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The hug workout: a real easy way to get super ripped

scottlava:

Hey, LOOK!

It’s the debut of our Hug Machine trailer! A special little hug workout video for you guys entitled "90 - Second Hugs".  A real easy way to get super ripped.  We are celebrating the release of my new picture book called Hug Machine next week on August 26th!

I hope you enjoy this thing. We worked super hard on it. Thanks to Alan Harris for making it and all of my other buddies involved. 

(via leapers)

My Shakespeare by Kate Tempest

He’s in every lover who ever stood alone beneath a window,
In every jealous whispered word,
in every ghost that will not rest.
He’s in every father with a favourite,
Every eye that stops to linger
On what someone else has got, and feels the tightening in their chest.

He’s in every young man growing boastful,
Every worn out elder, drunk all day;
muttering false prophecies and squandering their lot.
He’s there – in every mix-up that spirals far out of control – and never seems to end, even when its beginnings are forgot.

He’s in every girl who ever used her wits. Who ever did her best.
In every vain admirer,
Every passionate, ambitious social climber,
And in every misheard word that ever led to tempers fraying,
Every pawn that moves exactly as the player wants it to,
And still remains convinced that it’s not playing.

He’s in every star crossed lover, in every thought that ever set your teeth on edge, in every breathless hero, stepping closer to the ledge, his is the method in our madness, as pure as the driven snow – his is the hair standing on end, he saw that all that glittered was not gold. He knew we hadn’t slept a wink, and that our hearts were upon our sleeves, and that the beast with two backs had us all upon our knees as we fought fire with fire, he knew that too much of a good thing, can leave you up in arms, the pen is mightier than the sword, still his words seem to sing our names as they strike, and his is the milk of human kindness, warm enough to break the ice – his, the green eyed monster, in a pickle, still, discretion is the better part of valour, his letters with their arms around each others sholuders, swagger towards the ends of their sentences, pleased with what they’ve done, his words are the setting for our stories – he has become a poet who poetics have embedded themselves deep within the fabric of our language, he’s in our mouths, his words have tangled round our own and given rise to expressions so effective in expressing how we feel, we cant imagine how we’d feel without them.

See – he’s less the tights and garters – more the sons demanding answers from the absence of their fathers.
The hot darkness of your last embrace.
He’s in the laughter of the night before, the tightened jaw of the morning after,
He’s in us. Part and parcel of our Royals and our rascals.
He’s more than something taught in classrooms, in language that’s hard to understand,
he’s more than a feeling of inadequacy when we sit for our exams,
He’s in every valiant woman, every pitiful villain,
Every great king, every sore loser, every fake tear,
His legacy exists in the life that lives in everything he’s written,
And if you listen, you’ll hear him everywhere, he’s my Shakespeare.

Kate Tempest - The Beigeness

See the kid with the memory he can’t shake
See the man with the lover on his mind
See the lady with the guilt and the heartache
See the woman trying to battle with time
See the man with the blood on his hands
See the girl with her hands on her hips
Everybody say nothing, stay bland
If you don’t show it then it don’t exist

My daughter, she tells me when she grows up she wants to be a singer or a comic. I say, well, baby, if you want to be a comic, you’ve got to be a writer. But don’t worry, you have got tons of material: your mother is a manic depressive drug addict, your father is gay, your grandmother tap dances and your grandfather eats hearing aids.
The mother in question is Carrie Fisher, the grandmother Debbie Reynolds and the grandfather Eddie Fisher