So, I wept basically through like the last couple or few chapters of Daniel José Older’s The Book of Lost Saints.
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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So, I wept basically through like the last couple or few chapters of Daniel José Older’s The Book of Lost Saints.