Jose is in the hospital with septic shock. David and I have been on the phone discussing a million different ways to say, “You got this…”
You got this…
Quite a few heads came around here yesterday to read my This is Paris review where I mentioned some traumatic shit I was hit with a few years back.
Yesterday I was discussing with my psychologist certain things about me that changed after all that went down. We’re all changing every day as fluid creatures, some things leave more of a scar.
Anyways, I was telling her about how since the cops jumped me, I’ve been much more in tune with trauma in general. Not just mine, but everyone’s, all over the world.
When you survive something a bit extraordinary to what’s average, you look at the world differently I suppose.
Jose has already survived major lung surgery. He was fighting strep throat with one lung when shit turned from there. He’s in the hospital right now on the westside of Manhattan fighting for his life.
No one can visit him because of corona fever. I can’t even send flowers.
After the NYPD tried to kill me, the courts criticised me for going on with my life. Like, since I refused to allow a couple of NYPD c*nts destroy my life, that meant everything was fine.
Let me tell you, I refuse to let anything break my spirit, ever. I was raised like that. It’s a massive factor of what makes me.
That said, Jose being unwell is giving me a bit of a broken heart beating. I’m going to send him more texts, tell him I love him and send whatever vibes I can to the other side of the world to get him better.
I believe your spirit and soul can heal no matter what. It’s part of what I’m trying to learn to guide others with using Art and, naturally, Writing.
But human bodies can be a real drag. I’m going to go trance out and send my homie light. He’s fighting now in a way none of us could imagine. TBH it dwarfs anything I’ve ever been through. Real talk.
Cross your fingers for us.