With my eyes closed, all sorts of apparitions on the backs of my eyelids, I could be anywhere. But I can still hear the music, so I know I’m in the club.

Ah, it occurs to me, first as a thing unworded. It could pass and remain unworded. But I am a worder, a trapper of moments. I catch them and consume them and spew them back out so that others can consume.

Some dance for others to watch. Some watch others to see how they should dance.

On mushrooms, I’m not sure how loud to speak, how much strength it requires to keep my body standing. It seems that it all should just flow, and I should be part of that flow, without enforcing to much of my own will on that flow.

I look out at a sea of emotions, energy like light reflecting on the angles of waves, faces contorted with any of either joy, elation, interest, love. If I were not human, these contortions would mean nothing. As I am, I am interested, empathetic, wondering: why? Why the emotion