I'm hammering it out by hand on a 1950's typewriter while wearing an alpaca hat with ear flaps, I hand the unbleached recycled parchment to a well dressed gent who rides like the wind stopping only to sup ale and change horses who crosses the channel then joins a train of merchants heading east, on successfully crossing these dangerous lands the parchment finally lands in India where it is transcribed by and posted on my behalf, because.

Are you under the impression that you can't understand something is bad while still being part of the problem?