Lead Head

Friday, October 03, 2008
The more time I spend on Earth, the less I like human beings. I wouldn't call myself a misanthrope; nobody has the capacity to hate 7 billion human beings, not even the most advanced supercomputer. But I would like to disown my human origins. I'm not from Earth. I'm made up of the elements, which were forged in the stars, which popped out of the Nothing. My human form is an accident. Dogs are dogs by accident. Humans are humans by accident. I suspect there's an alien planet out there where I'd feel more at home. I will walk among you as an extraterrestrial.

People look askance at me for obsessing over the apocalypse. They think I'm a womanly hysteric. But even according to the scientists, some sort of apocalypse is inevitable. Isn't the sun going to burn out and explode in 4 and a half billion years? And what, you think humans are going to escape this solar system? Or even this century?

People look askance at me for obsessing over the apocalypse. Have you seen any signs lately that human beings are concertedly switching off of oil? Electric cars don't count. Electricity is produced with fossil fuel. Nuclear power plants don't count. One of these days, they're going to melt down and send plumes of radiation across the Earth, like shit streaks in your underwear. Show me the truly global, multi-trillion dollar effort to end dependence on oil and then I'll flash you my optimism.

People look askance at me for obsessing over the apocalypse. Do you realize how burdened we are as moderns? Do you realize that we might have a lot less time than we think? Can you imagine the stresses which will bear down on us when we run out of oil? Or when a piece of Russia's nuclear arsenal floats out of the silos? Or when zinc and wheat become scarce? Or when ebola finally strolls out of Africa into our cities? Do you realize the burden? Everybody has become so conditioned to utopia that the apocalypse is a taboo subject. I'm reminded of the woman in American Beauty listening to 'Don't Rain on My Parade' a few days before she buys a gun to commit suicide.

Look at this beautiful Earth, this perfect amalgamation of matter, this fabulous ecosystem. Every bit of it is programmed to self-destruct. The human epoch is a barnacle on billion year old rocks. I tend to believe that ancient tribe whose Creation story goes like this: God fell in love with and married his own shit and thus the world was born.

In other news, politics is dead and getting deader and a big war is coming probably. I think it will start at the Empire State Building.