New Lands!
Cryogenic keepings of frozen forecasts have been inadvertently thawed, revealing a sort of disheveled map. Within this info-graphic array— the dizzying spell of winged migrations that will befall (((WFT))) in coming weeks–is foretold! Hurtling this ficto-quizzical milieu will be, in varied trajectories. Weird Fiction will be transported to the nethermost craters of the Willamette Valley, i.e., Ditch Project Space in Springfield, OR. Together with the miasmic machinists, Future Death Toll ,on the eve of 20 February, to accelerate the concurrent Ditch Freeze event into a new dark age.
Come March 6th, in the forestal abysm of Olympia, under the auspices of the Hall of The Woods, still greater swathes of immemorial lunacy will be heralded across the pacific northwest patches of spaceship earth! Witness the Olympia Noise Fest, if you can fathom such an affront!
As winter warbles and spring time creeps in, other avenues, looming now on the outskirts of this sphere, will be more tangibly deciphered and so remain: to be announced!
Document revealed.
Some said it never happened, but The Lord knew (((WFT))) was up to its old stratagems within the spot on Portland Earth you call The Dunes. And here is the proof provided by a dedicated disciple.
Panopticonfidence Man
In the 16th century the air was thick with ideas. They were a dime a dozen, inspirations, factoids, anecdotes, novelties, apparitions, one hit wonders, fads, phenoms, news and notices. It was far worse than the iPhonies that clog the streets today, this ancient populace was chock-a-block know-it-all without worrrying about reception.
The 16th century was a real boon for panopticonfidence men like Nostradamus who realized the future was where they would make their marks. Aggregating feeds from the heavens, angelic shills, nutmeg-induced visions and other divine schemes, Nostradamus knew how and when to author prophecies, as he pre-empted the virtual economy by several centuries. 
All that info-pollution and data smog was churning in the open air in the 16th century, being without the cybernetic filters that now funnel so much of those excess emanations onto wayward blogs, and other abysmal outlets. Old Michel de Nostradame offered a difference that feigned a difference, staking a claim on swampland in virtual space long before scam became spam.