You will have a vision of your true love in the fumes of toxic nail polish. A child’s face will manifest in a post-sauna mirage. The glyph that eventually leads you down a light path will appear in a mud mask spread. The pains of your future lost limb will be transmuted in the hot rock stone massage of now. You are not your muscles-- but a cloud of impressions: blue in the shade, violet when you lie white when you’re being read. No longer a Hanged Man-- spurred black boots on a wire but a pre-life soldier waiting in the hotsprings of psychic disorder.