Special Dispatch, 12.4.16

We’re in the thick of it now. Psychic effluvium gathering around us, clinging to the ground like fog. Cutting through it is like swimming through syrup. Have you noticed what it’s like to talk to anybody these days? It is hard to hear them. Their voices are muffled, and your ears are stopped. We are all wrapped in a smothering quilt of bad vibes.

It is almost too depressing to write, these days. I have always thought of my role as a writer was to document the present and speculate about the future, but when the present is so VUCA and the future is doubtful, what is a man to do?

This is not meant to be self-pitying, nor do I intend to do wallowing of any sort. But the signs are coming faster and faster. Should we ignore them? In a world where the facts have started to melt and run like wax, what can we trust? What can we afford to hear? What can we afford not to?

Apologies, again. The Editorial Board stands over my shoulder reading this, a single sharp talon resting on my shoulder. Should the tone of this piece grow any more dreary, they will increase the pressure. The blood will pump from my body, and they will lap at the flow…

Cazart! Okay, I get it! I’ll talk about something else! Just keep that thing away from me!

My fascination with Modern Sporting Rifles has started to concern me, and I worry that I’m redirecting my energies in an unhealthy way. It is all well and good to spend a couple of hours every morning researching the difference in weight between certain billet upper and lower receivers; it is less so when there is actual work to be done. The Editorial Board has noticed my decrease in output, and has reduced my rations proportionally.

Getting started is the hardest part, but writers have always known this. Waiting until you are ready is a fool’s path–no one is ever ready, and I would advise readers to distrust anyone who claims otherwise. Anyone who claims to have answers to anything, in all honesty, is likely trying to steal something from you. The truly wise always admit that there is too much they do not know.

These days, there is much that is unknown to all people. If we would only admit it, we would all be wise.

Categories: Dispatch, Uncategorized

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