Persistent cycles of historical catastrophe suggest that the foolish gambits of the autocrats do not make history anywhere near so much as history makes them. Small consolation as it may be when witnessing the horrors and brutality currently being unleashed on the Western end of the Great Steppe, I find it helps a little to perceive even the grand ideological pathologies and selfish aspirations of the dictators as being only so many transient ripples and waves of information and energy upon a great ocean of time. We should be less surprised that such misanthropes percolate into positions of authority and control than that we, that is – all of us, acquiesce in each and every early stage of the sickness growing until time and again it has become too late and the rot has truly set in. When these things undergo metastasis and spread to every organ of a political body, even precision surgery or revolution might also kill the host. What is worse to know is that of all the evil seeds of trauma and fear being planted right now, some will one day flower into their own little evils and the cycle will begin anew. This is why I think we are all still ery primitive – we constantly if inadvertently cultivate and reproduce precisely those conditions most conducive to the continuous renewal of our own most traumatic tragedies.