The Attack on Energy is an Attack on You

Two goals exist in the attack on energy by the Left. By focusing on their secondary goal (the environment), Democrats accelerate toward their primary goal: destroying the global middle class. This is the demand of the Great Reset and the politicians they own in the western democracies.

A year ago we thought we were free. Today we find our energy industry under attack, ourselves unconstitutionally locked-down in urban complexes, growing increasingly distrustful of others due to useless masks and media lies, with food and housing so expensive that families are not formed, and children becoming a thing of the past.

Oh – and travelling not at all – no planes, and electric cars with an overnight stay at a hotel while “fueling” a car rather than the current ten minutes for the next 400 miles of seeing what once was a free country.

They hate your children too.

Killing energy kills the middle class, the foundation of global democracies that arose through and via the Industrial Revolution, the cornerstone of which was using energy resources (coal, oil, water) more productively than ever before.

Without a middle class, the only possible society remaining is a post-modern serfdom, living and working where, how, at what and for a labor price our betters command. The advance of Big Tech is being encouraged no longer to better our lives, but to better surveil us and to increase the homogenizing of work, speech, thought and culture as demanded by a literal handful of unelected, unaccountable billionaires who think because they’re rich they must be smart (they’re not), and that what they think is “right."

This is the story of tyrants throughout history. And, like all tyrants, these, too, are enemies of people, families, nations, cultures and progress.

As we move farther into the Information Age, what happens to those not able or willing to move into a career that entails staring at a screen all day? What happens when the work of anyone (other than a parasitical politician or indolent bureaucrat) can be offshored to anyone, anywhere on the planet?

Labor needs traditionally have been a community or a national question. The Resetters reject these needs and desires, so intent are they upon forcing us to do their bidding.

This is not a jeremiad against technical progress or a rejection of living standards that unquestionably have advanced due to the digital revolution. It is a demand that those who have most profited from these advances are not allowed, undemocratically, to use their profits to destroy the middle class.

As a culture progresses in resource productivity (food, water, energy, labor) this increased productivity allows that society to create a cohort that pursues specialization, education, travel, art, literature and leisure – the things that make life more than a short, brutal, hungry trudge from cradle to grave. The more productively a society can use resources, the more the living standards of that society increase across all socioeconomic classes.

No petite bourgeoisie wanted here, buddy.

The entire world benefits from the Western middle classes: the wealthy who invest in and benefit from their education, inventions and work, the leisure industries in which they participate, and the benefits a now-wealthier society can distribute to the less-well-off.

But that need for a middle class remains until the need for labor itself is vanquished, as long as we require food, water, shelter, clothing and energy, i.e., as long as people exist. The need for those with skills lacked by the rest of us, indeed, increases: fewer of us every generation can run a water main, repair an electrical problem in our home, or harvest our own food. If advancing technology means one worker can do what ten once did, the need for that one is more, not less, critical. If one of ten no longer can work, the other nine can supply the labor. If one of one no longer can work, who is going to repair your oven?

Trade encouraged by a world shrinking due to industrialized transportation productivity has encouraged lower-skill occupations to migrate to toward what we call the “First World.” This has provided their populations with jobs through which they could advance their standards of education and living, bettering humanity as a whole. As these populations advanced, lower-skill work travelled to less-advanced nations. Wholesale removal of work from Western middle classes for reasons of labor costs alone, however, causes nothing but destruction.

Paying workers in other countries less money to do jobs that have been relocated from the First World specifically to reduce labor costs, cannot help but reduce living standards of the First World. This decelerates all progress globally, including environmental progress and the support of benefits for the poor.

It is a simple fact that a First World country must pay First World wages… or it can’t be a First World country.

Marching for "migrants' rights" in Paris.

The plain fact is this: Western “leaders” no longer value the living standards of their populations. This is past-evident in the intentional failure of education and the offshoring of jobs over the past two generations. Reduced living standards are their goal.

