Fantastic George Monbiot quote

“The denial of climate change, while out of tune with the science, is consistent with—even necessary for—the outlook of almost all the world’s economists. The continuous growth described by modern economics, whether informed by Marx, or Keynes or Hayek, depends on the notion that the planet has an infinite capacity to supply us with wealth and absorb our pollution. In a finite world, this is impossible. Pull the rug out from under the dominant economic theories, and the whole system of thought collapses.

And this, of course, is beyond contemplation. It mocks the dreams of both left and right, of every child and parent and worker. It destroys all notions of progress. If the engine of progress—technology and its amplification of human endeavour—have merely accelerated our rush to the brink, then everything we thought was false. Brought up to believe that it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness, we are now discovering that it is better to curse the darkness than burn your house down.

Our economists are exposed by climatologists as utopian fantasists, the leaders of a millenarian cult as mad as, and more dangerous than, any religious fundamentalism. But their theories govern our lives, so those who insist that physics and biology still apply are ridiculed by a global consensus founded on wishful thinking.”

George Monbiot, from his book Bring on the Apocalypse: Essays on Self-Destruction

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New short fiction–chilling summer reading

stain

I. The First Crime Scene

The suspect toes the ground resentfully, tight-lipped, shrugging in response to the Magistrate’s queries. Evincing probity and incomprehension, but also giving the impression of barely concealed insolence.

The man is a pitiful liar.

Again the Magistrate demands that the creature divulge the circumstances of his crime and reveal the location of the body. Corpus delicti. Yet despite Supreme Jurist’s obvious frustration and rising anger, the guilty party continues to fend off his remonstrations with hostile silence.

Obstinate brute!

And then, miracle of miracles, the accused mutters something, a curt, sly rejoinder, sotto voce, practically inaudible.

“REPEAT THAT!”

The wretched beast actually raises his eyes, no longer cowed and obeisant, meeting the Magistrate’s gaze directly. “I said, ‘am I my brother’s keeper?’”

The Magistrate is stunned. Everything abruptly freezes, a complete cessation of sound, movement extending across twelve dimensions and countless timelines; the equivalent of a collective, celestial gasp.

Oblivious to the dismay he’d wrought, Cain is washing his hands in a nearby stream, immersing them in the pure, clear water.

Frowning at the stubbornness of the stain.

II. The Last Crime Scene

ARU-2466/TLS-13 spots a glint of white at the base of the escarpment, near a recent slide or rock fall, descends to fifty feet, hovering.

It looks like…could it be…

Remains.

There are mandatory protocols to follow, the ARU unit knows this. Any evidence of the Ancestors must be recorded and transmitted, the site left undisturbed. After all, this is sacred ground.

But the drone lingers, awed by the scale of its discovery, observing at once that the skeleton, though well-preserved, shows indications of massive trauma. The legs shattered, spine and skull split and sundered. An accidental fall from the precipice above?

A series of rapid, almost instantaneous calculations. Answer: unlikely.

Like many of its counterparts, ARU-2466/TLS-13 is aware of the legends surrounding the End Days. The Ancestors, once a great species, reduced by war, famine, disease and deprivation. Squabbling over increasingly scarce resources, raiding and killing until they were all but extinct.

Could this be one of the last survivors? Isolated, forsaken, appalled by the poisonous wasteland its kind had made of the planet?

Remorseful, perhaps, capable of one final act of contrition, a form of ritual self-slaughter.

The evidence is persuasive but hardly definitive.

ARU-2466/TLS-13 drops a beacon, dipping its wings respectfully as it makes one final pass.

Others will investigate the site, draw their own conclusions.

The drone returns to its regular search pattern, a virtual grid superimposed over a bleak, exhausted terrain.

Continuing an eternal, seemingly fruitless search for signs of life.

End

© Copyright, 2015 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

New poem

Milky Way

They stopped counting at four hundred billion.
Just threw in the towel.
Resorted to a shorthand of equations, accompanied
by hair-pulling and other frantic gesticulations.

That’s a lot of stars, of suns–
but still only one, single galaxy,
not an especially distinguished
galaxy at that.

Kind of humbling, isn’t it?
To realize from a cosmic perspective we’re
the equivalent of country bumpkins, living
wayyyy out in the boonies.

And so can any god suffice?
Persuade us of a divine flame
burning invisibly within us, shining
like one of those stars?

Or have you murdered faith,
Galileo, by measuring the glory of
Creation with your heretical gaze,
recanting except in your heart?

 

© Copyright, 2015 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

Quote of the day

“I’ve got this personal feeling things are not supposed to be happening to people all of the time. At least I’m not designed for it. There should be more open spaces between events. That’s my clear thought for today.” (Jim Harrison, from his novella The Seven-Ounce Man)

Pad those numbers

One final plug for my short story “The First Crime Scene”.

