It’s nightfall and the LSD trip is teetering off its apex.

I can hardly see our path along the dark dirt roads. Jimmy, liquored on booze, walks with me. On our last night of the Lightning in a Bottle festival, we walk. To find mysterious hippy enclaves and secret meetings of the hacker group Anonymous, we walk. To feel soil against our feet and air in our hair, we walk. To experience life as it is, we walk.

“It feels strange out here. Like I’m picking up your psychadelic vibes,” Jimmy says.

I agree. Each moment feels surreal, like we are discovering the present before it unfolds.

We return to the main grounds and I’m dazzled by the spectacle of a million monochromatic lights gushing from the music stages. Even more outstanding is the glow from the audience. Girls whip, flip, and jump through their LED-lit hula hoops. And around the bend, a group of fire-charmers spin blazing...

We sat atop the highest point of the festival grounds. A mound of dirt elevated above all the camps, porter potties, and roads.

Our view reached from the sunsetting horizon to the fields of nowhere. In between lied the rich tapestry of colors dotting the festival landscape. Girls wearing teal yoga pants. Boys with heads wrapped in orange sarongs. Vibrant canopies for meditation, eating, and dancing swayed in the air.

High among the panorama of paradise was an unusual angelic body. It glistened in the sunlight, floating effortlessly over the festival grounds. From a mile away, we could see the ovular shaped body with tentacles hanging below.

“What is it?”

“It some sort of metallic blob.”

“Looks like a giant silver jellyfish.”

Later that night, it occurred to me that the heavenly figure drifting across the sky was more than a metallic blob or a space jellyfish– it was the...

The light from the sun cascades along the empty lake bed. Cows are foraging the arid and yellowed fields. The foreground’s music stages, Ferris wheel, and tents appear like an illusory village. In each reflected ray, I see the entirety of the visual spectrum. Roy-G-Biv vibrates in all instances. I listen and hear an undulating mix of music from the various stages. Writhing, creeping, and flipping.

My senses are overloaded. I lie down and close my eyes. I hear a conversation nearby with a young girl’s voice saying, “My grandmother taught me Japanese when I was young. I didn’t practice so all I remember is how to count numbers.”

My ears tune into another voice, “In the 40’s, people didn’t know about the consequences of smoking. That’s why they continued to be beautiful for the rest of their lives.”

I look up and see webs of fabric stretched to meet the wooden poles surrounding the...

“Turn to your neighbor sitting next to you. I want you to stare into each others eyes.”

My neighbor’s wearing a white baseball cap, tilted at an angle. Dark-skinned, Indian descent. There’s no way he’s going to be able to keep up with me. I’m more spiritually in-tune than him. He looks like he’s going to a Jay Z rap show. I’m shirtless having finished morning Kundalini yoga. He’s going to break, yes. He’s going to crack a smile.

I stare through his corrective lenses and into his eyes. A surprise. He stares back, emotionless. Like an ancient statue. I think again, maybe he won’t break. Maybe I’ll break. What happens if I smile first? A minuscule muscle near my mouth twinges that could easily spread into a cheerful grin, therefore, I quickly send it into a deadening scowl. I think I need to stop thinking.

The staring continues for whole seconds. I count my breaths. Then entire minutes...

Top eats @ LiB:

1. Giggle Juice’s Sexy Eggs
2. Our neighbor’s burgers
3. Smucker’s Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches

Top LiB venues:

1. The Lucent Temple
2. The Grand Artique
3. Pagoda Bar
4. The Woogie Stage
5. The Lost Hotel

Top LiB rituals

1. Howling at the sunset
2. Daytime yoga
3. Sharing food

Top places to chill:

1. Meditation Lookout
2. Om Shan Tea
3. The Gong sanctuary

Top things I want to experience:

1. Inner camps secret stages
2. Northern camps incl. “Bandcamp”
3. Late night sessions at the Temple
4. Do-Over Barbershop

Top unforgettable sights + sounds

1. “Mom!? Dad!?”
2. Sunset from Meditation Lookout
3. The Spaghetti Monster
4. Nahko’s set at the Temple
5. Jamie XX’s set
6. The Woogie at night
7. Firearts at Pagoda Bar
8. The hula girls

Top unforgettable personal experiences

1. Hugs galore + the human puddle at Kundalini Yoga
2. Staring into a stranger’s eyes with Mikey Siegel
3. Lucy in the Sky during Sunday Sunset
4. Walking the...

Sunlight peers in through holes in the clouds. The thoroughfare is empty. On this Sunday morning, we congregate indoors, bow our heads, and listen to a morning prayer.

In the Church of the Sweetest Scientology.

Joe Zanders, 2012 Olympic Boxing coach and Southern California Silver Gloves Tournament organizer, signals it’s showtime.

The gathering of parents, fans, and teammates take their seats in the neon-lit gym. On this still and quiet January morning, a different weather pattern brews inside. A whirlwind is rolling into a maelstrom of footwork, lightening one’s and two’s, and thunderous showmanship.

Today is my first USA Boxing event. And I’m blessed to witness these adolescent fighters or “boxers,” as I’m educated by tournament organizers, compete for a spot at the Kansas City Silver Gloves finale. Backstage, the 8 to 15-year-old competitors from Honolulu, Denver, Phoenix and more...

Give him your heart. Cut it out and put it in his fucking hands.

“Being number one makes you soft”

October 31st in the city that never sleeps,
we begin our journey outside Manhattan with new peeps.
The bubbly Rosa whose cheeks and gums flapped,
talked the entire car ride– a literal word salad wrap.

We arrived at the Hudson Distillery for a late lunch,
I ordered the Fall Salad, a surprising bitter munch.
There we met new girl 2,
dressed as Wednesday from the Adams family crew.
Reagan was a girl with a peculiar tendency,
she explained her love of the crypt and necromancy.
Sported a flamingo tattoo she swore was a crane,
when Ben said it was a herrod, it drove her insane.
Finished touring vats filled with mash,
we returned to the tasting room and lay down cash.
Sipping hard liqueurs from gin to rye,
with outdoor air so clean making one high,

Next was a town of ghoulish American lore,
that features Icabod Crane and a Headless Horseman’s roar.
We walked and saw families...

We fucked Ibiza.

And Ibiza fucked us.

Hard.

Two guys were whipped by jellyfish while swimming around the party boat.

Later, one of them aspirated while drinking water and vomited in the beach club.

His girlfriend ran to catch a cab and fell face first into asphalt. She shredded her knee and earned a euro-sized blister on her chin.

I was caught in a torrential rainstorm that induced sneezing, waterfall snot, and zombie-like fatigue.

Another girl had unexplained nausea for a 24 hour period. Was it the Molly, the alcohol, or the Adderall?

And lastly, the last guy abruptly developed swelling, redness, and pain in his ankle. He couldn’t recall any trauma.

A medical mystery?

Call it the Ibiza effect.