I'm thinking of making a video, so shocking, so awful that no one will be able to watch it all the way through. A video that will tell the truth about radiation, Fukushima, nuclear power. Because all the news on the web means only one thing to me: death.
What does it mean to you? I can't tell. I don't know. I don't know any other person's mind; only mine. I try to keep mine filled up with music so it can't explode. But it does anyway and what's the use? In five years..
If SFP4 goes, I want to be standing there right beside it, breathing in the fumes, hoping to die in minutes. Not later, after it all goes bad. I want to defuse the nuclear meltdown in my soul, but it won't go away. No amount of tranquilizers or mental therapy will defuse it, because it's there. To stay.
We have time, time to do many things. But we won't do them. I can see the trend, and it isn't going anywhere; stasis. We have time. Time to do many things. Washing, drying, cleaning, soaking, wringing out rags, staining the carpet, the rug, everywhere with our blood. Because it's time.
I see overcrowded hospitals, frantic nurses, everybody thinks their case is the only case, virulent patients, and their families bullying and bellowing, screaming and fighting with doctors, threatening the nurses and whoever else tries to help; collapsing doctors, never turning away anybody, never treating anybody, never burying anybody. No room in the morgue, in any morgue; bodies stacked outside. Nervous breakdowns.
Shots. Gunfire in the night as neighborhoods give over to sheer, unadulterated disdain, as every last shred of propriety vanishes. As we continue breathing, only this time, it's fear, 24 hours straight. As we approach the end, we see this ain't no rollercoaster; we're going straight down into the firepit -with no relief.
In my mind there are fearsome carpets, waves of rats and roaches feasting on the dead bodies of former citizens, growing fat and rabid, proliferating at a rate undreamed of. Woe to those who emerge from their bomb shelters...
Then just a furry, crackling mass covering cities; then covered over itself by vegetation, greenery, and flowers hopefully, diminishing in number as there is less to eat... The cities will turn green once again. And the ocean...
The ocean will reign supreme, in its majesty, rolling in, rolling out, with serene stateliness, forever, bringing peace to the world, that neither knows, nor cares. Eternity is now, and the Pre-Cambrian essence that once ruled the scene makes its way back, as trilobites make a reappearance. Then is now, now is all time; there is no time...
I want things to go back the way they were. I want things to go back the way they were! I want things to settle down. just...
But everything is different.
* * *
Email the President and tell him to intervene personally in this matter; it's a matter of national security, as well as a humanitarian and ecological crisis: http://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/submit-questions-and-comments
And tell the Secretary of State the same: http://contact-us.state.gov/app/ask
Send a message to your President or Prime Minister or Monarch wherever you are, asking them to intervene directly, and swiftly, to avoid such a disaster. Protest... against the building of any new nuclear plants.
It's the last battle.