Black lives, yellow lives, pink lives all matter because when you die, they’re gonna strip you right to your bones and made plasticized models for the art, and yes – we all look the same underneath our skin.
When all your wins and all your losses have been made still, captured in silence with only sound is a heartbeat of a random observer expecting something – wow – for the money they pay it only comes to one moment — your ☠ What shall live after you turn into captive of that best moment in your life? Have you made something notable, even if this notable is contributing your flesh for the art, for the science, or you just turn into ashes. A single cell you started from to a single atom of the universe you return.
Now you see how life matters, without it you won’t have that great material to make these pieces of art. And love… well, love makes life just a much better, gives us purpose. You can of course find purpose in wearing fancy clothes and be that beautiful flower to bloom into the world…
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