Wet silt expressing from my soaked socks through the base of my Adidas’s tongues. The shoes noisily squelching with every step on the creekbank in search of rocks big enough to throw into the water at the end of my half-finished bridge-turned-dam.
This was my first experience reifying the liminal.
Remember the other group of stoners I found at the Flinstones-style rock-stacked creek furniture I tumbled together and christened “The Thrones?” The ones who were passing around a foot-long bong? This other group of creek denizens were a vision in “hippy.” They were probably high school seniors, like myself, but maybe college freshmen. I don’t remember asking. One of the group was clad in […]
The inherent pain and social anxiety of putting the Liminal in Liminal Trickster Mystic I’m a creep. And I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here… Ironically, I’m finding myself feeling increasingly liminal to Liminal Trickster Mysticism. Why? In short, the community I started now feels too badass for me […]