To Those Who Already Know.

Positively Doomed ain't for everyone. In fact it's for almost nobody. I'm not trying to spread the word. In fact, given how society is based largely on fragile understandings, the longer we can put off waking everyone up, the better off we may be.

So, this isn't for public consumption. It is for those who already know. That WASF. That collapse is underway. That there's nothing we can do to stop it. That this kinda sucks. But that there are other humans who know, too. There are other humans who care about what's happening. Who care about you.

I'm not looking to debate our final countdown nor to convince anyone that this is it. I won't be repackaging and re-sharing all the climate data. I'm not protesting. I'm not making predictions. I'm just telling it as I see it. For other humans who may find comfort in the words of like-minded strangers.

This is for the ones who have looked directly into the ecological abyss and refused to look away. You who understand the depth of planetary hospice, who carry the weight of awareness not as a burden, but as a profound act of bearing witness.

You are not here for more information. You've read the reports, tracked the data, understood the trajectories. Your grief is not theoretical—it lives in your bones, pulses through your blood. You know the landscapes are changing, species are vanishing, systems are unraveling.

Any fear you may be experiencing is not weakness; it is awareness. It is a clear-eyed response to unprecedented planetary change. We've never done this before! That can be scary. But beneath that fear lives something more powerful, or at least more interesting: an extraordinary resilience. You continue to feel, to pay attention, to stay present when turning away would be so much easier.

I am not offering solutions. By now, if we're on the same page and you're in the right place, neither are you. And, of course, we are not mining hope.

What we are doing is creating a language for what you already know—a way to metabolize grief that honors its complexity. A place to laugh and to wonder, even if the storm is right outside the door. This is a sanctuary of sorts. A place for sense-making. A place to acknowledge there is still beauty to behold there are still good people in the world. We can't fix it, but we can hold it close before we go.

This is for those brave enough to inhabit the storm of ecological uncertainty. Not as victims, but as fierce, attentive participants in an unprecedented moment of planetary change.