This magnificent butterfly finds a little heap of dirt and sits still on it; but man will never on his heap of mud keep still.
Joseph Conrad


The gremlins in my skull are dancing a weird jig this morning. As the feeds burn into the bunker, a weird sense of calm is wrapped around the bunker, almost a numbness. rain for the foreseeable future according to the weather wizards. This time of year always beats me up, we have little to no exposure to the sun for months on end. The gray that envelopes the sky, seems to eventually make it's way into my bloodstream. My life becomes gray.


It's difficult to remain motivated when everything is a battleship gray. The absence of direct light causes weird shadows on the wall, difficult to interpret, to understand. The flicker of the magic box beaming inhumanity into my living room is dulled by this weird blanket of gray, the lights are not falling the way they're supposed to.