Everybody is looking for something. Everybody seems in crisis. Everything is crumbling. Well, the appearance is still there. You look the same. Just a little worn. Just a little tired. But underneath. The shallows. And it is not only you. There is insecurity all around. It used to be called paranoia, but that was the political term, it was in a way more direct even than this. This. Nothing. Just a feeling. Just a hunch. So much going on. So much information. So little knowledge. Or the other way around. So much knowledge. But then what? Along comes the Guy. He is the guy you know from back then, when the West was built. Big hat, bright eyes, a face that you would not trust for a minute. But you did. You are angry when you feel that you trust. But you cannot help it. This Guy was standing on dusty squares in small villages in Oklahoma or Nebraska, selling this ointment or that ointment, it will be good for this or for that, he might say, growing hair, loosing weight, growing old, loosing faith. He was the guy that sold the West. Not to you. But to the likes of you. Trusting non trusters. Sceptical pilgrims. Lost souls. And he is back. He is all around. The smooth-talking guy. With no message. But with the recipe. He knows what to do. He has the words. Nobody believes him. But everybody does as he says. This is the miracle he is talking about. This is the power he has. It is our weakness. It is our lack of faith. Not in god, that is always the wrong direction. But in us. What might that be? Ask anybody. Any answer is good enough. Just do not trust that answer. Then you will be free. No answer. Otherwise you will be sold. Anything. And you will end up with nothing. Because the Guy does not know. He knows even less. That is his strength. Welcome to the age of the Quacksalber.