At some point – the point we've likely already reached – either we retain manufacturing and energy production jobs rather than shipping them to less-advanced countries at a lower price, or those who can’t “learn to code” become a detriment to society in the eyes of the “leaders” of that society. Then what?

By killing the Keystone XL pipeline and attacking similar pipelines, as well as protesting against LNG port facilities, the useful idiots of the left are placated in the name of the non-existent global-warming hypothesized by many but supported by nothing.

But the leadership wielding the knives slitting the throats of the middle class couldn’t care less about warming or the environment. They know warming isn’t real; they aren’t stupid. They can read charts and data. Their lack of care for the environment is proven by imposing strict environmental regulations on energy production, while ignoring countries with zero environmental regulations, such as Russia or Nigeria. They also know pretending to care about the environment is a  useful tool to use in the destruction of dissent from their rule.

The entire drive to reduce energy consumption (not theirs, of course), to embrace socialism and Progressivism and the tyrannical Great Reset, is fostered by those who know the terrible harm it will cause to the people of the world… and simply do not care.

Diary of an Acclimatised Beauty: Vaccinating

VACCINE! VACCINE! VAK-SEEEEEEN! The sound of it has become as harsh as COVID Nine-TEEEEEEN! (the only infectious disease out there. Apparently.)

I’m once again “stuck”. This time in Davos, where I came for the Great Reset Agenda after accompanying my father to an “essential” infrastructure meeting in Copenhagen. I mean what’s a girl to do with the world shut down? And all because our entire focus is on vaccines instead of wellness. I haven’t been able to return to my beloved Los Angeles for nearly a year and soon I’ll be labeled COVID Mary if I try to return amid the buzz of a new variant.

On this point even stuffy old Daddy and I agree. He, because he’s old enough to remember when we vaccinated against incurable diseases like polio, and me because I’ve been living and working among the Hollywood elite. And I’m sorry but let’s face it... with more money comes access to better information—or so said a Hollywood A-lister when he first explained it to me at a party in Malibu. We’ve been in the forefront of anti-vaxxing long before Republicans took it up as their cause. WE are famous for it -- NOT THEM!

Daddy’s more sanguine argument is it shouldn’t be our focus when we’ve got treatment for it —and it’s 99 percent survivable. But I’m taking the larger view in that if we start chasing down every perceived “variant” what we are really doing is demanding a virus-free world... year in, year out, forever. And neither Daddy nor I can blindly #backboris on this. All three of us have had it (Covid) and just because he (Boris) got scared out of his wits, is no reason to lock down the whole country. And, again... where are the wellness programs??

In this corner: Battered Boris.

Gosh I’m glad I’m not a Tory in these times. Can you see Churchill asking Britons to hunker down in fear? He’d have sent the NHS packing if their solution was a dose of panic. Luckily we don’t have any modern-day enemies, despite all Daddy’s bluster about China, but if we did, can one imagine what they’d be plotting? They’d be delighted to hear the equivalent of Boris (as if on the wireless) hawking [an enemy so terrifying, you need two masks to fight it].

And I know exactly what my Tory father’s response to that type of talk is...“Oh, Winston, what they’ve done to your party!” And I don’t blame him. In this battle, Daddy’s been the real hero... saying simply, “Get it, get over it, get on with it.”

Personally, I’ve lost a few friends over trying to promote health and sanity. If I say anything like “it wasn’t so bad” or “mummy’s bout was slightly worse,” I am attacked and vilified for promoting “dangerous” and “reckless” ideas. Since when is spreading sunshine (and my truth) dangerous? And if I suggest a course of action (a prophylactic wellness regimen) they make some snide comment about “California thinking,” so you see we are divided AND conquered. Perhaps I should just say Mummy died… so sad… please send flowers. Spreading fear is the new way to win friends and influence enemies!

So hard to believe it’s been a year since I blogged on the best smudge-proof lipsticks to wear with masks.

One thing’s for certain… Google should be handing out MDs since somehow everyone became an epidemiologist during quarantine, and everything we know about viruses and immunology has magically warped into, we’re all gonna die.

