Kristian MichailI am in the jungle.
I am walking through a villa with two slimy new-agers. I have been to this strange location before. It all looks so tragically familiar. This villa is more like a halfway house. Occupied by the latest influx of ‘spiritual’ degenerates. I have no idea why I am here. I don’t want or need anything from them. But I can’t help but investigate what scheme they are pushing. I feign interest as I am given the grand tour. One of them is the shamanic type, the other is a digital marketer. My skin crawls. I need to get out of here. I thank them and head for the exit. Near the front door is a psychotic man, painted in all white, on his knees yelling out his mantra with his eyes popping out of his head. The digital market opens the front door for me. As I leave, a gang of heavies are at the entrance. Their faces are also covered in white paint. Half dressed as hoodlums, half dressed as indigenous hunters. I put out one of my hands as a sign of peace. The group laugh in a twisted way. They’ve turned my friendly gesture as an act of disrespect. They are looking for any reason to shake me down. I run. I sprint for my life as I’m chased down with a machete. I head for the nearest main road, just making it into a taxi. Fuck waiting for an uber. I call my father in the car and tell I am heading for the airport to get on the next flight out. But first, I tell the taxi driver to return to the villa. I have unfinished business. I walk around the back of the house. I sneak into their kitchen and head for the freezer. I open the lids of each ice cream container. I pull down my pants and piss in their desert. The ice cream melts. My face cracks a smile. Namaste cunts. End of dream.