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Covida Commedia

Covida Commedia

The following represents over two years of careful research and close logical reasoning, brought to fruition in one middle-of-the-night conversation when, sleepless through worry over the future of civilization – tea and ginger biscuits to hand – Olivia and I turned to the only subject that never quite goes away: Covid.

“It’s got to be aliens.”

She looks at me. “What on earth are you on about?”

“That’s just it: not on Earth – out there!”

When it comes to the Covid narrative, and the absurdities it has propagated, the alien explanation is merely elementary deduction. By discounting everything it can’t be – à la Sherlock Holmes – what you’re left with, no matter how unlikely it seems, must be true.

First, the faulty premises.


Stupidity is the most charitable explanation for what has transpired. And it will probably be the last resort of the accused at the International Covid Tribunal.

Any single policy decision might be explained by bumbling. Visualize the many foolish decisions of this ‘comedy of errors’, however, and you will also begin to hear the Benny Hill outro tune playing in the background.

Doltishly, the WHO, in 2009, defines ‘pandemic’ as merely the global spread of a new virus to which most people are not immune, and unsurprisingly identifies one in March 2020.

Clownishly, we take notice of people pratfalling in the street in China. Neil Ferguson is clumsily chosen as an authority on SARS-CoV-2 propagation after yet another back-of-a-dogeared-envelope calculation.

Christian Drosten foolishly decides upon a test for coronavirus that isn’t remotely diagnostic (the PCR method is like finding the few atoms of Shakespeare in your tea – it impresses only until you remember you can do this sort of thing because the universe is wondrously interdependent and interrelated. Viruses are not alien invaders, but one facet of the glittering jewel that is Terran life).

Naively, we believe the bog-standard cold virus has suddenly disappeared and been replaced with an ultra-exotic one. Muddleheadedly, we forget all about the efficacy of tried-and-true remedies like hydroxychloroquine.

Obtusely, we believe in asymptomatic spread, and become thoroughly mixed up about the meaning of ‘dying with’ and ‘dying of’ something. Docilely, we adopt Fauci and Whitty’s ineffective policies to mitigate the impact of Covid, which unintentionally cause the destruction of livelihoods, health services and education.

We watch, insensate, as the frail elderly are bundled into nursing homes and accidentally killed, thuggish police are brought onto the streets to prevent sociable behaviour, and frustration, despair, illness and suicide proliferate. Vacantly, we overlook vaccine companies’ criminal pasts and opt for a novel therapy that doesn’t produce immunity.

Idiotically, we acquiesce to our children being jabbed because it will help them adjust to the new conditions. Gormlessly, we watch young males begin to keel over…

“I could go on…”

“Don’t,” Olivia said. “I got the picture ages ago. The only stupidity was looking to the ‘experts’ instead of noticing the dearth of bodies in the streets. Let’s face it, most people voluntarily donned the dunce cap; the giveaway was that the average age of a Covid death was the average age of death. Of course the policies weren’t accidental. Look at the Nudge Unit’s machinations, the obsession with universal vaccinations, and the filthy lucre made by Big Pharma. How’s that for deliberation?”


‘Follow the money’, the old saying goes. But a half-hearted quest won’t do. You must be prepared to follow it into hell.

As Plato recognized, the great shortcoming of democracies is their obsession with wealth. Which is why thoroughgoing materialists are not themselves disposed to notice, let alone curb, the excesses of the few; indeed, they seem like the lucky bastards. But while most of us desire money, we usually apply a judicious approach, recognising that little things – such as the ultimate welfare of our fellow humans – trumps its acquisition.

Not so for everyone.

We’ve been breeding aliens for centuries. Let me explain. We all know about the principle of artificial selection. Choose a trait – in canines, say – then mollycoddle all specimens that seem to conform, and top the rest.

Where I live, there is the cute web-footed Portuguese Water Dog, who can herd fish – but also the awesome ‘Dog from Beyond the Mountains’, a beast mighty in size and intellect, who can mull over what needs doing and then get on with it – making its own den, calculating sheep movements, and easily foiling wolves.

