This one is likely to be short. I’ve just handed in my dissertation, and I think my brain will blow out like a whoopie cushion exposed to a pin prick if I try to go on for any length of time. I’m running on the neural equivalent of fumes. The term “late medieval mysticism” is banging around in my head, and there’s nothing I can do to silence the farting echo. The only thought that brings me peace is Ingmar... Read more