The first peoples wrote their words backwards on the cave walls to be read from the spirit world.
We can see the letters in the light of our campfire, black etchings on water-polished sandstone, as we swig our Budweisers, light a few joints: just old high school friends getting high. Girl-talk, crude jokes, tales of sexual escapades—the bragging goes on for hours until we pass out.
Then, angry spirits emerge from the darkness to confront our trespass, slit our throats, and suck the dying light from our eyes.
In the morning, none of us dare speak about what we dreamed.