I've gone so long without belonging. A living contortionist trying on different skin suits. These hands don't even feel like my own, disowned dissociated fingertips. I  think I've struck the tip of the iceberg and am drifting off surface mass. Like Emily Dickinson, I'm Chartless.

I stumbled upon a lost tribe in the desert and met a shadow magician. He served me more questions than answers and I was starved. In a monochrome world, I saw a kaleidoscope of colors for the first time. 

Metallic battery acid replaced saliva and I swallowed-like it was the only water for miles. For the first time, I realized I am the oasis and I basked in solace--No longer was I a fortress, my bridge now undrawn. My spirit animal is a cactus, I bloom beneath moonlight and offer rest to the unseen and obscure.

I was invited to the Hot Springs by the magician. After my first weekend bender of psychadelics, who was I to say no? Absent of foresight, I abandoned my campsite and loaded myself into his van.

The dirt roads were unyielding. I thought up ways to capitalize on this unkempt beauty...Shit like making cactus booze. Sounds crazy, I know. But here I was in a man's vehicle who crafts and sells crystal wands at music festivals. So how far off was I?