George is cute

The woman scours the cameras and pictured littered within here basement, there are Pictures of the buff llama all around the place. She desired to make it better than the last, the last picture. That one with the big booper in front of the door, it's one that's going to make a prospect fawn.

 "That gym coach.
That could reach a fine price in the black market, I know. The acquired market for a rare price. Scarce with the amount of times that are mind."

She does a humble little grin, humming a fine tune as she organises all the photos into a folder. Then he returns to his computer.

"Ah Bob, we've got things to catch up, how's the business?"

Body designed to Intimidate

 What is my body that can morph and distort against such a will as this, making the jaw-guard a necessity. Asheal won't be able to see me like this. It's rust, brown rotting rust that his hidden.

I don't know what it's supposed to tell others with this frightening face, am I supposed to be jaded by it? I look presentable. 

I look into those distorted eyesockets..




Falling.

Internal Marketing Physch

Hey, you a business user or not a product. Nothing is free here with ad creep going up. Then numbers, you have to measure because everybody humble-brags there monetization here, and it's Para social delegation. You're driver of a status role of feeling famous rather than pursuing the craft.

Assume the right things if they aren't responding, they are protecting there workloads and time, it's all very priceless commoditys! You want to have that. Everyone is busybusybusybusybusybusyierbusybusy, probably busier than you.

Making is easy, publishing is hard, marketing for any meaningful stream of attention to you're platform for being relentlessly helpful and long-term connections certainly is from that marking books.

Marking books, marking, you're so lonely you'd have to study marking book, marking.

A mark in peoples to be remembered and that's it. A mark for you're morale. Gotta build a platform, or not.

Influencer influencer influencer

END POEM.

So what of it with this book? It's obviously commercial, yet it does it right it working in the public.

However, monetisation and profit may never come. He does have prudent assumptions there that certainly will to something, I'm not sure if it's a fame recipe (because that's always changing.) It was something that of a dire truth how having a platform that sell's copies is only the way these commercial companies come in.

Having the money flow is only a set-up for the shiny card within the commercial world. There is no plan on getting famous though, not once I've found. It will break the internet.

Lower than "This is marketing" and Herschel Gordan's Lewis's copyrighting book, yet I don't think its that bad on salesmanship. 

Will the email advice go out of date right about now? It feels like it could. Be wary on any fantasy growth 'meta'.

You're on the pedestal

Hey Little sprout.

Whatever small things that come this way, it's a show. A show of corduroy and smiles, the grin, the cushions. Customer services smile all around of a cult that's the charm of this machine that we are a part of, the way it feels. It's like there's nothing between us.

Business as usual, industry as usual, mechanizations as usual of the physical laws we operate and consume in circles, ain't that grand? You can't deny it from the tensing of your stomach for that advertising, commercial friendly look.

Part of the biz of what makes they look for others a craft; a sport. Pride in craft, the intrinsic upstaging of others of the body, built. The long term admiration.

Feel this copywriting disappear into the waves?

Kyro/Gregor Body Dysmorphia

Couch - Self flagellating.

A necessary part of the business of what they call the economy of comforts. He can't help how it's meant to be, since his target audience of old woman likes leanness and bigness, his expanded form. This is all a part of reduced to a cost, this dysmorphia is part of the deal. The need to get paid being above and beyond the physical internal stress.

That's the trouble of being a fitness model, the body is on the line to sell a product which is furniture.

Where the cushion business of showmanship and upstage attention for the products, what other price shall there be?

Kyros - Self jaded.

It's a fish in the water deal, the job, and struggle ain't there any more, only duty. The duty to serve the silvers and the entire entertainment industry to cover its cookie jar mishandling.

It's not arrogance if it's what it pleases his eternal client. To the end of the line and back to what is stipulated, granted to what he's owed, is a mystery.

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.

Traction that is never understood

Trying to understand the horror of the unknown of how popularity and viewers work can be such a sinkhole.

I don't know, they don't know, and you don't know.

