Here we go.

I'm in love. With life. With all it's ups and downs, all it's ring around's, it still gets me wet and quivering at it's touch, at it's promise, at it's very nature.

So much happens during the day, so little is truly transmitted to the world, so much is forgotten, but when realized there is beauty within every step.

I've had a really nice couple of days. I shared energy that I was once afraid of, it gave me power, it gave me life, I did what made me happy, simply for no other reason aside from that fact. There's just so much to say, I could talk about the eye's, deep yet shallow all at the same time, like I've been given a present, a small intricately locked box, with layers of mechanic locks, clicking and whirling in place to keep vast beauty inside, the first layer was unlocked, a message understood.

I hold the gift within my lap, I pick up and place it beside my feet, I walk away and feel the sun shine on my face on the other side of the world, I am patient being, but the memory of that box fills me with energy I can use to start my days, to fuel my tomorrow's. I love that box, because of it's promise, because of it's unknown.

And the smile that is on my face now, makes it all worth it.

Thank you for your energy.

But what am I saying? Shouldn't I be talking about bitches and hoes? About eye fucking the hell out of this tall dark piece of delectable chocolate I ran into at the Super Pop gallery last night? Shouldn't I be gushing about the brilliant energy I got from that entire session? About how I walked in destroyed grey jean shorts and a destroyed grey mens dress shirt and combat boots and still killed it? About all the pictures that were taken? About all the life that was given?

About all the eyes I saw, all the heads that turned, all the dancing that was danced in that hot sweaty room full of stereotypical Caucasian movie characters? Or I could delve into how the MC wasted a perfectly good blunt up on that stage, smoking the weed like how I do cigarettes, never inhaling, smoke blow out, smoke blow out, about my utter distaste at the idea that he could've taken that blunt for the worlds enjoyment and not his own, taken that blunt just to "look cool". What a weak human being. Wasting the gift that is that eternal feeling.

A victim. Of himself.

I was so vibing. I was heavily into it. And then I clicked on a link to Montana's Fishburne's porno. And all spirituality is dead. Her spotty ass has killed my vibes.

Let us pray.