Time is broken. Not only do I not know what day it is, or which sort of day it is, I don’t know what hour I’m in. Is it not early evening? No, it’s approaching midnight. I’ve no idea when I am.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
Rules: no fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
Time is broken. Not only do I not know what day it is, or which sort of day it is, I don’t know what hour I’m in. Is it not early evening? No, it’s approaching midnight. I’ve no idea when I am.