As a child of the 90’s, I grew up a cultural orphan, vulnerable to every sweet-talking pirate and ancient sage who popped into my field of vision. The philosophical foundation of my psychic environment was materialistic and nihilistic, and for much of my childhood I tottered about swollen with anxiety like a balloon on legs. Unsubstantial legs. I felt, experienced, and lived all this rather than understood, thought, or articulated it; I was engulfed in a cloud of uncertainty which masqueraded as freedom. These days, I know this to be a phenomenon rather new to the human scene, and that it is called “postmodernism,” but at the time it was the only world I knew - the lonely, drifting planet of my birth.