Remember? Or maybe I “Tweeted” about it…

Anyway, I entered it in an on-line contest because I liked the site, Inkitt, and its founder was nice enough to issue a personal invite. I’m a sucker for civility.

You can check out the story here, decide for yourself if it’s worthy—and if the answer is “yea”, please click on the little red heart to register your vote.

It’s a good story and if I get a few more tallies, “The First Crime Scene” might sneak into the top five.

It’s not prize money I’m after, my name in lights—no, I genuinely believe this little, itty-bitty tale manages to accomplish a lot in 500 words. Have a look and you’ll see what I mean.

I’ll close off this brief post because, well, I can’t sit here any longer. My first really serious bout of sciatica. A week of pain and finally the meds and my wife’s TLC are starting to make a difference.

Thank God.

“The world is yours…”

IMG_0146I’m not a big fan of Adbusters magazine. I guess I’m what you call an “occasional” reader, picking up a copy whenever I find an issue lying around, leafing through it for anything of interest.

But, to me, right from the start there’s been a miasma of smugness surrounding the magazine, Kalle Lasn & contributors revelling in coming across as hipster despair mongers. Using all the tools in the ad-man’s arsenal (splashy graphics, catchy slogans, minimal substance) to cleverly subvert the corporates at their own game. Mocking and vilifying the consumer mindset while making sure each issue contains at least of couple of subscription cards, not to mention plugs for “approved” gear and cool doodads. Join Team Nihilist, wear “Black Spot” sneakers and feel superior to the rest of the dumb proles in their Nike/Converse/sweatshop apparel.

At times they give the impression of a bunch of black-clad, no logo-ed arseholes who’ll be standing around when the shit finally hits the fan, going: “Nyeah-nyeah-nyeah-nyeah-nyeah. Told you so, motherfuckers!”

I don’t know who’s worse, someone like that or one of those “magical thinkers” so common these days, complete doughheads who believe that technology got us into this mess and, dagnabbit, human ingenuity will get us out again, save us in the nick of time. Just like in the movies.

Jesus.

Where I do agree with Adbusters is that there is a war for reality going on and we have to resist the reassurances and blandishments of capitalism (“Don’t worry, be happy”, “You’re richer that you think”, “You deserve to spoil yourself”, etc.) and see the underlying truths the string-pullers are working so hard to efface. Wipe away the smog of unreality spewed out by the spin doctors and heavily indoctrinated economists and view a world in the midst of another great extinction event. This one largely of our own making.

Ocean currents that have served as the planet’s heating and cooling system for millennia are shifting, prevailing airstreams changing, the climate around the world reacting the environmental impact of the modern industrial era. We’re seeing massive human migrations, desperate people seeking to escape privation, hunger, loss of arable land. Historically, resource scarcity is the one condition guaranteed to provoke conflict; a hungry populace will seek radical solutions the way a drowning man will grasp the point of a sword.

But what can be done? As Charles Eisenstein points out, it’s natural to lose hope, feel completely overwhelmed by the scope of the disaster confronting us. The head knows we’re probably fucked, Earth headed for a massive meltdown…but the heart insists we have to at least try, for the sake of those as yet unborn. And so we feel at odds with ourselves, a fundamental split in our being. What to do?

And, of course, it all comes down to a personal transformation. That is the one aspect of the world we can control. We have the ability to just stop buying, stop craving stuff, more crap. We can divert a small amount of our salaries each month to good causes. We can volunteer, become better citizens, contributing to our community, getting to know our neighbours. We can seek out and support political candidates who recognize the seriousness of our plight and pledge themselves to finding solutions, even if that means forsaking the status quo. We can preach the gospel of thriftiness and frugality to family and friends and we should never miss the opportunity to shame conspicuous consumption, ridicule the pretensions and props of the wealthy and stupid among us.

There’s no such thing as fair play in this war for reality, no Geneva Convention guidelines to follow. There’s too much at stake. The corporates and their shills have their greasy mitts on the levers of power and those of us who still hold out some hope at preserving a semblance of human life on this planet must employ the mindset and tactics of guerrilla warriors since antiquity—speed, stealth, cunning—to achieve our objectives. Nibbling at the edges, gnawing away at the underlying supports and institutional foundations. Sowing seeds of dissent, doubt. Subverting authority, sabotaging power structures. Never failing to offer alternatives, fresh perspectives, while stubbornly withstanding the temptations and treasures dangled before us by our insidious foes.

There comes a time when each of us has to make a choice, balance our current, comfortable lifestyles against a near future where our grandchildren suffer because of their ancestors’ indifference, profligacy, selfishness. Once you make that choice there’s no going back, no compromise possible.

Welcome to the Resistance, comrade.

Now do you have the courage and mental strength to face your final test?

Which will it be: the blue or the red pill

IMG_0724

 

Photos by Liam Burns