We are made to magnificently fail. In the ever going onward march from humility to humanity, we search for signposts that we are on the right path. The Artist and the Poet both share in the re-stitching of our souls, and so we look to them to divine the precious secrets to surviving a perilous life of sorrow.

We are only the skin and steel of what we used to be while alive. Today, we are stuck in the Uncanny Valley, put here by a virus, kept here by a pattern of disinformation, and by the threats of low information fools who only wish to keep us down, and locked away, in the name of a democracy that no longer exists.

We are only as good as what cannot be proven. Have you heard about the military biolab next to the Wuhan wet market? Did you know FEMA is stealing from Blue States to poison Purple States? What do you think about ER doctors being fired for telling the truth about what's really happening with ventilators? These are the not-so-evident self-truths that plague us today.

Now is the time to grieve for what will be lost. As the pandemic bears down upon us, we are left to wonder not about what we have already lost, but what will forever be forgotten into the future. We want what we cannot have. We yearn for what can never be recovered. We will have to learn again how to live in the moment, and how to appreciate these shared moments in real time.

We are reaping the whirlwind. The pandemic is upon us and we are flying, seedless, into the horizon with no foundation to root us. Schools are closed. The Palisade is staked. Every step we take is ground zero. We meet a new friend and saw off our arm. Are we there yet? Oh, yes, we are there yet.

How do we handle a perfectly designed killing machine? The Covid-19 Coronavirus appears to be a unique delivery system intentionally constructed for killing people. How does something so intrinsically effective sustain into being beyond the natural world? How many valves are left for us to turn down? How quickly will "social distancing" become "social retribution?" These are some of the vital questions we ask today of the virus that now rules us.

Will there be singing? We are now living in a time and space in which we did not predict, or choose, and do not want. We are distanced, infected, and alone. Today, we turn to Bertolt Brecht and Emily Dickinson for resolution in the conclusions of our damaged human conflict; and we find ourselves irreparably caught in the drift between the abyss of scientific truth and the sacred heart.

We are created to fail. With the rise of the Coronavirus to pandemic levels, we are reminded of a dramatic Public Health Crises scenario where only some of the following people were offered a magic pill to heal their bodies from the plague: a toddler, a soldier, a priest, a grave digger, and a public health worker. Who would you choose to survive the last days with you?

We run from each other by canceling those we wish not to understand. We are surrounded by concepts, and notions, we cannot abide, and so we cancel the person -- instead of coping with fresh ideas -- by canceling the noise they create around us; but to cancel noise, is to nullify life itself.

We become our addictions. All our lives we race from the aftereffects of caffeine all while running headlong into belonging to that jolt of a manufactured high. Do we owe it to our children to remove the caffeine and sugar temptations before they rot from the inside out?