Reporting from:

“There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done. Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung. Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game. It’s easy…”

Hey WordPress. Tori here. Reporting from my mom’s roof in suburban America. Wearing a dress that was casually shoved into my spanx so I could climb out here and smoke a cigarette at 2 am. Something I’ve never done, and yet I’m sure thousands have done before… (Probably sans spanx, but hey, maybe that means I’m finally the first to do something like this. Probably not.)

The Beatles once sang about a world where everything was possible, and yet all those possibilities had probably already been said, or sung, or done before. It leaves us living people in quite the predicament…knowing that we weren’t the first to accomplish our earthly goals, and certainly not the last. Their message then seemed to be pretty simple: to learn how to play the game, learn how to love.

It’s a perfect summer night to do what I’m doing at this very moment. The kind of weather where you don’t need anything extra. No jacket or blanket. Maybe a pillow to rest your head on while you stare at a sky without enough stars. Never enough to look at because there is always more.

Maybe that is the game, anyway.
I’ve seen this sky a million times. I’ve smoked enough cigarettes that don’t really do anything except give me something to wrap my lips around.

Passionless. Is what I feel tonight. And most nights. Not dreaming of kissing someone I love, or making a name for myself, or traveling the world.

More than anything right now, I want to sit on my roof, and clear my head of all of the world, and all of the dreams, and all of the noise, and just feel whole, right here in small town Murfreesboro, TN.

And yet I just can’t seem to drown out the petty voices in my head. Voices that mean nothing. That are empty and void of truth.

Voices that currently make up everything I am. I am the passionless American, not unlike any of you readers. I too, want all of the things you want, and dream of all of the things you dream about at night, or in the day when your living your normal lives.

How bland to be just like everyone else. Running this rat race called life.
Collecting moments to put in the scrapbooks of our minds. And then typing it out all out on a blogging site for the whole world to read just so they can say to themselves: “here’s another face, with a different name, living the exact same life as me.”


(ps sorry for being on the roof mom…old habits die hard. i’ll pick up my cigarette butts, promise.)


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