Or: How I learned to keep worrying and despise the Flow Jam
As I drifted through the spiritualist swamp that overtook Case Center on the first day of Skidmore’s new-age festival, Flow Jam, the first words to surface in my mind came from Edna St. Vincent Millay’s imperishable poem, “Renascence": “Ah, awful weight!” she groans. “Infinity pressed down upon the finite me!”
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