What has destroyed every previous civilization has been the tendency to the unequal distribution of wealth and power.
— Henry George, born in 1839
You wake up.
You're still a lizard sunning yourself on a rock. It was all a dream.
The concept of "state premiers" and "lockdown discourse" is already losing its meaning as you open and lick your own eyeballs to moisten them.
Time to go eat a bug.
Copyright LM 2021
In her short life before she died of terminal lupus, Flannery O’Connor wrote two novels and roughly two dozen short stories that continue to shock and unsettle us. With a wicked pen, she gleefully maims and kills off her characters in a million disturbing ways: they get drowned, hanged, run over by cars (twice in a row), wrapped in barbed wire and beaten to death. Her characters are prostitutes, pedophiles, arsonists, murderers, nihilists, and (worst of all for O’Connor), salesmen.
As an adult, she remembered herself as a kafkaesque "pigeon-toed child with a receding chin and a you-leave-me-alone-or-I'll-bite-you complex".
Books compete in a crowded market for a sliver of our attention. “One of the biggest ironies about this business is that there are lots of people who want to become authors, but that doesn’t necessarily equate with the number of people who are voracious readers,” says Rachel Deahl, news director at Publishers Weekly. “There is a disconnect. Not enough people read enough books.”