it's gone, I fall.

Fall

Fall

That face in the picture.

It's past midnight, I've been sleeping on one of the spare bed within Bobbys. This gig provides for me, including leisure time.

I couldn't sleep one time, it was muddy due to another rejection of the prospect to my couch presentation.

Yeah, it's not that picture, the one with the cockroach stuck on a bed, that scene of metamorphosis.

No, it's of Bobby's collages. One of them looked different from my malfunctioning smartphone torch.

There's a face, a face. I can't remember it now.