We traded it all for our latest fix.
In the same way a hardcore addict can blow tens of thousands of dollars a year on short-lived bursts of intravenously administered existential painkiller, we managed to blow our planetary future on snatches of convenience, vacuous entertainment, and KonMari cache of gadgets. Because we were stressed, bored, or keeping up with the Kardashians.
Folks are saying it’s sobering. But is it? Or is this just a moment of clarity after an up-close-and-personal encounter with reality? That moment of clarity that’s always followed by a relapse into craving, and acquiescence to the status fucking quo.
The road to hell is lined with the charred remains of animals ravaged by fire. Or the road to Batlow is, at least. Like the lines of crucifixes that lined the Appian Way, a visceral symbol of the Roman Empire’s ruthlessness. Is this our civilisation’s Appian Way? Paved with the sacrifices of innocents to our culture’s self-aggrandizement?