I don’t mean to sound cavalier, having gotten sick and gotten over it but in any other reality I’d be in a group with those Korean kids in Los Angeles whose mums take them to chicken pox parties—the point of which is go to the party, get infected and enjoy lifelong immunity. Hey I don’t know if they are anti-vaxxers (I honestly don’t) but there is no denying recovery from an actual virus provides lifelong immunity.

Wearing the black mask: Iron Mike.

Except in this scheme… the plan is NO. No way, no how, you never get out, new strains, fourth lockdown NO NO NO. And the U.S. (you can’t make this stuff up) is ramping up to spending $350 billion to “fight the virus”. Seriously…what does that even mean? Who's fighting the virus -- is it Mike Tyson? Cause we know it isn’t Jonas Salk.

And what happened to ‘my body, my choice’? I’m free to kill a baby,  but I can’t decide for myself? Well here in Davos -- and frankly everywhere where money is not an impediment -- we are deciding and I’m embracing the original… after all, with more money comes better information. As horrible as this is to say… it’s the masses that are being suppressed, so don’t blame me. 

Speaking of the 1 percent,  I watched the press vilify fellow climate enthusiast John Kerry for constantly flying private, and thus making his daily carbon footprint exceed that of most humans in a lifetime, but he really should have called out our real enemies—those pro-vaccine Republicans who shouldn’t now be asking us to fly commercial.

Here in Davos we are a healthy set, skiing and swimming and sauna-ing. And mostly flying private. Still every conversation is polluted with talk of a vaccine! I don’t know what they expect to have happen but we can’t keep this up. I’m thinking of launching my own frequent traveler business. But for sheer profit—I’m not sure if I should focus on wellness, or offer a vaccine du jour.

I could set up an algorithm where I plug in where you’ve been and where you’re going and then adjust based on what’s hot (contagious) right now. Granted it’s essentially what a healthy body does on its own but as you can see there’s no money in that.

Diary of an Acclimatised Beauty: Caring

With all the excitement of coming to Davos for the World Economic Forum, I completely forgot I can ski here!  Skiing was obviously the last thing on my mind when a new friend from Lyford Cay mentioned they’d be able to smuggle me in among the climate gurus and environmental titans but here I am.

Landing was a bit of crush and I could see why some opt to take the train from Zurich-it’s not only because the trip is so majestic and reminds us of what we are fighting for… but Davos can’t possibly accommodate that many jumbo jets all arriving within hours of one another.  Rows and rows from heads of state made it look like the U.N. roll call of jets. And that doesn’t count the larger number of climate-minded oligarchs who selflessly give of their time and money.

But as I came in from Copenhagen, (chartered but shared) I landed right in the heart of things.  I did wonder if they even have traffic controllers here, it felt like that six-way stop in Beverly Hills just below Sunset where one car goes and then another and miraculously no one collides. Add to that the people who took helicopters from wherever they landed their jets and you have a very crowded airfield! 

It was on this airfield that I saw bellmen hauling skis and boots and I remembered it was originally a ski town.  Alas… I’ll have to rent. 

What better place for a Great Reset?

The conference is by invitation only (obvi!) but this year proved a bit tougher as the event has moved underground.  Daddy had been several years back (work stuff) and advised me to fill my dance card before I arrived, and boy he wasn’t kidding!

With the arrival of the dreaded Covid, the conference technically moved to next May in Singapore. So they just re-titled the January event as “The Davos Agenda” and made it fully virtual.  And who can blame them? If things go as we hope, The Great Reset is going to re-shape our entire world! And by extension my beloved planet. 

I feel as though I had a bit of a jump on everyone… having gone to so many underground parties in London during lockdown.  Who knew that the iceberg homes would prove to be the police-proof solution to a party. As things got more sophisticated in the London parties, we were asked to submit to a ten-minute coronavirus test before being allowed entry and obviously had to pay in cash under threat of having to split any fines incurred should we get busted. 

