With your arms in the camo jacket I want you to close your eyes and become still. Let the air duct rustle your hair delicately and take a deep breath in. Let your other senses become heightened. What’s that smell? Sweet nuts? Jerky? The lingering puke recently cleaned up from a toddler overwhelmed by the glory of Bass Pro Shop? The lick of fabuloso and bleach failing to do their job? Let the scent travel through you like red blood cells through your body and know like most things in life, it is all fleeting. All temporary.

Now let the hearing become escalated. What’s that murmur? A goth teen complaining about going on a camping trip with their family? A couple fighting over how to do a gender reveal party with camo? What’s more feminine? US Woodland or Flecktarn? Who is jingling the pots and pans wind chimes in the distance? Who is in the gun range and why do they keep missing their target? All of these lost souls, stay quieter than them and you’ll be better than them. You know who is most quiet? God. When you evaporate into silence. You know who has the power? The one that walks away.

And now we should tap into an unlabeled sense. Some called it a “Six Sense”,  I call it taint-tingling-intuition. When you are met with a bad circumstance and your butthole squeezes itself subconsciously- that is your body’s response to the unknown. Encounter a ghost? Butt pucker. Trying to sneak around? I bet your asshole is tight. The root chakra is tied to vastness of the unknown. Of life and of death. You don’t believe me? When little babies are born into this world, mothers shit themselves to get them out. When you die, your bowels evacuate. Get too drunk and start talking unfortunate truths? Chances are if you keep going you’ll shit yourself. Who knew that brushes with life and death could be obtained with doing poppers?

Some people thought I was strange when I decided to tattoo my body from head to toe in camouflage. That to cover myself with leaves and detritus would be to besmirch my body forever. They don’t know power like I do. Animals come with indicators of their power all the time. You know what animal I respect? The raccoon. Now that’s a fella that decided to commit to the bit.

If you want to steal things, cover up your peepers. Don’t let the surveillance cameras or the AI recognize you. Paint over the windows to your soul and challenge anyone to try to guess your next move. Wear your shame, paint your tail in rings and be the prison uniform before you get sent to jail. Become the crime before you execute it. Half of power is about being able to manifest it. Fake it, till you make it. Sure, raccoons are prey, but they are prey that can hunt, scavenge and do anything to survive. 

So my tattoos, covering my body in coverage. That makes me feel safe where I need to feel safe and dangerous where I need to feel dangerous. Walking through the woods, I’m perceived. Standing still in the Bass Pro Shop, I’m unknown. Walking around in Albertsons to get groceries, I guarantee no one is fucking with me.

The slippage though is with movement. If I want power, I need to stand still. I need to remain ever vigil and ever present and most importantly I need to shut up. I’m going to keep standing here, but would you mind bringing me back a snack and some jerky. I can’t leave my post.

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