I know it sounds farcical, but this little known fact is about trees. Not any specific trees but all trees.
Trees are sentient. You may laugh, but people laughed at zombie communist hilter… (okay that is obvious bullshit)
Trees aren’t from this world. On the prehuman earth, trees landed on this earth to help our species – and all living- to survive. It’s impossible to notice to the average humans eye, but if you recall Shakespeare in ‘macbeth’ wrote about the trees moving. This wasn’t just fictitious.
They’re waiting till humanity dies to travel back to their utopia of nil pollution, but they put up with humanity’s atrocities because they know real love.
Fucking came up stairs from a nice relaxing line as my dear friends ate their tea. I decided to gan upstairs to get me backy and have a tab. As I approached the top Fucking floor, I could smell a strange odour. As I reached my bedroom, BAM! Fuck. I was Fucking shitting mesell! I did what any sane person would, attempted to pat this fucker out will my hands. Well, I will now enlighten you, a mattress fully smoldering away is slightly over an average humans hand size. As that failed, I ingeniously picked up my tool box, swiftly emptied out me manly as Fuck tools, pranced to the bathroom, filled up this Fucking toolbox with water, ran back up stairs.
By this point my mattress hand no chance, apparently fire spreads! So I threw the water in a rushed panick, a proud 30% hit the bed of embers and it subsided enough to flail around ontop and put it out.
At this point, I am shaken. I did what anyone would do after putting out a fire and light up a rollie…
As I left my room, dopamine pumping, feeling ontop of the world, I walk out my bedroom, and guess what? I have a FUCKING FIRE EXTINGUISHER…. FUCK SAKE.
That was my evening.
A couldn’t agree more!
Originally posted on The Midnight Muse:
Some artists like to wait.
They wait for the muse to come to them. It’s like sitting at the edge of the water, praying for a fish to jump into your lap. You might get lucky, but making art isn’t about luck. It’s about doing your thing, whether you feel like it or not.
It’s one of the oldest rules in the book. You sit down and type. You paint, you draw, you dance, you sing. No matter what. Don’t wait for the perfect conditions, for some mystical alignment of the planets. Create your perfect conditions.
It’s not pretty, and it doesn’t resemble the almost poetic way some people feel about art, but the truth is that art is as much about discipline as anything else worth pursuing. Art is about asking questions and finding answers, about systematically trying to understand how things work.
Art is about being relentless in…
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