The same sort of thing happens all the time in human society. For example, the medieval Church’s laws against usury for Catholics encouraged a marvellous proficiency in monetary matters amongst exempt minorities – Jews first, and after Henry VIII, Protestants.

No doubt Mayer Rothschild, who, over two hundred years ago, first thought to send his five sons to commandeer the great banks of Europe, was a likeable chap, fun at parties and a good teller of jokes. One of his best witticisms, apparently, was “Give me control of a nation’s money supply, and I care not who makes its laws”.

Owning the world entire was a distant dream back then. But as capitalism expanded and usury became almost de rigueur, hard-nosed individuals won out. Indeed, the enterprise of controlling the money supply, creating boom-bust cycles, financing wars and the like, meant sociopathic traits were selected for, and without us less-than-completely-ruthless types noticing, our civilization was overtaken by the single-minded and grandiose, who looked with jaundiced eye on their unaccountably sentimental and conscience-stricken fellows.

Even less happily, they acquired the leverage of modern technology, and so the wherewithal to cleave our hitherto cosy world asunder.


Modern science is a powerful thing. Since its inception it has caused philosophers, poets, artists, and other useful humans, to abandon an age-old understanding of the human being and opt instead for a wholly material and mechanistic view of reality. Scientists have influenced generations to scorn what doesn’t register on their instruments, and so cheerily accept a cosmos without a vertical, or spiritual, dimension. This is like getting people to attend lectures at the Royal Institute of the Blind and have them come out convinced that colour and light are imaginary.

Ousting God from the stage is quite useful. It means you can play that role yourself. Experimenting with how the ‘machinery’ of nature ticks has led to a lot of dead things. Attempting to ascertain how humans tick has led to farcical conclusions.

For instance, all of Philip Zimbardo’s Stanford Prison Experiment and most of Stanley Milgram’s Shock Experiment was cobblers, proving not that people are innately sadistic but that scientists can be manipulative bastards, playing upon people’s concern to do the right thing by a science they believe beneficial. (Let’s face it, how likely is it that anyone would believe Yale professors were going to watch people die from electric shocks for the sake of a lousy memory test?)

In the greatest experiment ever conceived – a multi-year pseudo pandemic called Covid – myopic and bungling men of science – Fauci, Whitty, Ferguson, Drosten et al – have become as lords in a land of complaisant dupes.

Accepting ‘the science’ these days is a deadly gamble. The funding that pours into the universities and research centres across the world has redirected science into the hands of the mega-wealthy, becoming the wherewithal for inclinations profoundly sinister.

The evidence of a dark design lies all around us. Each element brought to bear upon the frail human organism – bio-, nano-, and cyber-technology infiltrating blood and brain, moulding, shaping, selecting, discarding – is a tool for ultimate repression, and bears the mark of an evil power.


Most people don’t realize that the seemingly diverse and exciting world they see around them is not that great. Over the last five hundred years we’ve been steadily removing bits of Reality. Having turned our gaze earthward at the time of the Renaissance, having become obsessed by phenomena and empiricism, with making an equivalence between everything we see and number, we’ve stripped away everything fine.

An ersatz, drastically simplified, world has all but replaced the real one. For a physicist, fundamentally everything is a bunch of quarks zipping around under the duress of a few tedious mathematical laws. In the World Economic Forum’s view, fundamentally everything is really money

In a fully monetized and digital world, overseen by just a few corporations and banks, the long process of quantification René Guénon spoke of is complete. Everything has a price and everything can be bought, sold, traded, or managed – including you.

Top-down control means decisions rapidly propagate. Do not be surprised, then, if you wake one morning to discover that a wholly new system of living has been put in place. Or that you’ll need to get used to being told precisely what you can buy or own, where you can go, and what you can do. Or that the Klausian young shapers and leaders, who mushroomed in the dark of Covid, don’t see a problem with this.

On the other hand, don’t be surprised if you don’t wake up at all. Because just as you were deciding you could perhaps learn to live with all this, they were deciding they didn’t want to live with you.

Look at it from their point of view. Inundated by nearly 8 billion people, mostly ‘useless eaters’, is to watch an otherwise pleasant planet go to waste.

