No joke today
Frank has been doing a lot of research. He is being struck by the scale of the edifice that is about to crash down around our ears over the next generation or so, and is struggling to stay in a comfort zone where there are still answers to the problems everyone is ignoring. He is trying to figure out a programme of dismantling that will make the crash bearable, and the segue to a new dispensation as painless and fruitful as possible. He sees that if the tower falls from its present height there will be no survivors below. He sees no magic bullets. No secret gardens. He is anxious and afraid for his children. His sarcasm has deserted him. This process has made a lot of the mainstays of Frank's world redundant. A yawning unknown has opened up where once there was faith. He is a little in shock. He may have to rearrange some furniture in his mind, as well as on this Titanic that so resolutely ignores his entreaties to turn. Some lunacies may have to be considered as cushions for the fall. Things are a lot worse than he thought.