from jj.com. (quoted from the All4You tourbook.)

This is just beautiful.... I will always love Janet Jackson.

"I've been blessed with beautiful friends. Those
friends have become my family. My friends have
helped me stay steady and sane. Along with my
fans, they've been there when I've needed
support. In these past three years since the
Velvet Rope tour I've gone through changes. A lot
has happened. I'd like to share with you
something of what I've learned.

I'm not an expert on anything except
trying to be the best me I can be. All I can do
is report from my own life lessons. Sometimes I
think fans get an inflated impression of the
entertainers they like. Maybe we entertainers add
to the inflation by trying to look flawless and
act perfectly. When you break it down, we're
faced with the same kind of fears most everyone
has. At least that's true for me. My fears are
pretty simple: I'm afraid I'm not a good enough
dancer, or singer, or actress. Some might think
that sounds silly, since I've had success. But,
to me, no fear is silly-not yours and not mine.
For much of my life, I was ashamed of my fears,
and that only made it worse. Stuffing fears only
seemed to strengthen them.

Now I'm trying to give myself the right
to be human, the right to be afraid. I don't mean
I go around shaking and trembling, but when
uncertainty pops up, rather than hide it, I admit
it. I talk about it. I gather my friends around
me and discuss it. I tell them just how I feel.
When they need me, I try to be a good listener.
My friends are honest about their feelings, and
I'm honest about mine. In my mind, the bravest
act is honesty. If i tried to live up to
an image of what I should be, I would be in
trouble. When I'm just being myself, I'm fine.

Then there's romance. As you may know,
my long-term relationship ended. That was
something else that made me afraid-afraid I'd
never get this relationship thing right, afraid
I'd never find another soulmate. It was another
area where the public had to forget my image and
remember I'm just another human being. When it
comes to love, I can make poor choices; I can
fall too hard, become confused, lose my way. I
might have been playing out a pattern begun by my
mother or my mother's mother or her mother's
mother. Who knows? Whatever the case, I had to
break the pattern, face the fear and move on.

Finding myself has always been my
challenge. Maybe that's true for all of us.
Finding myself has taken 35 years, and I still
haven't completed the task. I began as a child
who was privileged and sheltered; I was introduced
into show business when I was still a baby. It
was wonderful, frightening and exciting. It was
an environment in which self-knowledge was never
stressed. How do others view you?-was the
key question-never, How do you view yourself?
Maybe it was just an exaggerated version of
what everyone goes through: We go through life
worrying about what the world thinks of us.
That worry can turn into a nasty critic who keeps
whispering in our ear-you're not good enough;
you're doing it all wrong; you'll never get it
right.

How do we handle the nasty critic? I'd
like to kill off the critic, but that doesn't
work. He-or she-has been there too long to
disappear overnight. So I try to accept it as
part of me. The more I accept those parts of me I
don't like, and the more I work on changing them,
the less pronounced they become.

I'm writing this to you because I have a
feeling that, although we're different, we're also
the same. We're all fighting fear; we're all
fighting the nasty critic; we're all fighting
falling self-esteem and rising self-abuse; we're
all trying to take better care and be kinder to
ourselves. For me, finding that kindness depends
upon believing in something greater than myself.

I believe in determination and heart. I
believe that, despite our doubts we do what we
have to do. We press on. We get up and go to
school, go to work, deal with our relationships,
learn what needs to be learned. We work towards
our goals and pursue our dreams. We don't let
fears stop us.

I believe in your uniqueness, in your
special gifts, just as I've come to believe in
mine.

I also believe in God. God as a
source of strength and protection against
negativity, God who lives inside us and guides us
into the light of learning. God-the loving spirit
within-is how I wake up in the morning and face
the tasks ahead. In my work, in entertaining you
with the music that reflects the passion of my
soul, I find joy.

I hope you feel that joy in my songs and
my show. That joy is all for you.

I thank you for staying with me all these
years, and, in so many ways, encouraging me to be
true to myself. I can only wish the same for you."

janet

Isel said:

DAMN! I thought you were going to put some more nudie pics of her on here.

just as I suspected: not one single thought running through that tranquilizer-addled brain of hers. how the mighty have fallen....

Michael put out a whole book of stuff like this.....

remember "dacning the dream"? I got it soemwhere. Only worth a glance 4 the lovely pics,,,,,

Thank you so much, I love that. This reminds me of an article that Janet wrote for Essence maggazine:

I, Janet

Women have a hard time processing pain. At least I do. I tend to stuff it, or deny it, or deaden it by working too hard and too long. But I'm changing. I'm looking for healthy ways to process pain. I do it by sharing with friends the simple truth of where I've been, where I am and where I want to go.

