There is a storm outside of our minuscule shelter and abode, my friend. It is filled with conspiracies and the lowest form of vitriol. It rages a kind of wind that spreads debris over the landscape of the mind. Many twisting, rage-filled pseudo inferences break up the settled perceptions of our societies. These thoughts that have served us are now uprooted and torn; they are thrown into the sky as they wind about violently and disappear, only to return again to the ground badly mangled by speculation of the most inexperienced and vacuous sort. These "thoughts" are supported by mouths moving in boxes on screens that ask almost completely uninformed personages to "add their opinions" "What do you think," they say, and it is not a destructive attempt in itself that they are asked for their thoughts, but in the context of misinformation that builds the storm and twists the tornadoes so high that one cannot determine where the sky lies and where the land rises one cannot determine where is what and who is for whom. There remain edifices standing still, but they become torn in the virtual tempest born of so much ignorance and some deliberate, political machination. What remains of the KGB and its colleagues anger has poisoned so much, has prompted the worst of our world to build a foundation of verbal cruelty and exclusive bias, and those who ought to know better follow the political trend into the most sensitive of positions, demanding that the entropy of all creatures rearrange itself for them and for their comfort. The furor is not merely the fire that kills so much life up north and down south -everywhere it seems. It is a virtual tempest true.
But, we are here both of us sheltered, as long as no-one pays us any attention.