to find ourselves. Out in the desert, arid vistas expand beyond the ridges dug into road that mark the way forward and onward, deeper and deeper into this strange silver unknown. We shed our skins with each passing mile. Unmarked graves take the shape of abandoned vehicles down this sepulchral road. It takes faith to lose yourself, or so we're told, but we prefer the guts we daily channel to face what's left after the skin is gone, the empty skulls and hollow bones. There is the strange sort of love you only find through the imperfect flagrant fellowship of mutual evolution. We ride on at dawn, leaving behind everything that renders us complicit with the familiar.