My journey has been marked by twists and turns. The drama has been intense. My challenge, like that of so many of us, is not to judge myself. I tend to take the blame for anything that goes wrong. I'm a harsh and cruel self-critic. I long to treat myself gently, but because I've had privileges in my life, I don't think I'm entitled to acknowledge pain or loss. That nasty critic inside me sees that as whining. As the youngest daughter of a family steeped in show business, I'm expected to smile. Radiate happiness. Exude optimism and joy. That's a pressure I both accept and resist. I believe I was born to entertain. That's the public Janet. The private Janet is another matter.

The private Janet likes to listen more than talk. If I go to clubs with friends, I get too embarrassed to dance. I don't think I measure up to the other dancers on the floor. I stay home with my dogs, munch on strawberries and cream, listen to jazz. As a little girl, I clung closely to my mother. Mother was my refuge, my world. My earliest memories are of waiting for my brothers to return from tour. I missed them terribly. When I was 5, the Jackson 5 were at their height, the world's most popular boy band. Along with everyone else, I watched them on TV, saw them turned into cartoon characters, loved them, even idolized them, but interacted with them infrequently. We were always apart. The great distance between us has never been bridged. The concern for family is there, yet the distance remains. To this day, we haven't quite caught up with one another. The nonstop demands of show business threw us in different directions.

I was close to Michael because of his sensitivity. His sweetness. The way he sang and danced, the gentleness of his soul, had an enormous influence on me. He gave me his attention. In his relationship to our father--in his fierce resistance to authority--I saw the foreshadowing of my own relationship with the man we call Joseph. The Michael I knew best was teenage Michael. He inspired me. As adults, we rarely meet, but when we do, it's not as strangers, but as a loving brother and sister whose knowledge of each other is rooted in the past, not the present. We cherish dear memories; we sympathize over the single missing element of our childhood--the fact that our childhood never existed.

What family isn't dysfunctional? What family isn't composed of crazy dreams and demands passed on--or imposed--from parent to child? I see those dreams as gifts. Without them, I'd get nowhere. Demands and desire commingled in our household. By desire, I mean drive--the need to succeed at any healthy cost. But early on I also knew that, given so much dysfunction, I wanted out--out of my family and to be on my own. I married when, for all practical purposes, I was still a child, just 18 years old. I wasn't ready. I watched my first husband, James DeBarge, wrestle with his demons. I felt his pain; I understood his pain, but I didn't understand the impact of his pain on his behavior. I wound up in the middle of a horror movie. Brokenhearted, disillusioned, I threw myself into work, into a career that, at first, was still tied to my father. I broke that tie in the name of Control, my third album. That was in 1986, when I was still not yet 21. Control is a wonderful thing. But control is an illusion. No one but God is in control. That took me a long time--another 14 years--to learn. The more we cling to the notion that we are in control, the greater our delusion.

I admit it; I was deluded. I married again, this time in secret to Rene Elizondo, Jr., convinced that privacy would protect the sanctity of our bond. As a wife, I reasoned that the private Janet would have a better chance than the public Janet. Lessons learned at my mother's knee were subconsciously a part of my very being: Stick by your man; loyalty is unquestioned and absolute; never abandon, never give up; tolerate what needs to be tolerated; work it out; understand; let love see you through. It took me more than a decade to see the truth about my relationship with Rene, and it happened on an evening when I thought I was going blind.

I was in Lyon, France, in 1998 on the Velvet Rope tour. In two separate accidents--one involved my dog and the other a magazine that grazed my eye--my corneas had been scratched. Somehow I made it through the show, but afterward my eyes were burning so badly that even the lights on the dashboard felt like daggers. The throbbing was excruciating. We went looking for a hospital--it was past midnight--where an impatient nurse applied a salve that only made it worse. Back at the hotel, my eyelids were swollen to the size of lipstick pencils. I cried all night. When morning came, I couldn't see. But where my eyes failed, my heart saw with a clarity I had never before known: I saw my marriage for what it was. It was that simple. My husband's concern was elsewhere. Other things dominated his attention, secret things I had failed or refused to recognize. I won't say what things because they are not mine to reveal. We'd been ensnared in a sad, sick dance. The dance involved hours of therapy but very little sincerity. The sickness was subtle. We had few arguments; there was no physical abuse. But double lives were being led; hidden agendas were being pursued. And I was seeing what I had never wanted to see. Or admit. I dislike admitting it here.

I'd been played. Millions of women have gone through this. So why is it so hard to admit that I'm among them? The public Janet feels obligated to project positive vibes. The private Janet feels obligated to take the blame. I feel I should have known better, seen it coming, been wiser, smarter, shrewder. But you learn what you learn when you learn it. The chains of codependency--where egos are merged and identities confused--are strong. To break them requires real determination. Those chains have been binding us for generations. Our parents' patterns, inherited from their parents, can haunt us for a lifetime. I'm grateful that my eyes were finally opened and my heart, though broken, is on the mend.

