As the Sunday afternoon slowly slides into night. The murmers in my heart creep cautiously into the concious. I am alone with them as I listen to their whispers.

I know our craving for constant entertainment and with it stimulation are modern issues, a consequence of the urgency our lives dictate. A "side effect" of the bitter pill to be a success. If this is the measure, I don't see the point anymore. I don't feel good about my old measures of success and satisfaction. They steal away the heart and slowly but surely the heart dies. A pornographic substitute of plastic and paper replaces the flesh.

Spend time with your heart, listen to its quiet voice, consider carefully its cry. You can replace it with plastic but you can't live without it.