Since google and the entire algorithm that we have, with the self-help grifter industry complex, flummoxed on how to crack it. With the scams abound, on what is or not which resonates. Not that this eldritch lottery that continues to somewhere that can't be understood.

Quaint, if it was a reductionistic business opportunity then if it was going to be simple. Creativity persists, though, pulling and pushing through a mystery that's with a slippery meta that shifts beyond our wakes.

Better to not dawdle at such mystery.

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!"

Rote erotic machinations

Theo is looking at me, punched by Kyro. Looking dead in my soul, my creation. From a pitiful display of what you'd call a porno.

"Looks like it failed ******, the direct response wasn't libidinal pulling enough." He said, trickling through the digital airwaves now.

He doxed me! With censored asterixs.

"As your brand evangelist, vital to your nonprofit freelance living and revenue. Unmeasured though, you know you can't escape my totalizing presence the moment you pressed publish, from the moment you escaped your pitiful eight-year lurking hiatus." 

The punched nose and dead eyes look at me with responsibility. I'm silent, to be silent in fear.

There was a trickle of blood down my nose.

"Yes, feel that? You need me. If you don't, I'll murder you like the rest. Like the brand time and attention you wasted with that multi leveling marketing group, into dirt!"

 

"Shut up!" I retorted. I forced my desktop off at that point.

Next time I started up my comic, his face had returned normal.

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.

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.

Knowing what George did.

George was non-chalently taking a shower as the former. The angry self he left at the Gymtwentyfour, it was a dark part of him, a self that he got and grew from the recesses of rejection, offers, and tough calls within his coach life. Maybe he needs an anchor, some other part of him that told him to leave.

It's there though.

 "George, these people eat themselves up, why."

He ignores it. What does this thing have on my mind?

"You know what we did George, it will be our little secret." It said, it was feeling more than a figment of his imagination.

There was something he did within the moment of drunken stupor, he could not put a hoof on why. Before he knew it, it was gone. From the moments he was preparing to put on his clothes. The motions of his routine was broken, then a dread that followed him as oddness of the situation was getting to him.

It was a small panic attack, then it superseded.

Is this going to be a regular occurrence? 

Lecherous usage nausea pt3

The anxiety attacks are whirling, circulating, i feel a complete loss of being as I move towards the swirling abyss. Of working, showing, now this.

Not like any of this matters, I clean myself up, show up, pose and strut.

Yet each moment I give in the bucket of my regurgitation, it's made of how'd a leather doll could digest food.

Red fluff began to appear. 

"This can't be real, what is this place doing to me?" I thought.

I was changing, i could not put a couch handle on it, as I swallowed myself after the third bucket. Another expulsion of my anxiety. Quick, dead and out. I have to stop.

Didn't matter, best to shine for showtime, and to take the slings and arrows now, other than later. If this happens again though.

Grimace Smiley

There's a grimace smiley in the twitter hashtag?

What is McDonald's paying the twitter staff? Did they pay a graphic designer to make this to help normalize the consent of the masses to indulge in their product, the product of commercialized, cheap food all dragging us to keep compliant on whichever assembly line?

Had to repost because it was giving me the creeps.

Wh-

Happy Birthday Grimace!

“Alright, I'm doing a blog post with this grimace shake. I'm gonna wish Grimace a happy birthday!”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRIMACE!!

"So here's the dude, he's been riding the virality and remarkability by capitalizing on this trend, sweet guy, right? What can go wrong?? Hah hah, anything goes to become #relatable! Send me memes, do the thing, he's doing a maximize retention and staring into my soul with this tweet. What a world!"

The furniture curators inspection

Tallying it all up.

Ah, my sweet commodities.

Positivity will shepherd you into oblivion, its a mere concept. Enough to be hidden within my care.

One by one, you'll be taken care of. To be valued to what you're actualization of the soul wants to be incubated within. 

A vessel, an object. Immortalized in admiration.

Sweet commodities.

Positivity that will coddle you, keep you stuck within a cycle of your ID and suspend your superego.

Do not fret now, for you are in my care. You're safe. Even with many eyes on you, gazing, you are safe.

Sweet commodities.