It was what it was, I don’t want to call it a cult, even though that’s what the G-men called us. I was democratically elected, not like I started out with those intentions.
Still have never felt the kind of connection I did back with that tribe. Sometimes I long for it. It was bigger than all of us.
15 of us living in the old remodeled barracks, electrical tape anarchy symbol on the walls. Just a bunch of Mohawk sporting NYC punks.
Drugs everywhere, every day was a new buffet.
What do you say to the man in ceremonial robes who feeds people hallucinogens? What do you do when he talks about the secrets of existence? What happens to a man when he has followers to a drug fueled new faith.
I believed I was chosen, others in their idledness tell me I’m special, that I was natural at “shepherding” as we called it.
My speeches echoing in suggestible minds.
I know it wasn’t healthy for anyone. Wasn’t a good place, but it felt so good.
I need to find a therapist who won’t be scared of handling my adventures.
I don’t know what to say other than that.