"Next" removes your head from your shoulders. Then, it opens your mouth and uses your skull as a ladle, using it to dip into the bucket of strange dreams. It's just another odd addition to the series of poetry and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell. Next is a surreal, psychedelic cocktail of beat influences and the edgy, unapologetic work of poets such as Charles Bukowski. The patients committed to this madhouse were all convicted of the same crime... vision. Inspired by altered states of consciousness, of all types and varieties, these pieces are laced with heroic doses of mind-altering chemicals. Tune in, turn on and space out, to the different strains of strained focus, the odd alterations caused by everything from caffeine to cocaine, religious trance to acid trip, fevered flu to the lightheaded fuzziness of hunger, from meditation to marijuana, dreams to dope and everything in between. Take twice, every hour, never as prescribed and wash it down with a bucketful of expressions from the jazz idiom. Take a hit and a hard left turn, into the place where there are no turns... only gradual shifts. Dip your toes in the kiddie wading-ocean of chess, explorations of space and structure, bebop, sleep, imagination, vision, combat, aliens, angels, birth, creatures both real and surreal. Crash all concepts of time and ridiculous, ideas that have passed their shelf, expiration dates; silly words like tomorrow, yesterday, now, here, there and you. Overdose instead, on all the things in the madcap medicine cabinet. Then watch the walls melt, as all things collide, explode and ooze into one another, inside an extra weird lava lamp called Next. It's definitely a possibility of a guarantee of a good time had by others who were walking in your body, while you were out somewhere, astral traveling.