I think I have an anchor. I feel it.

My anchor doesn't pull down, though. And it doesn't pull up. It doesn't pull to the side. Or the other side. Or the other side. Or the other side. Or the four places in between the side.

My anchor doesn't pull back in time. It doesn't pull forward in time. It doesn't hold me steady in time.

My anchor does not anchor me to any direction that is beyond those of the four dimensions.

My anchor does not anchor me to my own personality. My anchor does not anchor me to any other person.

My anchor is not attached, as far as I can tell, to anything. It does not anchor me to anything at all.

But I have it. I know it's there.

I know because even though my anchor doesn't seem to exist in any one place or time, I have seen my anchor.

I am seeing it now. I see the anchor. And, because I see it, I know it is there.

And so I know it is an anchor. And I know it is mine.

And I know I'm attached to it.

I just don't know what to do with it—with the anchor knowledge—beyond that.

***

Run DMT.

***



Tex Arcana.

***

I will be reading at Pilot Books on July 17 with Matty Byloos and Carrie Seitzinger.