And here we go again.

The Survival Project is as good a name as any other for this volatile thing that we're into.

Why not? And so much for the labels.

Things have progressed rapidly. So, where do we go from here?

There is a lot of wreckage in the fast lane these days.

And unfortunately for the rest of us, not even the rich feel safe from it.

The rich feel anxious and confused. And when the rich feel that way, they act like wild animals.

The stomping of the rich is not a noise to be ignored in troubled times.

And we are in toubled times.

So eventually their rampage takes out the next line of command and, after a long and complicated process, the fallout comes down to saps like me.

You can't feel properly alienated from a process you never knew, or from a choice you never had.

All I know is the fun has gone out of it. There is no hum of madness or adventure, no festering backwaters of hate and conspiracy.

The cord is cut now. The ugly, slow-burning reality of what I do is over. And probably for the greater good.

In any other line of work except writing, people who try to deal with the world and reality from a split-focus base are called "schizoid" and are taken off the streets.

I have tried to see all the angles, which I admit is a lunatic idea.

My wife is laughing hysterically as I write this. I think she is crazy. The fat can go into the fire at any moment, and we will all be fried like offal.

I look forward to the next stage - but I fear it, as I fear almost everything these days.