The Latin roots of the word consumption give away some fairly revealing hints as to how our consumer-based civilization had, since its very early stages, already began its transformation into a planet-cidal death cult. Con(altogether) and Sumere(take-up) basically means complete and total exhaustion of a resource. This is how humans, as recent as the last millennium, perceived in their minds the utilization of resources: whether it is a sandwich or a coal mine. It is nothing less than an all-or-nothing affair. Resources are there to be totally used. Ingested. Devoured. Con-sumed.
Consumption is perhaps one of the most cold, vulgar…
The current pandemic has undoubtedly been entirely the fault of humans, and for more reasons than one: First, our increasing encroachment into wildlife habitats brought us into contact with new viruses. Second, the disruption of ecosystems through climate change and the ecological apocalypse shifted the dynamics between viruses and hosts. And last, but not least, our sheer population size. The more, and the longer humans live on Earth, the more chances there are that a virus can arise. This is Nature’s cruel math. …
The impact humans are having on the planet has always been the result of a very simple equation, with two basic multiplier components: 1) how much impact the average human has on the planet (emissions, habitat destruction, pollution etc.) and 2) how many humans are on the planet at a given time. Over the past millennia, and especially over the past two centuries, both of these parameters have increased dramatically, sometimes exponentially. It is a consequence of pure and simple math therefore that, in order to keep our impact on the planet the same, if one of these parameters is…
By now, some of us have began to realise that our economic system is responsible for the totality of the mess our planet is in: natural destruction, accelerating mass extinction, exploitation and inequality, and deterioration of physical and mental health. In fact, all of the above are necessary ingredients of a “healthy” capitalist society that is “growing robustly”. Capitalism cannot actually exist without natural destruction, inequality, racism and exploitation. Otherwise it would be too expensive to run. It would go bankrupt by Wall Street standards. It would be a charity, not a “for-profit” system.
But an even smaller minority of…
The cloud started its life small:
a tiny grey blemish in the sky,
completely unaware of its own malignancy.
As it sat lonely at the backside of the mountain,
it became used to being fed by humans,
just like a butcher’s dog.
It never rained,
not even moved.
Just sat there all alone growing fatter and fatter,
darker and darker.
It became a dump for the side effects of civil life:
Junk data emissions,
advertising smoke screens,
and half-truths gasping for oxygen.
One day the cloud reached its maturity.
It began to lazily roll downhill, into the city,
Spawned into abundance
offspring of a wealthy family
you were cursed with a cognitive malfunction
gorging on your mother’s unlimited milk
as she cleaned up after your messes.
And then the wind changed
Covered in your own filth,
you watched the earth burn
you saw your cities melt
like sandcastles in the rain
as you waited,
But she just wants you dead
she’s been collecting all of your infernos
assembling them into one big fireball
and getting ready to incinerate the house clean
getting ready to take back
what you thought was yours.
It is here,
where two bitter rivals once declared a truce.
Digging into their permanent trenches,
they put down their weapons long ago,
nonchalantly resigned to a treaty
neither of them care for anymore.
Because this is where the sea gave up trying,
leaving its last breath on the shore.
This is where the land became liquid,
breaking itself down into helpless grains.
It is here
in this no man’s land,
where refugees have eeked out an existence.
Where the birds draw halos in the sky,
where I can hear my blood whisper
as it circles round and round like…
You built your lonely castle in the dark,
crafted in complete silence,
as you patiently labored
a lifetime’s work in anonymity.
You aged gracefully,
letting time encroach,
carve its scaffolds on your fortress.
Until one day,
Long after you died,
your castle was thrusted out into the spotlight,
washed up by accident on Instagram,
and you became a sensation.
you entered a new silence:
the controlled atmosphere chamber
at the natural history museum:
Where millions can admire your work,
and think that they know you,
try to construct their own castles.
At the depths of the abyss
there is a grey layer of mud,
many miles thick.
It is where Earth keeps her diary.
Out of human reach,
in the dark,
this is where she records everything:
all the things that have happened
over billions of years:
from whales’ bones,
to plastic bottles.
She holds on to it all, lovingly,
like a mother crafting photo albums,
whether it was a good or a bad memory.
She carefully collects each piece,
caresses it in soft mud,
and keeps it in her arms forever.
A scrapbook of accomplishments,
by all her…