I’ve got to stop reading. My only other choice is to march into the Florida swamps and find the fountain of youth that eluded Ponce de Leon, so I can shave a few decades off my antediluvian* life and make sense of this world again. The reason for my latest blast of consternation (sorry, “facepalm”)… Continue reading The winter of our dissed content
Stories from the South and the subconscious