Slaving for the art, the music, our rhythm, our own beat. Being foolish. Madness at any hour. Making mistakes (at any cost), rebelling without a cause (because it's good to be hungry). Never giving in, listening to no one before it's too late, and following a dream that's not just any old dream, but our own. Are we too weird to live? Too rare to die. Like Bourdin, giving just one picture only, or Warhol's world all of his own making, or anything that's straight-to-video that we just can't give up. We have but one chance and it's ours to blow.
-- RUSSH magazine, July 2012
That's the beauty of being human: life revolves around so much more than survival. Exploration, curiosity, art, success, love. The mundane--the basic--is dangerous. We have the potential for so much more. The best nights are spontaneous. In the best moments, feeling like a star exploding and burning. And even in death, there is the acutest sensation of self-awareness. The nerve endings ripping open and everything becoming so much louder before it is silent. It would be a shame to spend life anything less than utterly alive.
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