To the unseen, unheard, unfelt.

To the nomads, gypsies, rebels, addicts, creatives, outsiders, warriors, phoenixes. 

To the mad visionaries. 

The ones who are crazy, intense, too much, out of control. 

The ones who don’t quite fit into the structures they think we should. 

The ones who force or fake or reject fitting. 

Me too. 

I understand. 

You’re my people. 


And talk to me.

‘the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars’ - Jack Kerouac, "On The Road"