Having reviewed my recent writings, I cannot but laugh at myself. Well, giggle. If this civilization happens to survive, I will be ridiculed for my ideas about its demise. Assuming, of course, that my writings get discovered one fine day. And if this civilization perishes, my writings will perish with it. Besides, they will be nigh irrelevant, anyway. The next meal will be the main concern, as well as all the hungry competitors in hope of the same. One way or another, I am writing in vain. The only possible remedy is archeology about a hundred-thousand years from now. With some luck, the intrepid archeologists will figure out how to decipher the buried computers. Lo and behold, they will discover that a few of their predecessors have foreseen it all. But writing in vain is my safe bet in the meanwhile. Nonetheless, I am not complaining. My predicament gives me quite a bit of comfort, as well. Even the idea of followers of some sort gives me the creeps and nothing but the creeps.