How much to reduce it by? The clue here is to look to the supposed ‘herd immunity’ figure. We all know that herd immunity will only happen with vaccination, not, as in all previous contagions, through natural infection.

The very sensible 70% figure of the early days became 80, 85, and more than 90%. If, say, 95% eventually succumb to the ‘safe and effective’ gene therapy unexpectedly causing severe immunodeficiency disorders, that leaves (after the bodies have been cleared away) a global population of roughly 500 million.

This seems about right. Yes, it’s a bit lower than Paul Ehrlich’s generous 1.5 to 2 billion. But then he probably worried over the size of the workforce required to produce enough food and clothing, mine and process minerals, man factories and so on. In other words, he didn’t factor in Klaus and Elon’s Artificial Intelligence and robot technology to take care of the production and maintenance of the Gulfstream or Sikorsky fleet or the luxury ocean-going yachts.

Those remaining won’t need to make do with a deep ecological lifestyle – mudbrick huts, eggs from chickens and so forth. There will be plenty to go around in a nearly empty Eden.

You see, a lot of the infrastructure is already there. And pretty durable. The mansions; the artworks and knickknacks to put in them; great parks and gardens. Klaus would have room to breathe in Windsor Castle, and Willy in Buck House. And meanwhile, wild nature will flourish…

Olivia waved half a biscuit. “I see what you mean – the shadowy cabal and all that. Psychopaths, maybe. But aliens?”

“Inhuman men are soulless. And soulless men are of course not human. And if not human…?”

“Pseudo aliens at best. I’ve always thought we needed a straightforward, effective, and foolproof detection kit for these types.”

Pseudo Alieni

This one, possibly the simplest devised so far, consists of just three questions:

  1. Do you think humans will be superseded by AI?
  2. Do you feel strangely emboldened and self-important after watching Richard Dawkins YouTubes?
  3. Have you read three or more of Klaus Schwab’s books cover to cover?

If you answered no to at least one, rest easy – you are not an alien. If you answered yes to all three, you might want to consider this upcoming Kindle publication:

Diary of an Exile (English translation of the original German text)

Jan 4

Allowed myself two hours to explore the entire island, but was back in 20 minutes. I am indeed alone. I never saw so many rocks and piles of driftwood, or so few trees. Pleasant climate, though. I am told Willy and Tedros have their own private islands, somewhere out there. Hello Chaps!

Jan 5

A rough night. I have opened the survival pack, courtesy of the so-called ‘Nuremberg II’ Health and Safety Committee.


  • SAS Survival Guide
  • flint, fishing line, and small hatchet
  • packet of organic seeds
  • Swiss Army pocket knife (4 blades, with corkscrew and horse hoof implement).
  • A Short History of Alexander the Great
  • A Short History of Napoleon I
  • A Short History of Psychopathy
  • spare ‘Emperor of the Galaxy’ outfit
  • this notebook and pencil

(€243. 87 from

Jan 6
My first and last swim. They were not kidding about the sharks.

Jan 7
Last of the smoked salmon and caviar.

Jan 8
Last of the brandy

Jan 9
Am enjoying the Napoleon biography immensely. What a wasted opportunity! Of course I should have thought more seriously about diverting funds to a sub-category of the Global Shapers – Global Enforcers.

Jan 10
And moved faster too. Allowing the plebs time to organize was a big mistake.

Jan 11
I do not think much of the third history. Overly theoretical, with poorly defined terms. ‘Humour’, for instance. And ‘empathy’! I take it to be some sort of brain disorder. Who knows? Or cares.

Jan 12
The first rains, and it’s getting colder. Would that global warming was more than another WEF ruse. What I need is shelter and a fire – it might be years before AI robots initiate a rescue (I will sacrifice the silly book, not the other two). I curse myself for not having acquired any of the plebs’ skills. But no doubt I will soon master ‘Lofty’ Wiseman’s little tome!

Jan 14
Cold, hungry, knackered. All is lost.

“Very compassionate.” Olivia put her cup down. “I’d have a different solution, involving Davos and a surprise visit from the Hosts of Heaven led by St Michael. But unless you’re going to claim demonic status for virtually every leader and scientist in the world, making them prepared to sacrifice every ordinary principle of decency in exchange for a couple of bucks, a Caribbean island, or freedom from the dreaded paedophile label –”

“Exactly: the controllers are themselves controlled.”

