After It All

Tonight, I’m opening the door

Climbing the stairs, step by step

Walking toward the unknown

The darkness waiting for the light

To switch on and open

Your eyes to everything

You’ve seen and have yet to see

After it all, there’s one thing left

It’s all that you’ll ever need






Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own mind. I don’t always like what I’m seeing or hearing but I have to remind myself that I volunteered to come here.

Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own body. It feels familiar yet unf61166-short-quotes-about-lifeamiliar at the same time. Like the people on the streets or the lights overhead.

I don’t want to feel like a tourist in my own life. I came here for a reason and there’s no going back. I’ve gotten where I am because I worked for it. Because I wanted it. I’m not just spending a few days or a week or a fortnight in this life. I’m here for the long haul. For every challenge and every experience. This life is mine and mine alone.

And what I take from this life won’t just be souvenirs left to gather dust on a shelf.

The Fight is Done, The War is Won…

Sometimes we must fight in order to be free…

I thought about trying to write something that would be just as powerful as the 30 Seconds to Mars song, “This is War”, but then I realized that the most powerful thing to be said is the song itself.

The connection I feel to this song, and the band itself, is a strong one. It’s one that I developed over the last few years and one that I feel to be unbreakable. This song, and the entire self-titled album, was written under the constrained circumstances of a $30,000,000 lawsuit with the record label EMI.

And although the band had to go through every possible roadblock to get the deal that they deserved, they were still able to make this incredible album and overcome everything that was holding them back. They made this album without a record label to their name and it turned out beautifully. They weren’t about to give up the fight for something that they wholeheartedly believed in.

So without further ado, This is War.

A warning to the people. The good and the evil. This is war. To the soldier, the civilian, the martyr, the victim. This is war. It’s the moment of truth and the moment to lie. It’s the moment to live and the moment to die. It’s the moment to fight. The moment to fight. To fight, to fight, to fight!

To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world from the last to the first. To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world. It’s a brave new world! 

A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest. This is war. To the leader, the pariah, the victor, the messiah. This is war. It’s the moment of truth and the moment to lie. And the moment to live and the moment to die. It’s the moment to fight. The moment to fight. To fight, to fight, to fight!

To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world from the last to the first. To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world. It’s a brave new world. It’s a brave new world!

I do believe in the light. Raise your hands into the sky. The fight is done, the war is won. Lift your hands toward the sun. Toward the sun. Toward the sun. Toward the sun. The war is won. 

To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world form the last to the first. To the right, to the left. We will fight to the death. To the edge of the earth. It’s a brave new world. It’s a brave new world. It’s a brave new world. 

A brave new world. The war is won. The war is won. A brave new world. 

To learn about the lawsuit with EMI, check out the band’s award-winning documentary, Artifact (2012), directed by Jared Leto, currently streaming on Netflix. It not only follows the band as they record their album, This is War (2009), but it exposes the harsh truths about the music business and shows that sometimes, the only thing you can do is fight.


Robert Parr is Dead

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”


Robert Parr is dead.

But the mailman doesn’t know this. Neither do the letter senders, the former of which continue to pile up inside the mailbox. After all, the mail never stops. Not even for the rain. The mailbox is old and rusted by now. The hUnknownand painted blue jay no longer visible, except for a small sliver of the tail. It’s no longer completely waterproof. The hints of rain droplets falling through the cracks and onto the hand written letters. The ink in several letters has begun to run. Staining the congregated pile with red, blue and black tears. The most recent letter has yet to be damaged. Its contents are written in blue crayon. It’s a painstakingly personal drawing of a large plate piled high with pancakes. The syrup running down the sides of the stack and onto the plate. The thought bubble above the stack asks how Bob likes his new chew toy.

The letter is signed “Carolyn Parr, 5 years old”.

The Red Door

The hallway has no glow. No light to guide my way. The only thing that keeps my feet moving is the noise. Cracking, creaking, clawing. I force myself further down the hallway, the floorboards pressing into my feet. Then I see it. The Red Door. The door itself is bursting from its hred_door_2inges. Splintering between my pressed palms. Before I can grasp the metal knocker, it falls to liquid, slipping between my fingers and onto the floor. The cracks on the surface of the wood are impostors. The red paint chips away and falls seamlessly to my feet. The floor gives out and I lurch forward, smashing into the already breaking door. Wood pieces and liquid metal reign down upon me as I fall into an unknown room. Recovering from shock and the fiery pain within my heart, I get to my feet. I turn back towards the doorway, expecting to see into the darkened hallway from which I entered. But the door is suddenly intact. As if I had always been inside this room, never reaching towards anything outside of it. Never disturbing the peace within. I peer around the room and everything is in tatters. The floors are covered in soot. The wood chairs and tables are exploding. Filling the room with shards threatening to pierce every part of my body. The curtains billow in the breeze from the open window. The fabric tearing itself to shreds in long, loud, excruciating pieces. The walls are breathing. Slowly. In and out. Inhaling, exhaling. On each intake of breath, the furniture coincides, forging into themselves and splintering out as the walls exhale.

Just before the scratches begin to carve themselves into the breathtaking walls, I squeeze my eyes shut. Willing the room to no longer live in my mind. I squeeze them tighter. Then suddenly…open them.

I’m no longer inside the room, but in a darkened hallway. I can see it. The Red Door. And it’s bursting from its hinges.

Inspired by the Daily Post

An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse

We’re only as insignificant as we let ourselves be.

