laterals

 
My compass twirls from the raging spectacular of stories at my fingertips. More and more it feels like an issue of trust. If I follow this story will it lead me, again, in rutted circles, noose my neck with its horrific images of our ancestral curse, homicidal depravity? My knees buckle. Each time it takes longer to recover from this bludgeoning response to my quest for sustenance. returnhumanifesto.htmlshapeimage_2_link_0