My grandfather always said to me – “you can never turn a donkey into a racehorse”. Many different ways of iterating this for sure, but the racehorse, can race, be a horse, and even do what most donkey’s will not do, in being that horse and carrying that pack across the barren terrain. He takes pride in that, and will make sure, that he holds his head high. He welcomes the competition of other horses, even welcomes the donkeys.
These racehorses are really quite unique in two regards; firstly, they know they are simple horses, but maintain such stature and abilities they take pride in, and secondly, they always try to win, or improve, that is the essence of their lives.
They are competitive, and living champions.
Each a work of art.
Living a life, in some way, in some form, to ensure they get to be seen.
Running free, strong, hard towards their next goal.
Smiling almost as they chomp the bridle and turn a blackened eye towards each small detail they pass.
Winking at the right ones, and taking in another gulp of air.
This, is not Sparta.
This is life.
No illness, no time, no weather, no issue.
Nothing is going to stop you today.
All you have to do, is believe in your way to the gulch.
You know you do, and now the choice is, what do you want to not try today?
No matter what it is, always there.
Just like the words.
The medium, the conduit, from which you create today is your choice. Paintbrush, pen, pixels or passions. It’s all fucking awesome.
Because fuck, I am horse made of cheese.
How fucking cool is that?