The emperor walks into the life-drawing studio. A grubby four-walled establishment
decked out with green plastic chairs, charcoal smears and a toilet. They greet the artists,
all seated in a neat ring around the circumference of the studio – if a grubby four-walled
establishment can have a circumference. The emperor smiles at each artist. The artists all
wear grey robes and bare feet. The emperor sits.
Right so we’ll start off with a couple of short five-minute poses, followed by some ten-minute poses, and two half-an-hour poses to top it off. Sound good?
The artists nod in agreement.
I’ve made a new playlist, I hope you like it.
What can only be described as lo-fi hip hop beats begins to play, a signal for the artists to drop their robes.
Breasts, balls, limbs upon limbs of all hue and form are unleashed from their towelling prisons.
I hope it’s warm enough for you all! Let me know if you’re chilly and I can wap out the space-heaters.
The artists acknowledge the emperor’s kindness with a unanimous nod.
Whether or not this nod signalled for the emperor to ‘wap out’ said space heaters is uncertain.
To avoid embarrassment, the emperor assumed by the heft of several appendages that it was indeed, warm enough.
Lara is a young, queer, femme writer based in Glasgow, and although she’s pretty good at writing stupid yet clever hybrid stories/poems/plays, she’s pretty crappy at writing bios. She was the worst English Literature student ever because she never really liked poetry, so she started writing her own. She’d like to say it’s ‘poetry’ for people who don’t read (or like) poetry. She writes for METAL and Marchioness magazine, and has had her creative work published in GUM, On Nostalgia and Blossom Zine. She’s currently working on convincing other presses to give her some attention.