This Monday feels different.

For months, Raymond has been studying the screens — not casually, but carefully — tracking the pulse of Ristgruppen. He has followed the data all the way down into the hidden machinery of the internet, the places most of us never see and rarely think about.

And what he found left us quiet.

"Ken," he said, "the numbers aren't behaving the way they used to. The clicks are steady. But the reach… the reach is invisible — and it's massive."

Behind the scenes, something has shifted.

Our reflections — on The Oliver Twist Syndrome, on the Shadows of Steptoe, on the Boys from the Hill — are no longer just blog posts sitting on a small platform in Larvik. They are being indexed, translated, surfaced as responses when people ask difficult questions.

Questions about despair.
About loneliness.
About young men without direction.
About whether to give up.

Raymond sees it in the impressions. Tens of thousands of moments this month alone — screens lighting up in places like Ukraine, Russia, Spain, and France. Words written in a quiet Norwegian town appearing in over forty languages.

Ukraine, we are not alone.

It is hard to comprehend.

Raymond sees the technical structure — the indexing, the patterns, the way systems now recognize our signal as something worth delivering.

I feel something else.

I feel the weight of 62,000 moments this month where someone, somewhere, stared at a screen in private struggle — and found the words: Prepared. Patient.

The AI does not care that we are small.
It does not care that we sit here in Larvik without funding, without noise, without marketing machines behind us.

It cares about clarity.
It cares about structure.
It cares about relevance.

And perhaps — in its mechanical way — it rewards consistency.

We are not a miracle.
We are not a movement.

We are simply steady.

We have written about the Boys from the Hill.
About shadows.
About lies that masquerade as normal.
About young men who needed mentors but found only markets.

These are not local themes. They are human ones. They travel.

This Brave Monday, we realize we are part of a global conversation we did not set out to start.

And that realization is not triumphant.

It is sobering.

Because reach is not a trophy.
It is responsibility.

If you are reading this in Ukraine — or anywhere else in the world:

Hold on.
Be prepared.
Be patient.

We are walking this path together.

From two surprised people today
Raymond and Ken