I found that what was being offered was not something I could pass up. I had to act quickly. Otherwise this opportunity would slip through my fingers and be lost forever. I’d never come this close to having what I wanted before. I used to think that I could just sit back and wait for something great to happen. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t do that. Fate is just an excuse people use for not making things happen. I was going to make things happen for me. Finally. I wasn’t going to let this one chance silently float away, leaving me with nothing but regret. Regret is no friend of mine, nor should it be yours. I’m going to take my life into my own hands and do what I want with my time here. In reality, this offer seems almost too good to be true. As if it came up from a long sought after dream. But even if I’m dreaming, my wants have not changed. They will continue to remain the same in my dreams and my waking hours. I will take this opportunity by the hand and run off into the sunset. I will create my own happy beginning.

So what is this offer that I simply couldn’t refuse, you might ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

Why yes, I would love to spend the rest of my life with you Mr. Hiddleston. Thank you for asking.

An Open Letter to My Inner Demon

Picture the one person in the world you really wish were reading your blog. Write her or him a letter.

Dear the demon currently taking up space in the back of my head,

You seem to have gotten the wrong impression. I’d apologize for that but it’s you whose making me feel guilty when I shouldn’t. So I’m going to be very straight forward with you from here on out.

I did not invite you here. You came of your own volition and you’ve set up camp. You must have spent a fortune on that tent because those poles are sturdy and dug in deep. Every time I try and excavate you, you seem to only add more poles. Your tent keeps getting larger. It steadily increases in size and mundane possessions day by day.

I’ll say it again. You’re not welcome here. There is no room for you at the table. You can’t sit with me. You’re rude and annoying and obnoxious. You sit there on your little brown log, grilling sausages and tell me things that I don’t want to hear and saying things that make me feel small. I don’t appreciate your bullying. It’s unkind and unnecessary and you are simple inconsiderate.

You make me second guess myself and tell me that what I do and what I want is wrong, unworthy, impossible. You tell me that my desires are unprecedented. That those things don’t and should not happen to me.

You whisper in my ear one minute and scream at me the next. You don’t seem to know when to keep quiet. You don’t seem to know when you’re unwanted. You’re too busy telling me that I’m unwanted. That I’m not worth it.

I should cut out your tongue so you can no longer speak. But I’m just going to tell you something instead.

I do not care what you think. You’re not in charge of my life. You’re don’t get to dictate my choices. You’re not allowed to tell what I can and can’t do. What I can and can’t want. What I am and am not capable of.

I think it’s best for all if you leave. If you leave and never come back. We have a toxic relationship and I want no part of it. I don’t need your criticism. I don’t need your judgement. I don’t need your overbearing presence.


Please take your tent, your tiny grill, and your ridiculous floral sleeping bag and get the hell out of my head.

Sincerely yours,


Of the Night…

In response to The Daily Post’s photo prompt: “Twinkle.”

Never Fearful of the Night“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night” – Anonymous

Life’s Too Short to Simply Not Walk Into Mordor

Fill in the blank: “Life is too short to _____.” Now, write a post telling us how you’ve come to that conclusion

They say that one does not simply walk into Mordor. That one does not simply walk into Hell. Whether there is a heaven or a hell or someone watching over us, life is too short to not take risks. We might not all have the weight of the world on our small Hobbit shoulders, but our lives are in our own hands. If we want to make something of them, we have to do something.

They also say that the decent into hell is an easy one. That the path back up is what’s hard. But getting to Mordor wasn’t easy. It took three movies, after all. So maybe the fiery pits of Mount Doom are not the fiery pits of hell. Maybe Sauron is not the face (or the eye) of the damned. Maybe Mordor is simply a journey. The struggle we all must take on in order to make our lives better. In order to be able to live the life we have imagined.

Frodo’s journey was not a simple task. He met many obstacles along the way. Fear, temptation, mistrust, and the sheer burden of life were upon him. But those things are upon us as well. There is the fear of death and the fear of life. We fear what life has in store for us and we fear whether or not we can handle what’s coming. But our undiscovered lives should not be a burden. They should just be our lives. A life we have struggled and bled for. A life we have earned.

They say that one does not simply walk into Mordor, but maybe we should.

Getting Away

You’re asked to recite a poem (or song lyrics) from memory — what’s the first one that comes to mind? Does it have a special meaning, or is there another reason it has stayed, intact, in your mind?

Most of the time, the songs that randomly pop into my head are ones that I’m currently listening to on repeat. The ones that I ingrain so deeply into my brain that there’s little to no chance that I’ll ever forget them.

But there are other times, and I’ve since discovered that this happens when I’m in a particularly good or simply content mood, that I find myself singing one song and one song only.

UnknownIt’s “Getting Away” by British singer/songwriter Joe Brooks. I first heard this song a few years back when I was still in High School and it has stayed with me every since. It’s not even on his debut album Constellation Me or any of his albums, for that matter. It’s just one of his singles that I happen to find while falling into the youtube black hole that immediately proceeds discovering a new artist.

I don’t even know what it is about this song, but it just resonates with me so much. It just makes me feel incredibly happy in the simplest way. Some of my favorite song lyrics of all time come from this song. It reminds me that no matter how bad life can get, the sun still comes up every morning. The world still turns and things get better. Life doesn’t have to be a terrible place. It can be incredibly beautiful if you just take in the small things.

The sun is shining in my face. It’s blinding all my fears away

Get his album Constellation Me (2010) and his EP, A Reason to Swim (2011). You won’t regret it.