< part one Kyle was a glow-stick raver with stainless spikes in his ears until he got hold of a bad dose of sunshine and shit himself at Coachella, found Jesus Christ while sucking on ice cubes and staring at the ceiling of a darkened recovery tent. Now he was…

< part two My final coaching conversation was a speakerphone three-way with Sharon at HR. Kyle rubbed a flaky hole in his earlobe and nodded while Sharon charted my course according to PapaTaco’s flat-Earth map of corporate expectations. My current heading had long ago sailed beyond the point of here…

< back to chapter one THAT WAS THE DAY I LEFT THE APARTMENT FOR GOOD. The moment it became clear I’d put faith and trust in someone who obstructed my development? Prevented me from connecting crucial dots? …

< part one All I needed that day was a shred of peace. Enough silence and sacred space to recover from another eight-hour-long punch in the face disguised as employment. I took my breaks at my desk and did crossword puzzles. Spent sixty silent minutes hunched over my phone in…

< photos 220

< photos 219

Monkey Rocket 002

< photos 218

< back to part two Keenan was a quirky kettle of drama who sent every breath and spoken word adrift on wheezy sighs. He communicated by posing and answering his own passive-aggressive riddles in distinct and separate tones. …