Fuck Up

Everyone is a fuck up. Everyone has been ashamed, embarrassed, afraid. You father fucked up. Your mother fucked up. Every creature, great and small, famous and forgotten, every person you have ever met, seen or heard has fucked up good and hard.

Some of them were afraid of fucking up again. Some of them were very afraid. Some of them were so scared of the thought of fucking up that they never did anything again. They never did anything good, or great, or terrible, and they never fucked up again.

Some of them smiled. They took it, they fucked up and got battered and bruised and split-lipped and they bared their bloodied teeth and smiled. And they fucked up again. And again. They fucked up good, they fucked up great. They built towers and temples and paintings and music and love and pain and blood and life on the foundations of their fuckups, a mountain of fuckups so high that their neighbours, their friends, their most hated enemies could see and they stood on top, screaming out their lungs that they would keep fucking up and people came in their hundreds, in their millions to learn at the feet of these great masters and those fuckups? Those king and conquering fuckups? They gave us art. They gave us beauty. They gave us joy and they gave us betterment for everyone who has or ever will be.

So go on.

Fuck up.

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