I collect oddities and cynicism.
Nothing belongs to me but my opinions.
I liked myths. They weren’t adult stories and they weren’t children stories. They were better than than that. They just were. Adult stories never made sense, and they were slow to start. They made me feel like there were secrets, Masonic, mythic secrets, to adulthood. Why didn’t adults want to read about Narnia, about secret islands and smugglers and dangerous fairies?