When the world encroaches upon me and the sand in my timer is all but dwelling in the bottom half, my mind retreats to its safe haven. The dusty expanse of Nevada, to be truthful I have been to this state but never to death valley. It tantalises me, I wander its limitless desert scape, barefoot and adrift. Stars battle for every last inch of sky, puncturing holes in the dark, reminiscent of my origins. Here I mind meander this place to which I’ve never been, looking for a last answer that I cannot locate in whatever current physical place I’m in. It is where I go to plan when I cannot here.

I drive a van out there, it’s a chevvy bomb that’s white and purple and has flower patterned curtains from yesteryear. The inside is real nice though, a tiny timber kitchenette, single bed and desk configure the back section. I have a tent, gas and too much water at all times. Paper maps and ceramic tea cups litter the benches and hand drawn etchings of mushrooms and moons adorn the walls. It is my snail to my final destination. Death Valley.

I am fairly certain I was born in the wrong place? Or my soul made a mistake. Can that happen? I am not able to reconcile the strange misplaced feelings that brew inside of me. I queery this strange time we are in and my spirit seems weary.

So I journey to dusty unknown of my faux imagination to rest, exhale and exterminate. It is where my dark thoughts go to die, one bullet at a time so that I may dwell a little longer in this manifestation. That the sandy time equation of the hour glass can be flipped once more.