But there were no such tests here in Davos, owing—I assume—to the fact that the leaders of the free world and the gilt-edged would have managed to run by a vaccine.  And I can tell you my poor over-swabbed nostrils were grateful. We were however, sworn to no mobiles, no texting, tweeting, posting, or sharing under penalty of some mandate I couldn’t quite understand, but am sure was all for the betterment of our poor planet.  

When I checked in they gave me a folder which I hoped would contain a schedule of everything but it only listed the conference schedule and a list of “starred must-watch sessions”, how to submit questions… blah, blah… whatever!  All virtual computer stuff. Luckily I had a host of WhatsApp invites with detailed instructions, and one even said to delete the invite itself.

I was looking a bit tired from travel, and the week with Daddy in Copenhagen,  so I slathered on a deep moisturising masque and opened my computer to watch the conference going on in some adjacent building.

The first video was “the welcome” and showed four masked, and distanced speakers… “live from the studio in Geneva”, which might have been true when they taped it but I’d just seen one of the very distinctive looking ladies stepping out of a helicopter. In the next screen was Klaus (Schwab) who was probably, admittedly, in Davos, and a stern un-masked woman who seemed to be sitting on a toadstool. Turns out I was wrong and she was not going to talk about mycology-it was just an unfortunate choice of chairs for a video conference. 

Klaus began saying, “2021 will be a crucial…it will be a pivotal year for the future of humankind”. 

Not really going out on a limb there but OK…I agree. 

Then he went on to say, “It will be crucial because we have to continue to fight the virus—BUT we have to move out of the pandemic".

Which is it??? Stay and fight or move out?  

Then he continued, "BUT…

Another BUT…

“…above all we have to restore trust in our world… in order to overcome the Kaisers.” 

WHAAT?  The Kaisers?  I needed a cup of tea. I rewound: "hin orduh zu overcome ze Kreisiz." The crisis! Dr. Strangelove has nothing on this guy.

 A knock on the door signalled my tea had arrived and so I answered with my white masque on.  That’s the great thing about a place like this… they pretend not to notice.  

I watched another few videos and they all had one thing in common. Super-fast talking and a limited lexicon. They all seemed to use the words “sustainable”,  “unprecedented”, “massive”, and “inclusive”— no matter what they were discussing. It was a good thing this wasn’t a drinking game!

And more absurd… “coronavirus” a word that infected every single sentence. It was the reason to be, the reason not to be, the reason to remember, to forget, to change, to remain…and yet they sat two feet apart, pulling off and donning masks like it was some musical chairs game at a children’s party. 

I looked at my phone to decide whether I would go to the Urban Transformation or Energy Infrastructure receptions.  I decided on Energy because someone might know my father and I just couldn’t listen to how coronavirus affected the poor disproportionately. Everything affects the poor disproportionately but it was the response to coronavirus that was more likely to affect the poor than anything else.   

Day Two and I am not drinking or eating anything. I had more champagne, wagyu beef, truffled lobster mac and cheese, and fatty tuna belly to get me to spring. I called Daddy to ask a few questions but he didn’t pick up. I opened up my computer to see what was on and if it should pre-empt a spa visit. Now playing was the session on how the forum is shaping media and entertainment. Well I can tell you… different actor, same script. Here’s what she said verbatim:

“Media was the first to go through massive digital disruption. Without a strong ecosystem you cannot sustain that kind of change.” 

Yes, believe it or not, that is what she said. “Massive”, “ecosystem”, “sustain.” Same words, new topic, making zero sense. And who wants to ‘sustain media disruption’ ?  It’s what she actually said.  But if you just listen to the buzz words instead of what she actually says… it seems sympathetic. And important.

How I wish Daddy would pick up.  I’m so lost and I can’t believe the point of this was to confuse. If I did reach him he’d likely ask me what did I expect. And then he’d tell me to go skiing. I think I shall. It will be massive, but not unprecedented.  

Diary of an Acclimatised Beauty: Shooting Stars

I love when life just works out as it should. I’m meeting Daddy in Copenhagen where he’s chairing a big (and important) meeting on best practices for oil exploration and extraction in the region.  It seems Denmark's issued a moratorium on new permits for fracking but is still honoring the ones they’ve already issued, and which I assume includes his company. 

