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.
No fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
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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.