I remember a couple years back standing in the Coloma Club, wondering what the dusty world was like beyond the bulwarks of my grand imagination. Now here I sit, in a foreign city in a tropical place far away from the people I love and that wooden cabin by the river, still wondering what life would be like beyond the bulwarks of my grand imagination.

We're all cowboys. And Gyspies. And the soldiers that guard the palace. We are tailors who'd love to dress the King, Natives dancing for grain, wandering fools who carry the keys to the labyrinth under the mountain, dangling them over the grate under our drunken gaze.
Time has taught us nothing. The society we worship today is no better or worse than a thousand years ago when the world was smaller and more divided. Something isn't right, or we'd value the aspiring artist and pity the market money-launderer.
Something isn't right or we'd love each other unconditionally..

Maybe that's why I continue to look. It doesn't feel right yet, it's too early to stop searching for a better way to live.
All I need is a path, a mountain and a door