A few days later, I'm walking around Portland. Every day since the trip, I've been trying to make sense of what I saw, but I can't seem to come to terms with it being a product of altered brain waves.

The details of my trip are hazy, but the ones that remain continue to permeate my thoughts:

There was a reptile. He lived in a world beyond ours. In a universe beyond ours, if you could even call it that, which you can't, not really. Levels above us. Another plane of existence.

He took my curiosity. I gave it to him.

Was that a good idea? What will he do with it?

My hand goes to my stomach, where my palm and fingers rest. I can almost feel something inside—something made of red strands, the essence of me, something that has been torn apart by my own hands, plucked and sucked, a piece now missing.

Maybe I need to eat.

My legs glide me along to my favorite ecotarian restaurant, when I hear a voice saying, "The lizard people are here in Portland! Make no mistake: they have infiltrated—"

"What?" I say a bit too eagerly, approaching the woman speaking, who is holding a stack of papers. Fervently, she hands me a flyer and begins talking a mile a minute.

"They've infiltrated our president. Make no mistake: President McAnderson is a puppet of the deep state reptilian society. She's been possessed, she has. Drank the plasma of children as part of her ritual. Keeps her beauty youthful."

I quickly skim the flyer's contents:

Reptiles from the Alpha Draconis star system continue to wreak havoc on Earth by possessing or posing as humans. With their shapeshifting abilities, these creatures have infiltrated the elite rungs of humanity: the powerful, the wealthy, the seemingly "intelligent," and the famous.

For more info, go to learnthetruetruth.com. Don't be a puppet of the reptilian deep state—learn to live above reptilian influence.

My eyes look up from the flyer at the woman, who is looking at me intently, probably gauging how much I am eating this up. Sudden embarrassment hits me.

"They're everywhere," she says, nearly screaming. "The wealthy—the powerful. All lizard people. It's not just the president. Ashley Dicaprio. Loren Gates. Gordon Goby."

My right eyebrow rises at the mention of my future employer. "Gordon Goby?"

"His upcoming mission to Mars is a disguised attempt to bring humans to Alpha Draconis, where the lizards can consume them."

I nearly burst into laughter. This isn't new information to me—I've heard before that people think Goby is possessed by one of these shape-shifting lizards; I've just never entertained the idea for more than a second. And in those brief, disconnected seconds, I've always thought the Mars theory sounds ridiculous. Why wouldn't the lizards just eat us here on Earth, since they're apparently already here? Do they really want to eat astronauts, who are known for being lean and probably chewy and less flavorful as a result? If their end goal is to eat us, why not just travel here and enslave the lot of us? Through enslavement, they could farm us, raise us, reproduce us for their nutrient pleasures. God, I can't believe I'm listening to this woman! 

Thank goodness she hasn't recognized me, or else she would probably be trying to convince passersby that I am a reptile. Would she think I was a woman possessed or a lizard in disguise?

You're losing your shit, Izzy, I tell myself. You just allowed yourself to be taken in by a conspiracy theorist on Market Street spouting age-old theories about Lizard people. I nod to the woman so she might think I buy this bullshit and thus won't try to convince me further, and then I walk away, throwing the flyer into the nearest garbage can and hoping multiple people can see me so I stop feeling so embarrassed for looking so gullible. I can't believe my desire to learn about them made me think some person on the street—some person who thinks our president is being controlled by some reptilian overlord—was worthy of my time.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. One of the items I check-boxed at Psyche-Delish comes to me: something about drugs possibly triggering symptoms of mental illness. Have I entered a state of psychosis? This belief in him, in the possibility that he exists somewhere, out there: it clings to me, like a parasite I can't get rid of, tainting my every thought. My logical brain knows he's not real.

People have often divided the brain into three distinct categories—the logical brain being one of them. Funnily enough, the "lizard brain" is another. I can't seem to get away from lizards, even when I'm trying so hard to be logical!

The "lizard brain"—the basal ganglia and the brainstem—is the part of our brain that's responsible for the four Fs: feeding, fighting, fleeing, and fucking. The term "lizard brain" is used because reptile brains are thought to be inferior to human brains, limiting reptiles to these four functions exclusively. It is believed that reptiles can't imagine or ponder consciousness, for example.

Yet somehow people believe we have reptilian overlords! The very term is an oxymoron. Reptilian = not smart. Overlord = dominant over another species. As if humans, with our superior intelligence, could ever be subdominant to reptiles. I laugh aloud at the idea, and no one else on the street bats an eye—they probably think I'm on a bluetooth call.

Then I stop laughing. Because the reptile I met on my trip? He had more than a lizard brain. He had a logical brain. With his reaction to my gift, he might have even shared the third part of the human brain: he might have had an emotional brain.

Obviously, my emotional brain believes in lizard tales. It must get some sort of emotional high from the belief. I have got to get grounded, to start using my reason.

