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"My sins my own. They belong to me, me."

Cloudy today, and a bit cooler.

I had in mind to write something about the UN report on the world's devastated fish stocks and the very real possibility that, at this rate, the oceans will be essentially devoid of fish by 2050. Or, more specifically, about the aggressively, proudly idiotic comments stories like these generate on the internet. And about the problem of denialists. But...I'm just not up to it. And my going on about what idiots people are will not, in any significant way, lessen the world's population of idiots. So...never mind.

One day, forty or fifty years on, the world will look back to now, and as one will ask, "Why didn't someone warn us? Why didn't our parents stop this from happening?"

I’ll burn my tomorrows,
And I stand inside today,
At the edge of the future,
And my dreams all fade away.


Yesterday, I wrote what I think is the longest "prolegomenon" I've ever written for Sirenia Digest, at 1,140 words. Mostly, it's about how Frank Frazetta made my miserable childhood in Alabama a little less miserable.

Last night, we watched Stephen Gaghan's Syriana (2005). A very effective film. After the movie, I wrote: I find it remarkable when a completely realistic piece of fiction can instill the same suffocating sense of dread and uncertainty as the best pieces of weird fiction. Watching, you begin to understand that you do not understand the way the world works. And Syriana is that sort of film, every moment pregnant with dread. It speaks terror softly. The two explosions near the film's end are marked not by noise, but silence. Expectation is inverted to great effect.

I think that's all for now. I'm going to look for something strong enough to get the taste of idiot out of my brain.

Oh, I have a few more photos from Sunday's trip to Beavertail. These are the ones that Spooky took:

Life in a tide pool.

Clusters of tiny barnacles, mussels, periwinkles, and various species of seaweed.

The lighthouse as seen from the rocks (view to the southeast).

Premaxilla from an unidentified species of fish, found in the surf.

Inside a dog rose.

All photographs Copryright © 2010 by Kathryn A. Pollnac


May. 19th, 2010 06:42 am (UTC)
head meet sand
The people who taking stances on the near damn dead ecosystems are true marvels of human imagination. They can look upon a field resembling something visited by the villian from Ferngully, and put together a well documented, well cited and impeccably academic opinion that its normal. All I notice is that these experts in chicanery are vying for jobs at BP.
My education, limited to high school, was filled with warnings of enviromental disasters and dismal reviews of humanitys stewardship. Sure the california condor and alligator populations have spiked, but thre waters of the great lakes are vile enough to smother the Tiger Ameoba out of the world and into myth. Even without massive industry, the humans had no problem liquadating populations of the passenger pigeon, Stellars sea cow. Killing is perfected but creating is limited to vague bumbling ideas, and small companies operating on grants and well wishes from a stymied, bumbling government.
All of this comes from my science texts, filled with deppressing warnings of ecocollapse, and a shitty future for my generation. I live in Georgia, not exactly the most liberal, most cutting edge of school systems. If the dense, languid corpses of a school board in Georgia can accept the fact that the world is changing for the worse, where do these dimwitted buffons get their educations? Bill o Rielly University?