Silencium Universi

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the great physicist Enrico Fermi strolling with his colleagues, looking up, and asking, “Where is everybody?”

Surely there’s no real evidence for aliens. In the 1960s and 70s, Erich von Däniken struggled to piece together evidence for ancient astronauts that wasn’t just evidence of human ingenuity. Wasn’t Project Blue Book a wasted effort? Did Carl Sagan’s SETI programme ever come up with anything? Why do alien abductees never have even a 2-megapixel camera on them while aboard the alien spacecraft?

Not so fast.

You should know that both NASA and the Pentagon have recently admitted that something is afoot.

There are just too many mysterious and tricky-to-explain sightings. And no less a personage than retired general, Professor Haim Eshed says aliens are definitely around. And here’s the thing: they want to do some experiments with us.

Unimpressed by military nutters? Then how about this: No evidence is itself highly suspicious. Isn’t a BBC-like scorn for conspiracy theories, combined with general doubt, exactly what aliens would want? Absence of evidence is actually evidence of existence. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. Advertising one’s existence would defeat the purpose of an experiment; Milgram didn’t tell everyone what he was up to.

So far, so good. We’re dealing with an invisible and silent menace, just like Covid. And if Covid has taught us anything it’s that it’s not important to prove anything. It’s enough to believe it’s real.

Olivia was starting to nod her head. “All right, I’m convinced –”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“… that you’re mad. I didn’t realize Long Covid could take such a toll.”


We don’t have far to look for more evidence. It is well known that fictional criminals provide clues for fictional detectives, calling cards left at the scene of the ‘crime’. The Pink Panther left a white glove for Clouseau, the Scarlet Pimpernel a scarlet pimpernel, and The Riddler a riddle, whose solution was often a clue to his cunning plan.

Covid is part of the biggest cunning plan ever dreamed up. As such, it would be quite unfair not to have received some hint concerning its origins. And happily, we were.

When the Greek alphabet runs out, the WHO’s technical chief, Dr Maria Van Kerkhove, has other goodies up her sleeve. Said Maria, whose golden locks rival Aphrodite’s, “We were going to go with Greek gods or goddesses, [but] I said please, please don’t make me say that publicly”.

And so, it will be constellations. We can expect the Aries, Gemini, Orion, Leo, or Canis Major variants.

Now there’s a clue: Sirius, the dog star, in Canis Major. Slowly, but surely, we are being led towards the hidden hand behind Covid. It’s up to us to join the dots. And the dots are stars in the sky. Piece together the pattern, fools!

“But why on earth… sorry, why on Sirius-4 would they do it?” Olivia dunked and began munching her second biscuit and took another swig of tea.

“An intelligence test, of course. It’s obvious.”

Oves et Capras

We’ve all watched in bewilderment as supposedly intelligent people – it would be unkind to name them – have swallowed the most ludicrous accounts of what’s going on.

Who has not encountered complete ignoramuses pompously discussing case numbers and R numbers, genomic sequencing, graphs and figures put out by the WHO, compliantly switching from un-rememberable ‘Pango’ variants, to potentially racist variants, to the more woke Greek alphabet versions?

People who aren’t even hesitant about being injected with gene modifiers. Who still recommend getting jabbed even after their spouse just carked it, or they developed severe heart issues.

All the cocky epidemiologists, vaccinologists, virologists, immunologists, public health scholars, pandemic experts and statisticians, basking in the only limelight to come their way in a lifetime of grey tedium.

These must be the halfwits whom the aliens want to identify – comparable to the insurance salesmen, advertising executives, and marketing consultants the Golgafrinchans jettisoned into deep space in Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy – the last stage in a selection programme involving Facebook, Twitter, and smartphone devotees, and the creators of Covid track and trace apps.

