Lightning cracks across the sky, turning night to day as thunder crashes down like a barrage of guns on the Oder, shaking the house with elemental fury. Our Old Enemy the Weather is at it again. Dauntless, I stood on the porch, braving the lashing rain to do its worst.
"Do your worst, Weather!" I thundered from the safety of the Compound's spacious, safe, historic and well constructed porch, "Monetize all the debt you like, you green mountebank, but we're not falling for your corporate Bolshevik ponzi."
Ferox, but our enemy ignored me entirely and continued to bombard this once prosperous farming community with a deluge of rain, sky water. What will tomorrow bring? Discarded weaves, needles, cast off Dicky's BBQ beakers, the broken fragments of a child's toy, all that and more floating in a poisonous backflow effluent of broken drains.
A parable? Perhaps. In the meanwhile, smart people are sharpening kukris, loading mags, laying in supplies and praying hard for angelic and divine aid. My feeling is that we'll need it in the coming years.
Your Friend,
LSP
