Subscribers only

Bohemian Exodus

I’m faced with myself. No mirror. Just the freedom of where I am. Although I doubt I will ever be free. My mind can be a trap, a circle back to the cult of reason, attempting to find words for beauty and the cages we create for ourselves.

I spray the fan gold.  It was waiting here, “Good to have a few fans waiting,” I’d said to my friend, Mark, the artis…