18/06/2019 by Carl Reynolds
And as the effects of walking in sunshine fade, and I am cast back into the boredom of work, I prevaricate and procrastinate by chasing the tail of internet links through echiums, to desert islands, to global water currents, to early melting ice and feel numb. And a faint despair. With Trump, the Brexit Party topping the polls and Boris as likely PM, it feels like the end of days. And while I appreciate millennial angst (the old school type, not the marketing code) has been a feature of human hope of a better life since the Gnostics got lost east of Jerusalem, this time there is no clarion calling to the gates of Heaven. We are fucked. See this.