I am returning to Baltimore to finish some books. Interestingly, that shithole is the most peaceful place for me to write now, in the east, for the simple reason that I live there in a small, dilapidated row house that has no TV and no internet and the Land Lady does not blare news on her smartphone, because it makes her cry, and she doesn’t like to cry.

My family in Maryland lives in fear of plague, and since I travel, I can’t stay with them. The bars are closed, so I can’t use that wifi. Whoever was following me when I was their last month, by now they should have better things to do or, perhaps it was a misunderstanding. In any case, I will have no wifi for two weeks. Then I will have to go somewhere that does so I can post and correspond.

In the meantime, as I return to the eldest city of the Ebony God, consecrated in 2015, I wish my readers peace of mind if they live in cities and sectors undergoing transformation. More importantly, if you are afflicted by the audio-plague, if you consume news regularly and are therefore a terrified woman or angry man, try not to argue with those close to you. In every house I have stayed in since hitting Pittsburgh in mid-April, the women have been terrified and in fear of plague and smitten with pity for the death of their God. Likewise, every man except for one, a man who “does not live by right or wrong but by wins and losses,” has been angry and miserable and delayed from the completion of his self-assigned purpose as he gripes about hoaxes and injustice.

The purpose of the media as currently configured is the final destruction of family in its remnant nuclear form, by making each member of these tiny houses a representative of one of the warring factions of the domesticated mind. I have seen my friends, at each other’s throats—women crying and men snarling—in every place I have lived. The System is erasing what we were and making us into something less. It’s leverage point is that we believe it is us or is meant to serve us.

I have made a modest living off of answering questions that people as smart or smarter than myself have not been able to answer. No one has believed me when I have told them why, as if the dyslexic dummy that never passed a test or finished a quiz in any subject from kindergarten to my third go at 9th grade, was some kind of genius.

So I’ll say it again.

I am not sad, terrified or mad and hence have my mind remaining to me, un-assailed by the storms of emotion that torment so many of my friends and readers, because I do not watch TV, listen to the radio, surf the web or otherwise imbibe the nectar of the lie, of unreality.

I live in reality, which frames the Lie in bold relief when you see it.

Look away from the media light.

Embrace the truth of night.