After minutes of walking and talking to myself, I finally reach the ecotarian restaurant I've been looking for, a quaint little place called EcoBowls. I order the Glum Goddess Bowl, a combination of bone-broth-infused farro, pan-stewed brain-enhancing mushrooms and farmed sea beans, air fried potatoes, and toppings called "Dark Jewel Seasoning" consisting of hemp seeds and toasted cockroach parts. Cockroaches are very ecotarian and high in protein, and as little pieces, they taste like crunchy quinoa.

My hunger subsides more with each bite, and my inner voice calmly explains to myself that I am not crazy. I'm just emotional.

Still, there is something nagging at me.

What did he want to give me?

My pocket-computer starts to ring, and I see it's Nakomi. I answer to find her bright face beaming at me.

Her smile quickly turns to a frown. "Are you at EcoBowls without me?"

"How did you know?"

"That visionary art behind you."

I turn to see what she's talking about, and there it is—a series of psychedelic paintings. Visionary art: art that supposedly shows what lies beyond human sight, beyond human comprehension. Looking at the paintings now, I realize I never understood visionary art until this moment, and now—well, it feels more than reminiscent of my Vivecta ™ experience. It feels like a memory, like a secret language only people who have gone to those distant realms can speak. And I speak it. Arctic aluminum lemon.

"Huh. I guess I never really paid attention to that artwork before."

"EcoBowls is where all of Portland's local visionary artists display their work. It's very lucrative for the artists and the restaurant. The painting above my fridge is from there; didn't you know?"

I wrack my brain to try to remember the painting above her fridge, and as my memory fails me, she says, "I'm just calling to see how you're doing, and to ask when you're ready for bucket list item number two."

"I want to go back. To Psyche-Delish," I blurt out. The words surprise me, perhaps because this verbalization is the first time I'm realizing my true desire to return to the place occupied by those reptiles. Maybe, once I'm there, I'll finally be able to convince myself it's all just a creation of my mind.

Or maybe I'll see him again; maybe I can talk to him...

I banish the thought as quickly as it comes; that's Emotional Brain again.

Nakomi sounds like a big sister as she says, "You realize that they recommend you only do that stuff every once in a while."

"Well, it's not like I have a few months to spare. I'm leaving, remember?"

"Right. But isn't that all the more reason not to do it? Izzy, you seemed kind of...out of it, after the last time. It takes time to recover from those trips. Don't you think it's best that you stay more tethered to reality? Especially in light of what you are about to do? I don't know if it's a good idea for you to go to Mars believing that lizard-like aliens occupy outer space."

I grow agitated. "Outer Space is huge, Nakomi, and you have no proof that lizard-like aliens don't occupy outer space. Besides, I don't think he is an alien. Not exactly, anyway. I guess it depends on your definition of alien."

Nakomi looks like she does not want to discuss the definition of "alien." "You're kind of proving my point," she says.

Ugh. Emotional Brain needs to shut up. "I am not!"

"You're talking about him like he's real. Just listen to yourself! 'I don't think he is an alien'?"

"I'm speaking hypothetically."

"Izzy, what I think you need is some club time. Clubbing is bucket list item number two."

This change of topic catches me off guard. Clubbing? Like, at Portland's dance clubs? "Nakomi, aren't we a little old for clubbing?"

"Too old? In our thirties, and too old? Izzy, you are insulting, do you know that? We are still in our prime years. Besides, with your recent alien obsession, we can go to Club Galaxzee. Curb your craving for aliens without further damaging your psyche."

"Club Galaxzee? You've got to be kidding me."

"We are doing it. It is going to rock."

"No," I say firmly.

"Izzy, they don't have clubs on Mars."

"They don't have clubs on Mars yet."

"They don't even have alcohol!" Nakomi's eyes glisten at me pleadingly, and the rest of her face forms into what looks like the expression of a toddler begging for candy. She even puts her hands together, as if she's praying. Praying to me, to go clubbing.

"Fine," I relent, and I wonder if I'll regret this, the same way I kinda-sorta regret going to Psyche-Delish.

subchapter | illusion

Remember: the mind receives so much sensory information every minute, but it can only process a limited amount of that information, which causes it to take shortcuts. Some of these shortcuts come in the form of assumptions, guided by memory.

Illusions are things—sights, sounds, smells, etc.—that are likely to be wrongly perceived by the senses. In other words: illusions deceive the senses. All senses are subject to illusions. Optical illusions deceive the eyes; auditory illusions deceive the ears; olfactory illusions deceive the nose; etc.

Consider this: a word is being played over and over: "...bore, bore, bore, bore..." A visual is being played in tandem with this sound, with a man's lips clearly saying "...door, door, door, door..." Most non-deaf people will think the sound of the word "door" is being played, despite being able to hear the word "bore." They will assume, based on the man's lips, that a "d" sound is being made. Their sense of hearing will be distorted, and they will even hear a "duh" sound...most will swear up and down that the sound being played is "door."

Us humans believe ourselves to have superior intelligence, but we can be very easily manipulated. By using our memory—hijacking our assumptions—anyone, or anything, can deceive and distort our senses. How many illusions fool us each and every day?