A Designer
As a self proclaimed designer I may die this way. Walking through the sf moma I may trip on an imaginary line and smash right into a Frida and Diego photograph. Someone will comment on what I am wearing and how I am not moving. Meanwhile I will hear the footsteps on the hardwood floor. I will wonder am I a designer? Did I create all I am suppose to?
Possibly Kiki Smith will be giving a lecture that day and she will pull herself from a mold. She will be inspired to cast my form right there on the floor. I won't move I will freeze my breathe. I will be cast this way in memory of my death design. These are not morbid thoughts in order to live you must learn how to die.
