What It Means

What with a panoply of paranoid conspiracy theories, half-baked ideas of a supernatural afterlife, idiotic global leaders (not to mention global warming), and a steady stream of apocalyptic, nightmarish, zombie movies more than adequate to fill several lifetimes; and now, apparently, a panicked stampede for toilet paper in the wake of a puerile fear of the Covid-19 virus which seems, it is imagined feverishly, has us poised almost certainly on the brink of the total destruction of our species, I think that the world must have gone completely mad during my last fitful session of sleep. It must come as something of a relief, then, for you to discover that I remain mostly sane. What about you? May I number you among that diminishing though hopeful group of homo sapiens who huddle together against all odds and trends to the contrary, clinging tenaciously to the exhibition and honoring of rationality (dare I say it) religiously? Nah. I didn’t think so. It’s a very small group here in our little Neolithic cave. But I find that I must leave you now, as I have so many more handprints to paint upon the walls of our future.