I'm sitting in a local coffee shop, a new book in my hands and on my my hidden tongue, behind my teeth, moving with the rhythm of the words as I speak them in my head. Beside me, a cup of yerba mate steams against the cold from the window, and a arm buttermilk biscuit…
Continue reading ➞ On Mentors, the Cold of Singularity, and Giving Gifts to One’s Self