A Shell station at the Balhaldie service area.

Read to the end for literary constipations such as:

  • Two guys on a motorway discuss quitting their job;
  • Britain’s only fully-automated luxury petrol station (powered by AI, of course);
  • My commentary: how I feel being back in the saddle.
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A dotted page; a pen has been lifted from it. In the middle, the words, "Have I truly become a writer?" have been written.

If you read to the end, right now, within my lifetime, ‘cos I can’t be doing this for all eternity, you’ll get these three consternations for the price of one:

  • Oh, hey, I might get to write for a living;
  • Recognising my flaws as a storyteller, and what I can do about ’em;
  • Things you can expect on this blog soon…
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A twisting hallway, drenched in blue light, leads the way to an empty room with a grand piano. On the right of the entrance, a sign reads: "Someone feels missing..."

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What an excellent day to read to the end and find such contemplative thoughts as:

  • Liminal spaces – and why they feel comforting, yet eerie;
  • Liminality in anthropology – and how it can explain said comforting eeriness;
  • Persona 3 Reload, once more – and how the observing of its many rites of passage culminates in the most beautiful ending to a game I’ve ever played.
  • (CW: THAT MEANS MASSIVE PERSONA 3 SPOILERS AHEAD)
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