I call my latest release All for You. The You is my fans, who've stayed with me and watched me grow; the You is the mysterious force of love that's the source of creativity; and the You is also me. All for You is a suite of songs that helped me move from one emotional level to another. I'm the kind of artist who has no choice but to write what I feel. Velvet Rope took me inside my fears and frustrations. All for You has brought me outside, happy on a natural high, convinced that I really can express joy in the face of pain. My moods are ever-changing. If you listen to the CD, you'll hear what I'm going through. There's anger, hurt, regret, even that familiar vein of severe self-criticism I can't quite shake. (I still can't stand seeing any of my movies or concert tapes; I still cringe when I watch myself act or dance.) Yet there's also confidence. I hope this doesn't sound egotistical, but this time I stood alone and crafted my art according to my heart. I feel free, and there's nothing more wonderful than freedom.

Freedom means choices. I chose to explore the sensual side of my personality because that's an essential part of who I am. If the songs are too explicit for some, all I can say is that I'm being honest about my own sexuality. I hunger for passion.

I'm sometimes asked if I mind being called gay. My answer is no. To answer otherwise is to insult gay people. I feel most people's sexuality is enormously complicated. That's what it means to be human. Wouldn't it be great if we honored that complexity rather than turn it into gossip or ridicule? Wouldn't it be great if we accepted sexual diversity, in ourselves and others, without condemning it? My closest friends are women. My closest friends are men. My closest friends have seen me through the challenges of these past years. They have become my family.

I love men. I'm dating for the first time, and I'm not especially good at it. Maybe it's because I harbor the fear that haunts so many of us: I'm afraid I'll be played again. I'm okay alone. I'm enjoying the absence of major drama. I don't want to sound cold, but the idea of living without a romantic relationship does not frighten me. I can see myself as a single parent. I can see myself handling my life on my own. I simply want to accept God's will.

The last song on All for You is called "Better Days." "The blindfold's off my eyes," I sing, "and now all I see for me is better days." I feel that way. I feel light and almost giddy about untying the knots that were choking me, restraining me, preventing my growth. To me, growth is everything. As an artist, as an entertainer, as a Black woman, I'm interested in making strides, taking chances, finding my own way in my own time.

I do know that racism still exists. Maybe it always will. Like so many Black people, I have my own stories of being profiled--of being stopped, searched and frisked twice in the same month by cops skeptical about a Black woman driving a fancy car. And you have to think, if the cops stop me, how much worse must it be for others? Yet we go on. We go to our jobs. We do what needs to be done. We struggle to better ourselves. From my people, from my parents, I cherish my priceless inheritance--the energy to work.

I used to think such work meant only physical tasks: singing and dancing and putting on a show. But now I realize that the work ethic applies to spiritual tasks as well. The job of discovering who you are, independent of anyone or anything, is perhaps the hardest work of all. That's the work that interests me most, the work that, with God's help, is bringing me a deeper sense of satisfaction. Now I see that the pain is worth it. The pain is necessary. Sometimes pain is the teacher we require, a hidden gift of healing and hope.

So is Rene gay or something?

sosgemini said:

yes!

and he better find his way to my room

sosgemini said:

I hesitate to even tread on the dangerous Org territory of "Is he/she gay?" but honestly, the first time I saw him I thought "Why does Janet bring her hairstylist everywhere she goes?"

RipHer2Shreds said:

Rene was breifly in "poetic justice" if ya remember?

Plus he co-wrote some of her songs and chose not to get credit. I think "black cat" was one of them.

RipHer2Shreds said:

I think she's got about the worst taste in men next to Liza Minelli.

She was married to that debarge guy, what was wrong with him?

thesexofit said:

He was a drug addict who beat her.

Janet Jackson has made some crackin' music over the past 20 years or so, but I really wish that she'd keep her musings on life, fame, et. al to herself. A blurb in a tourbook or a message on a website aren't so bad, but when she starts with the self-help psychobabble on her albums, (Special, Twisted Elegance, Better Days) I find myself cringing.

Axchi696 said:

okay!!

theVelvetRoper said:

Wow, cool read

sosgemini said:

Sorry, just all of that "we have to learn to water our spiritual garden" stuff doesn't work for me. Sounds like a bad episode of Oprah or someshit. Come on Janet, we know what you really meant by that: it's an ode to the coffee enemas you were getting at the time. Just didn't know your ass was your spiritual garden.

Axchi696 said:

obviously you have never been through depression, if you had then maybe you wouldn't be so cynical

OMG, this looks like Janet's confession she tells to the priest

Sorry but the whole read makes me depressed.

Hardly Bob Dylan is it?

thesexofit said:

Yeah a lot of it was depressing.

Some of it made me feel sorry for her
and parts of it made me feel embarrassed that she's bothering to share some of it