Blood and Soil by any other name, it all turns out the same (oh but I’m immune). 

Benito’s earlier work; a distinctly different tone than that of the grand buffoon marching his worms through Rome. What can we infer from such crossings of the floor? I’m not sure it really matters anymore. 

Divination through the inspection of the entrails of a society gone completely off the rails: optimal group size and scaling ratios suggest what any goddamn half-wit could’ve guessed. 

My only remaining goal was to leave this world without actually killing someone. I find myself harbouring doubts. There’s a Venn diagram emerging from the mist. I don’t think you’re gonna like what it suggests. 

Sometimes you must go too far to find out where your boundaries are. 

You say that God has chosen you. Well I’ve been busy choosing too. 

And when your deceptions finally fail we will inspect the remaining entrails: narcissistic, Machiavellian, sadistic, straight-up Orwellian. Stand back and let’s have a look at you; the little Quisling that you’ve turned into. 

Blood and Soil by any other name. You’ve weaponized your pain. 

Destined to fail from the start (as most Catastrophes are). 

Ancient contagion exhumed. Turns out that no one’s immune.