Love Is On Its Way.

Can I afford a bit of beauty so late in the night? 

Good bye, paradise. 

I'm not waiting up for you. Not tonight. 

Conspire Against Resistance.

Some people are destined for things much bigger than they are. 

That realization hits you when everything in your life starts to crumble and you realize that the only way you'll survive is if you do what you are supposed to do. Like my mama said over winter break, "Write, son... write and write and write and write."

For me, as an artist, the picture has never been more clear. 

When the computer died, when the iPod cracked then failed completely, when the cable outlet broke, when the phone became demon possessed (true story!), when the pleasant and plentiful distractions around you are no longer around (and you don't have the funds to buy new ones), you're left with only yourself, your misery, and the gnawing desires of that greater purpose.

I have a quote that I love: When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.

The universe has conspired, plotted, planned, structured my life in such a way that there can be no alternatives. I am at a point where my success or failure is no longer dependent on external sources. You are your own salvation, you are the catalyst, the machine, the modem, the charge, the pulse, the passion. That's you. So, wallow in the misery (which the universe will only make worse until you do. the. work.) or do the damn work.

It is the war of art, and in that war, you must become the indispensable soldier. Hell, even if you aren't an artists (which everyone is in some capacity), it's the war of life. Do. The. Work. It'll become fun, eventually.