When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
...And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
--W.B. Yeats - The Second Coming