This trip should be so much fun, it reminds me of when I was a little girl—Judith and I would tag along and I’d go to the lobby and drink cocoa on my own.  Mummy never joins these days, but the reason I got to join is Daddy’s aide is afraid to travel under “the dreaded Covid”. 

We (of course) had to arrive three days in advance and receive special dispensation which we were able to do as he’s conducting necessary business. And of course we flew private… Daddy from London City Centre and I caught a ride with my friend Anna, whom I know from dressage, when she represented the Danish national team and I from Britain of course.

All this and Covid-19 tests too!

Along with Anna… I got a CV test three days prior to leaving Lyford in the Bahamas, and one on the day we left, and just for fun (not!) we did them again on the plane as a courtesy to her purser or something, and then filled out forms upon forms. I felt as though I’d already completed a project when I arrived… prepared to impress even the sternest immigration official only to find no one had the least interest.

We simply stepped off the plane, cars pulled up, and in minutes... each of us going in different directions. Gosh. Anna was craving something called a shooting star sandwich—something “divine” she said, with fish and shrimp and caviar— kissed me on the cheek,  and away she went. I was the last to find my driver who held a sign “Mrs. Kennedy”. Somewhat flustered I answered, “Yes.” Did he think my father was in possession of a rather young new wife? Apparently. 

In a few minutes I arrived at the Hotel D’Angleterre, not because we're English but because it’s the place where Daddy's conference is, and well… where else would one stay in Copenhagen? I mean, for Copenhagen it’s basically Annabels and The Connaught and The Ledbury all in one. I found Daddy in the bar and not up in his room under quarantine at all. 

The testing did release us from quarantine, as did the special dispensation but that didn’t stop the hotel from reading us guidelines which apparently state… if we were to quarantine we were expected to stay within the hotel -- meaning in the heart of all the action.  I couldn’t believe I’d had my nose probed three times for nothing.  Daddy suggested I not look so shocked and order some lunch. 

Oui, oui, messieurs.

I overheard a conversation in French. Clearly they recognized my father and clearly didn’t imagine I could understand them. I motioned with my eyes and said,

“That table over there is talking about you.”

“Just when we think we can underestimate the French” he replied.

“I’m serious.” I insisted, “they seem to oppose all future drilling in Denmark.” 

“Ah well, they are in the majority. So very un-French of them.” Typical Daddy. 

“Should I try to listen?” I continued. 

“I don’t think so. We’ve already concluded they are French.” he said.

I started into my yellow lentil soup and asked if he was familiar with a shooting star sandwich. 

“Delicious, but a damned waste of good caviar” was all he had to say. 

I looked through his papers for the schedule, and so that I could figure out when to meet Anna.  “I have to ask…” I said. "Denmark seems to be on track to being free from using fossil fuels by 2050 and hopes to make Copenhagen a carbon-neutral city…why promote exploration here?” 

 “Well I hope I’m not in the business of promotion as you put it, but there is drilling and fracking and not everyone wishes to put all of their eggs in one basket. Even if the DEA does.” 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…there is still money to be made, contracts to be honoured, and it’s a fantasy to believe they can eliminate fossil fuel consumption in such a short time. AND…you are meant to be here to help me!” 

Yes, of course, Daddy” I said, “I just want to understand if you are working against my beloved planet and if so…how much—it’s just for me to know.”

“Yes of course.” he said. "And how was your trip to the modest Cay in the Bahamas anyway?”

“Air-conditioned” I said knowing I’d been beaten and changed the subject. “So…on some future day… if I take my vitamins and live long enough… what must we overcome to achieve a carbon-neutral Copenhagen in my lifetime?”

“Well, for starters, offshore wind is lagging well behind the oil and gas industry in safety. They had several hundred high-potential incidents—only luck prevented a fatality and risks are growing as this ‘independence’ madness pushes the boundaries.”

