Get dirty. Get fucking filthy. Get poor. Get off your ass. Get desperate. Get dangerous. Get moving. Get productive. Get pro-active. Get started. Get your own life. Get doing something. Anything.
Because before you know it you’re 40 with kids, a mortgage and responsibilities that cause your fun to come second. So before cancer, before children, before 50 hour work weeks, before back and knee problems, before school loans, before you lose your sense of humor.. .
Fight.
Fight and fuck and run and smile. Smile because the older you get the less you will. So yes ”quit being such a goddamn pussy ”, because bitching and whining and worrying never made anything better.
Because before you know it you’re 40 with kids, a mortgage and responsibilities that cause your fun to come second. So before cancer, before children, before 50 hour work weeks, before back and knee problems, before school loans, before you lose your sense of humor.. .
Fight.
Fight and fuck and run and smile. Smile because the older you get the less you will. So yes ”quit being such a goddamn pussy ”, because bitching and whining and worrying never made anything better.
– (via iwantyoursoul) (via sundown)
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liquidnight:
“I came upon twin fawns in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science store in Kansas City, Missouri. It took me two years to win the trust of the shop owner and save the money to buy them. A taxidermist spotted a dead deer by the side of the road. He stopped to properly dispose of the body and realized she was pregnant. He opened her and found near full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.
Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their bodies. I built them a vitrine with a light blue base. Their prematurity exaggerates the delicacy of an incredibly sweet thing. The points of their hooves, the length of their lashes, the spots of their hides, nose to small nose in an ur-cartoonish realism … Viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the fawns are breathing. The tragedy of beauty is its transience.
The twins live forever in their own demise. They are sleeping beauties.They have been muses since I first saw them … We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on walls. We erect altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. My twin fawns sleep endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. The twins never opened their eyes yet their wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.”
— Peregrine Honig
[via Ravishing Beasts]](http://3.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kt33go8XQy1qzhl9eo1_500.gif)