I Preferiti

Of course, intelligence can’t mean IQ. Otherwise Stephen Fry would have spoken up by now. Instead, we are talking about the possessors of a weirdly non-ideological, science-sceptical, free-thinking perception. These ‘favoured ones’ are the sort who go to university to seek Truth rather than acquire the business acumen to start a successful pharma enterprise. The sort who didn’t decide None Dare Call It Conspiracy was a conspiracy theory, who have sensible levels of Extroversion, Conscientiousness, Neuroticism and Agreeableness, but score terrifically high on Openness. The ones, in fact, who have sussed out that the world contains just three types of people:

  1. A tiny minority who hoodwink the majority into believing the opposite of what’s true.
  2. Another minority who know about this.
  3. The majority.

Coming into the earthly realm presents many challenges. The greatest is waking up to how it all works. If you achieve membership of elite group 2, you can be happy. Not because you can change anything – the system is far too entrenched – but because you can leave knowing you have passed the test of life.

This is why some people become unexpectedly philosophical in their advancing years; are no longer so impressed by human cultural achievements; are strangely unappreciative of new technology (even the latest iPhone); are unmoved by IPCC reports or Covid case numbers; no longer believe atheism is liberating; can see the merit in Russia’s stance on woke, transgender, and Nazis; who find nothing odd about the longstanding Indian tradition of retiring to the Himalaya. Or at least a remote cabin in the bush.

These, surely, are the ones the aliens favour.

Olivia looked at me. “Of course, it could be the other way round. The aliens want to identify all those smart-arse alternative journos, rebel doctors and nurses, people with PhDs in ecophilosophy – really anyone with a vestige of common sense, mistrust in technology, or aspiration to the True, Good and Beautiful.”


Inalienable Rights and Aliens

You might think aliens are unpleasant and have it in for us. That anyone with the wherewithal to traverse the galaxy could vaporize the lot of us in a trice. Make slaves of us. Or soup.

This is very alienist. If we are generally kind to each other, think what increasing one’s intelligence ten-fold is going to do. Therefore, don’t expect any crude or tactless experiment. For a refined and ethereal entity, awake to the wonders of the universe, the experiment is obviously all about waking people up.

How to do this effectively? By overdoing things. Overdoing things has a very creditable history. For example, the Jewish diaspora following relentless oppression by Assyria, Babylon, and Rome meant the long-term survival of the Jews. In Frank Herbert’s Dune saga, an excessively long-lived God-Emperor, Leto Atreides, enforces a ghastly planetary lockdown for three thousand years. When he finally dies, the relief is such that humanity scatters across the universe, ensuring its survival forever.

“Similar to bringing down the US by setting it up as the bully from which everything bad comes so everyone hates its guts,” Olivia opined.

“You got it.”

“When do the aliens show themselves?”

“They don’t.”

Il Sole

Fermi must have been blind. The evidence he needed was there in the sky all the time. All he had to do was transcend the paradigm of contemporary science and rid himself of the effects of its offspring, science fiction.

For decades, SF writers have imagined aliens to be a bit like us, limbed beings – whether mechanical or biological – obsessed with building huge telescopes to transmit and receive radio signals, flirting with nuclear bombs to blow themselves up, and so on. In other words, having cultures nearly identical to us tech-loving humans.

This conception is embarrassingly parochial. As CS Lewis suggested in Out of the Silent Planet, we see only what is in our range of perception. Whatever level of science we’ve achieved, we think of aliens as just a bit ahead. Such thinking precludes our finding anything much. And marks us as dumbos.

We would do well to broaden our conception. Look to earlier SF writers. Dante Alighieri for instance. Dante, working from Ptolemy’s admirable geocentric cosmology, imagined a soaring journey of the soul through planetary realms to the Empyrean. Nothing so crude as a tin rocket ship here.

Who would pretend to fathom Dante’s masterwork? But here’s a clue, a calling card if you will, left right at the end of his Paradiso, a golden talisman to entice us:

The love that moves the sun and the other stars.”

Dante has earlier enjoined us to “observe the teachings hidden beneath the veil of verses so obscure” (Inferno IX, 61-63). So that’s what we’ll do.

What is deemed unworthy of notice by contemporary Earth-dwellers is perhaps the supreme alien presence, right in our backyard. Its standing was recognized in Imperial Rome.