“I see. That can’t be good. And what if they run out of wind?”

“NO. The danger is that too high winds can cause turbines to topple, and of course, hurricanes and cable failures are always a problem, but it’s really the fossil independence MADNESS, creating the danger, pushing them to go deeper into the ocean, cut corners, cut costs…” 

“And birds?” I asked.

“Twenty-two million a year. I just didn’t want to mention it since our eavesdropping friends are having… LE POULET!” Daddy did a quick turn of his head and it broke their gaze. So busted. “…but the independence we should be talking about is Greenland. They want independence from Denmark, Lord knows why, but it seems to be a trait of the Inuit wherever they go. When we find the sweet spot in Greenland, and find it we will...there are going to be some very independent Inuit for the first time in history. It's just a matter of how much resource we put into Greenland and how soon. It's easy to make them wait when other areas of the world are currently more profitable."

It's all for the Inuits.

“Aha!” I said, “So partially we are here for Greenland?” 

“Perhaps,” he said, smirking. 

“But, wait -- how much of Greenland is Inuit?” 

“Most.”

“And are these the same Inuit as in Canada?” 

“The very same.”

“So as I understand, the offshore industry has only thrived due to people like me… who want a green planet, not because renewables are more economically viable.”

“That is correct," he said.

“So if an initiative is sufficient grounds to pursue a form of energy...why couldn’t a different initiative...a humanitarian initiative, launched to help the Inuit thrive—be a reason to conduct even more drilling in Greenland?” 

“Well…that’s an excellent question,” he said after some consideration. "And one I’ll ask you not to bring up at my conference, but you may well have earned your lunch my dear.” 

Ha! Bravo me. But since I'm ahead, probably best not to tell him I'm on my way to the Great Reset later this month in Davos...

Atop the Magic Mountain, 'The Great Reset'

In case you're curious about what the international Left has in store for you, and just how much they despise you, freedom, personal liberty, capitalism (even though, like George Soros, they're all "capitalists"), you could do worse than to cast your eyes in the direction of the little town of Davos, high in the Swiss Alps. For a century, it was famous as the sanatorium of choice for Europe's consumptives -- sick, neurasthenic victims immortalized in Thomas Mann's masterpiece, Der Zauberberg (The Magic Mountain).

Here, in the translation of H.T. Lowe-Porter, is how The Magic Mountain begins:

An unassuming young man was travelling, in midsummer, from his native city of Hamburg to Davos-Platz in the Canton of the Grisons, on a three weeks’ visit.

From Hamburg to Davos is a long journey — too long, indeed, for so brief a stay. It crosses all sorts of country; goes up hill and down dale, descends from the plateau of Southern Germany to the shore of Lake Constance, over its bounding waves and on across marshes once thought to be bottomless.

At this point the route, which has been so far over trunk-lines, gets cut up. There are stops and formalities. At Rorschach, in Swiss territory, you take train again, but only as far as Landquart, a small Alpine station, where you have to change. Here, after a long and windy wait in a spot devoid of charm, you mount a narrow-gauge train; and as the small but very powerful engine gets under way, there begins the thrilling part of the journey, a steep and steady climb that seems never to come to an end. For the station of Landquart lies at a relatively low altitude, but now the wild and rocky route pushes grimly onward into the Alps themselves.

Hans Castorp — such was the young man’s name — sat alone in his little grey-upholstered compartment, with his alligator-skin hand-bag, a present from his uncle and guardian, Consul Tienappel — let us get the introductions over with at once — his travelling- rug, and his winter overcoat swinging on its hook. The window was down, the afternoon grew cool, and he, a tender product of the sheltered life, had turned up the collar of his fashionably cut, silk-lined summer overcoat. Near him on the seat lay a paper-bound volume entitled Ocean Steamships; earlier in the journey he had studied it off and on, but now it lay neglected, and the breath of the panting engine, streaming in, defiled its cover with particles of soot.

