The last few monks retreat in monasteries,
the vigilant in town consult well-thumbed
survival guides, and all the caged canaries
left in the mines have recently succumbed.
Tales reach us of some vast deforestation;
down at the corner store, those in the know
predict the President’s assassination;
and, any day now, Betelgeuse will blow.
Although I’m wary of a stranger’s touch—
I, too, hear rumors of an epidemic—
the wearing of protective gear is such
a waste of time when entropy’s systemic.
No need to build a shelter. Let down your guard.
The end is always near. Come, kiss me hard.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
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