Botox for my heart

Untitled, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1984

My mind races, this is bullshit. Passing by the memories embedded in my soul with full force, not stopping, but changing the position and meaning of what once was. I try to slow down but not even meditative alternatives clear the sandstorm. What race am I in? Who or what am I challenging?  Reality is, this race has no purpose. It wouldn't be such a burden if this speed didn't distort all other dimensions within my being. Where I am trying to end...

They say the fastest possible speed at which energy or information can travel-according to special relativity- is the speed of light: approximately 1079 million kilometers (671 million miles) per hour. You can understand why I'm in such a daze-and confused-my energy level is shot and my heart is losing its child-like vitality.

A friend not long ago said, "Jess you think too much, just learn the simplicity of chilling." I thought I did, but sadly, I have no clue. Sorry Mr. Tower.

Feel free to give me some tips, I've got a wrinkle in my heart.

Moment of truth...

Last night I experienced an intense moment of honesty. My most beautiful friend (literally and figuratively speaking) had to tell  me something that would affect me. I think he was most concerened about how I would swallow all the shaddiness. Shocked I was. All I can say is that identity crisis's after the age of 28 are just chessy; especially if you involve other people. How else do you accessorize your naked truth of being?

As I sat down to write, I thought I would share more of the shaddiness. But as my fingers type, all I really want to share is how lucky I am to have a friend who is true to himself and true to our friendship.

He has been with me through thick and thin (too thick and too many sticky situations have you help me overcome). Our laughs, dances, moves, tears, complicated situations and even our obsessive compulsive marathons of Intervention watching, have made me fall in love with you in a way that I can only hope you grasp.


Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired. ~ Mother Teresa

You are genuine, you are extraordinary and I will never get tired of loving you.

Tell the truth

And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh- Friedrich Nietzsche

Assume hypothetically you lost your voice. For some unthinkable but powerful reason you lost this conventional form of expression. Then what? What do you resort to? How do you communicate what you feel: how badly your heart hurts, how crazy that makes you, how beautifully that feeling elevates you, how lost or how present your mind is?

Would this force you to get creative and explore all your faculties? or would you resign your privelge of expression and let your imagination run dry in the face of despot circumstances?

They say actions speak truth and happiness is the way to be. Always let those you love, know how much you do. Always keep true to yourself and love what you do. Anything can come to fruition if you want it be.