Once in the sanatorium, Hans becomes the ideological captive of two memorable fellow-sufferers: the Jew-turned Jesuit, Leo Naphta, and the Italian secular humanist, Ludovico Settembrini. Their prolonged battle for Castorp's soul as Europe awaits the Guns of August occupies much of the novel. And that global conflict resulted in not only World War II but the Cold War as well. Indeed, we're still dealing with its disastrous legacy.

The Left, it seems, is always itching for a fight, during which it can impose its noxious brand of vicious conformity. In the last century, it went by such names as Marxism, Communism, and National Socialism. Here's its latest incarnation:

A disciplined, well-regulated, orderly society in which all men are brothers and everybody knows his place in the Matrix, er... the system. Perhaps we now have a notion of why such ostensibly "conservative" publications such as the zombie shell of National Review have long reported -- in a very flattering way! -- about the goings-on at Davos. There's just something so darn fascinating about watching our betters disport themselves like Clavdia Chauchat and Mynheer Peeperkorn in the snows of a yesteryear that never quite was. Especially when we know the sequel.

Here's a sample

Davos, Switzerland — A pleasure it is to write to you from the Annual Meeting of the World Economic Forum, high up here in the Alps. As you may know, this meeting takes place every January, in Davos, Switzerland — home of the Magic Mountain, site of the revered Thomas Mann novel. (And someday I’ll get through it — right after Bleak House.)

In years past, I have described Davos as a fairytale setting, or a shakeup globe. It looks this way more than ever now. When I pulled in, it was snowing, and I saw a horse-drawn sleigh. It seemed almost too ideal to be real. But real it was, and is. The pine trees (or whatever one is supposed to call them) are groaning with snow, looking like umbrellas, being folded down.

That the writer could so blithely toss off both Der Zauberberg and Dickens' Bleak House -- two of the greatest novels ever written -- says something about both the publication and the writer. If you want to try something that's hard to get through, try anything by Nobel Prize-wining author and progressive favorite Toni Morrison. How bad is she? This bad:

Don’t be afraid. My telling can’t hurt you in spite of what I have done and I promise to lie quietly in the dark -- weeping perhaps or occasionally seeing the blood once more -- but I will never again unfold my limbs to rise up and bare teeth. I explain. You can think what I tell you a confession, if you like, but one full of curiosities familiar only in dreams and during those moments when a dog’s profile plays on the steam of a kettle. Or when a corn-husk doll sitting on a shelf is soon splaying in the corner of a room and the wicked of how it got there is plain. Stranger things happen all the time everywhere. You know. I know you know.

By contrast, here is the arresting opening of Bleak House:

London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another’s umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little ‘prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.

And the beginning of The Magic Mountain -- which won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1929 -- you can read above.

Imagine there's no countries;
It isn't hard to do.

Which brings us back to Davos and to the World Economic Forum and its plans for the peons of the world, whom they very much don't want to unite [Marxist language in bold]:

The Covid-19 crisis, and the political, economic and social disruptions it has caused, is fundamentally changing the traditional context for decision-making. The inconsistencies, inadequacies and contradictions of multiple systems –from health and financial to energy and education – are more exposed than ever amidst a global context of concern for lives, livelihoods and the planet. Leaders find themselves at a historic crossroads, managing short-term pressures against medium- and long-term uncertainties.

As we enter a unique window of opportunity to shape the recovery, this initiative will offer insights to help inform all those determining the future state of global relations, the direction of national economies, the priorities of societies, the nature of business models and the management of a global commons. Drawing from the vision and vast expertise of the leaders engaged across the Forum’s communities, the Great Reset initiative has a set of dimensions to build a new social contract that honours the dignity of every human being.

Unsurprisingly, they're ready to start right away:

Is this what you want? Is this what you voted for? Is this the life you desire? To be an admiring plaything of the Davos elite, caught like poor Hans Castorp in zugzwang at the Berghof clinic?  We've been having this same discussion for more than a century, and it always ends up in the same place. A velvet prison with plays, music, even opera. Where absolutely everyone is well treated. And where all the best people go.