UPICEI THRYD

Socondy was built twenty-five-plus years ago by the local and reclusive billionaire, Leander Foss, who among other things, thought the community of mankind was really under-serving the slack of first-world ‘Nobodies’—Mr. Foss’s term, not others’, and not meant pejoratively—but he had a deep conviction that a huge swathe of ordinary people trapped in post-modern ennui really were taking a much harder beating than anyone generally realized. Deprived of the rigors of survival, the kind that traces its roots to Upper Paleolithic France, of cavewomen and cavemen who made those beautiful drawings of animals and hunts, that we as a people had lost so many natural externalities, the dangerous kinds that incentivize forward momentum and tight-knit relationships rooted in ritual and tradition, that today there were oceans of ‘Nobodies’ from a first-world churn dying in spirit by the millions. Safety from the perils of nature’s wilderness encroaches on our very meaning in an unrelenting vice-grip—unseen, un-acknowledged, and totally unappreciated. It turns out that death in the market place, reputation and identity knifed by mean words, is a thing far worse than death by teeth, or talons, or even tooth decay.