Constantine, who chose Christianity as the State religion, never gave up his allegiance to the doctrine of Sol Invictus, the ‘Invincible Sun’. Temporarily fading away, it re-emerged when the Hermetic writings were discovered by Cosimo di Medici in the 15th century.

It is something Ficino, their translator, picked up on in his Book of the Sun (1494). Bernini slyly made the forecourt of St Peter’s a giant ellipse, the path described by the planets around the Sun, a nod to Nicolaus Copernicus, who in the introduction to On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres (1543) proclaimed:

In the centre of all rests the sun. … not unhappily do some call it the lantern; others, the mind and still others, the pilot of the world. Trismegistus calls it a ‘visible god; Sophocles’ Electra calls him the All-seeing.

As late as the 17th century, Isaac Newton, always more absorbed by esoterism than humdrum science, weighed in. His English translation of the Emerald Tablet, which reveals the mystery of ‘As Above so Below’, is about as explicit as you could wish, baldly concluding:

That which I have said of the operation of the Sun is accomplished & ended.”

You may say, “Of course the sun influences life on Earth. Its light allows plants to produce carbohydrates, and us to make vitamin D to ward off Covid. And, sure, it may also influence our outlook and imagination, our culture”.

This is like saying Michelangelo influenced the furrowed brow of David. Michelangelo was a quarrier of the famed Carrara marble. He designed and fired the forge, wrought his own iron chisels, conceived the form, shaped the stone, brought every aspect and detail to life, gave the giant-slayer’s head the mark of concentrated intelligence, reflecting his own genius.

You may recall him saying something about “the hand that serves the brain”. He didn’t say that. He said it was a matter of intelleto, the faculty of inspiration, which comes from afar.

The Sun and the other stars create and mould matter, which they then animate and imbue with mind through an outpouring of light that envelopes their planets. If it wasn’t for the Sun’s EM emissions the earth would still be an unexciting boulder.

All that we now find on this vastly improved boulder, from the lightest zephyr to Typhoon Tip, from the gold we could once swap a pound note for, to the fuel in the petrol tank, from the cutest little coronavirus to Beethoven, was built by a sun – and nearly all of it by ours.

Consider just one of a thousand delicate relationships between our own consciousness – that buzzing electromagnetic centre in our skull – and the Sun. The Earth’s ionosphere reverberates at about seven cycles per second, the same as our brain’s alpha wave. Known as the Schumann Resonance, it is fine-tuned by the Sun.

Awe-inspiring interconnections and interdependencies of this sort led the ancients to astrology – the relationship between the ever-changing structure and pattern of the cosmos and personality Can we really claim that Sirius, though 50 trillion miles away, has no effect on us, when its light has just entered our eye?

Can we overlook our sun’s own spiralling dance across the star fields, encircling the galaxy, mingling with other suns, drawing from their energies, passing on its own?

What should we expect from this cycle of time on a cosmic scale, other than the fall and rise of human consciousness through the ages?

People used to know a lot more about these things. Tellingly, this present dark age, or Kali Yuga, is a dark age of awareness, which means that most have consigned such thinking to the waste basket. We no longer understand where we lie on the trajectory of time.

The Klausian Era

Today a small number hold out against a vast tide of ignorance, the reality of what humans are swamped by ideas and ideologies utterly at odds with that reality. Klaus and his fellow WEF conspirators represent the mediocrity that recognizes nothing higher than itself.

Interestingly, they are also the catalyst inaugurating a new age, producing just the right conditions for the dissolution of this one.

Think for a minute about the Great Reset and the ‘Fourth Industrial Revolution’.

Think about communication satellites and ‘Starlink’, power grids, phone lines, robotic technology, genetic engineering and level 4 biosafety labs, every type of machine, factories that produce fake food and dangerous drugs. Think about global computer networks that link banks and stock exchanges, nuclear weapons in silos, solar panels, your new laptop, car and cell phone, the ‘metaverse’ and virtual reality goggles, digital currency, and the microchip you’ll soon have in your hand. Ask yourself what they all depend on.

You guessed it: electricity; one half of that strange duality known as electromagnetism, the almost sole source of which is the Sun.

