I roam about in search of something new. Albeit expensive, this nomadic lifestyle has become my addiction. Everything about a new city is intoxicating: its terrain, architecture, residents, redolence, pulchritude…. I explore each crevice, study its natives, taste its air, and stomach all of its bureaucratic bullshit. Again, I’m addicted. My neocortex has failed me, and my hippocampus has developed a thirst of which cannot be satisfied. What in the entire fuck am I searching for? Of course we’ve all roamed mother earth before, and we’re bound to roam again, yet before I end up as a camel carrying terrorists across a middle eastern desert next life time, I want to live. Inquisitive folk always ask me “why do you move around so much?” The only logistical answer I can provide is that I am unapologetically a nomad, and I’m addicted to searching for something I’m most confident I’ll never find. More candidly, life is a motherfucker, and in the midst of all its bullshit, I often find myself escaping to something new……quite frequently and in haste.
-JCNI
Jes, The Nomadic 