If we sometimes shudder before the vast, impersonal forces of nature – the crashing thunderstorm, raging bushfire, or mountainous and foaming sea—we’ve been mollycoddled.

The Sun is on another level altogether, capable of blowing apart our comfy civilization in a lazy afternoon. It normally acts with restraint, nurturing Terran life, doing just what’s needed to maintain us in our Goldilocks condition.

It doesn’t have to. In September 1859 a huge jet of plasma was ejected from the corona into the solar wind. Impacting the earth’s magnetosphere hours later, it set off the largest geomagnetic storm ever recorded, knocking out telegraph systems across North America and Europe. A similar coronal mass ejection just missed us in 2012.

Really, it’s just a matter of time before whoever really controls things decides to act, and overnight we end up back in the 19th century. Or worse. Perhaps we should anticipate something more decisive.

Covida Commedia

Consider this sobering piece of news from one of our great traditions, produced 1400 years ago:

When the earth has assumed its artful adornment and has been embellished, and they who dwell on it believe they have gained mastery over it — there comes down upon it Our judgment … and We cause it to become like a field mown down, as if there had been no yesterday.”
Surah Yunus, 10:24

All things have their day. As the Sun completes its quarter-billion-year revolution of the galaxy, what we think of as civilization – irretrievably blighted by ignorance, narcissism, and corporate capitalism – will be swept away, and the earth returned to an age of light.

The adventure of the soul, as Dante and all our greatest minds knew, is not for the fainthearted We few, mysteriously awake among sleepwalkers, wearied by the machinations of the powerful, who decided not to submit to one more dictate, one more scientific intervention, one more false narrative, cannot know what comes next.

Whatever happens, our consolation will be that we were watchful through the night. We carried a memory of what once was, and the vision of a better world. We were witness to stupefying levels of stupidity that would have broken most people.

By the time we saw little kids and even cows with facemasks, satirists sacked for criticizing vaccination policy, and mothers’ milk deemed not necessarily natural or vaccines unnatural, we couldn’t wait for the end.

We took a leaf from Evola’s book Ride the Tiger and stopped opposing the collapse. We were cheering it on. By sheer force of will we helped bring it down, content in the knowledge that there was now almost nothing to lose.

The universe probably contains ten septillion (1025)planets. That provides scope for diversity. For worlds nearly identical to our own, but minus Schwabian lifeforms. In an infinite multiverse, it’s a cert.

Down here, Klaus and his mates may have less to look forward to, but they do have the enviable distinction of being part of the literature of an age. There is not space enough here for more than a taste of the Covida Commedia, but it’s worth reflecting on those tercets of the Inferno that deal, once again, with the greatest traitors.


My guide now stopped and gesturing with her hand
bade me observe how Justice wields her sword
for seven locked down in this infernal land.

“Who shall we say began this fraud?
Who framed a common illness and had it spread?”
I saw her meaning, so knew the approaching shade.

“I was Tedros, drawn to the Gates of Hell,” he said
beneath a mass of demons, one for each soul duped for gain,
his dodgy PhD now Permanent Damage to the Head.

After him, Drosteni dragging an endless chain
(those tests which count angels on a pin: PCRs)
choking on a Q-tip whose vastness pierced his brain.

Then, gingerly, he who first designed this farce.
Under Fergusoni, his visage no longer cool,
flames roughly modelled and then attacked his arse.

I could have mistaken the next for a ghoul,
A dwarf who once flew between labs to make one sick:
Fauci of a thousand lies, navigates his own cesspool.

Willy, in the glasses of a computernick
(his life’s dream had been to jab the world)
cried as mighty hornets sought his balls and dick.

Last upon the scene, two who had ruled conclaves old:
the first his race blasphemed, with AI and humanicide,
impelling that Davos hoard who worship gold.

The second, all in white, I no longer could abide;
that pope who bullied the faithful into Pfizer’s trials:
“Those against the vax, are like unto a suicide!”

We left him who once processed St Peter’s aisles,
condemned forever to suck from poison vials.
We skirted wide Klaus’s bald and egg-like scone
cracked by smart and winged toaster, fridge, and drone.

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