so close as makes no nevermind,
AND it's improbable we'll turn around in time.
|A few days later it comes to me (as often happens) that I have forgot to make the point: see Postscripts (below).|
Having a beer (and Jameson chaser) with my good son the other day, somewhere west on Queen. Doesn't happen often enough. His friend the barman asks what the 350 button's for and makes the Jameson complimentary.
Then my son and I get to talking and he lets me know, gives it to me straight, "It's too late." I say, "No it ain't," and give several good scientific reasons. He says, "Yeah but we'll never turn it around in time."
He's probably right. I just about agree. Gwynne Dyer about agrees too and he's a pretty smart guy.
Jim Hansen drifts in that direction as well (I think) though you'd never know it from a quick reading of his latest epistle: Assuring real progress on climate. He seems more-and-more under the spell of his 'team' who appear to be aficionados, adherents, and devotees of Norman Vincent Peale and Edward Bernays, but if you read carefully there are no reasons to be hopeful in it.
Unless (that is) you really believe donations to (the always polite) Citizens Climate Lobby and (the ever vain) 350.org are gonna do the trick and turn the tide.
Everyone pretty well knows what's needed:
... but nobody's really sayin' nor wants to be first.
Settling the question - one way or the other - is a satisfying operation. I can dig it. And the up-side is so fraught & ambiguous that it's easier by far to go with "It's too late."
[I wonder if such satisfactions have anything to do with judgements on misogyny? Skulking feral skrællings (from neither Shem nor Ham nor Japheth)!]
I tell you what though: spending any amount of time with my kids delivers a great big walloping jolt of positive energy right into the ol' hypothalamus lizard brain. I've not tried cocaine but it might be something like that, or amphetamines, whites but without the crash.
... it's the next day ... alone with no telephone and ...
... here's what happens:
After that it goes something like this:
• 21st:write the draft, sleep, and have bad dreams.
• 22nd: encounter a man shouting in the park, "Merry Christmas to all," and ten seconds later, "I'm gonna kill those cops, gonna kill all those cops," and I'm thinking how difficult it is to get across, he doesn't scare me and doesn't look like he's really going to kill anyone - he's just yelling, in the park, in the wintertime, with bagfuls of what look like donated clothes, and everyone is backing away, including me who should be the one to talk with him.
• 23rd: no communications except Jim Hansen's epistle; stonewall in the latest round of "you're a misogynist," "no I'm not."
• 24th: she sends Zero bars, four of 'em.
• 25th: run out of smokes, talk to Mohammed about his sons, Lion and Honoured.
• 26th: very low.
• 27th: ditto till she reminds me that popcicle-stick models explode when you toss 'em at the wall; and a Christmas invitation comes too late.
• 28th: make flags, remember the Foote's Bay Regatta, wonder what happened; maybe I'll send a link (knowing they don't follow links for fear of unseen executables) or maybe not; a kind note is slipped under the door by the landlord asking if I need anything.
• 29th: silence, singin' 'You Better Come On In My Kitchen' and 'Sitting On Top Of The World' and 'Hello Young Lovers'.
• 30th: listen to Al Gore congratulate Christiana Figueres on her performance at COP 20 in Lima - HORSE COCK!
• 31st: what if I did send emails?
• 2nd: send the fricken' emails? maybe tomorrow.
• 3rd: or maybe not, it's not that they're Greens per se y'unnerstan', it's that the others are all so appallingly contrary to any sort of sense or sensibility, hermetically seamless.
• 4th: it's worth having a close look at the Green Party of Canada Platform: in brief or in (100 page .pdf) detail if only to savour the delicate brushstrokes of the architects of (what looks to me like) a moribund ideology.
• 5th: read it all again and ... ?
• 6th: ditto ... ?
• 7th: ditto ... ?
• 8th: ditto ... ?
• 10th: ... fuck it.
Not much boobage in the last while; maybe a few unicorn jokes will fill the gap:
Aiming low on all fronts:
[This Horsey cartoon is from 2011. Doesn't seem fair to centre out the poor hard-done-by fossil fuel industry. The blame should be spread somehow over the gazillion politicians and consultants and definitely all over the UNFCCC, Connie Hedegaard & Christiana Figueres.]
The Socialists think of Cuba as an ideological exemplar of some kind. Obama probably thinks of it as a market. I think of it as a successful experiment of what happens when you turn the oil off.
There's not much more to say really. I'm probably not getting on a bus to go confront Elizabeth May or Bruce Hyer. I'm probably not even gonna bother sending emails.
There was a bright moment there a few weeks ago and now it's gone dark again.
"Now she's gone and I don't worry 'cause I'm sittin' on top of the world."
[Probably not Peary, Scott, or Amundsen. Could be a Zen Buddhist epitome, a perfectly realized being or a seamless insouciant pose, sufficient heroin or oxycontin, up against the wall waiting for the order to fire or in the electric chair waiting to be hurled.]
"A plague on both your houses!" (And so there is.) "From this moment the very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand." (And we all know where this leads. :-)
All I can say these days is "I don't care," (the latest incarnation of Tourette's) but you know, people say things they don't mean all the time. It's like throwing things in the garbage to make them easier to ignore and forget - and then finding you can neither forget nor ignore them.
[So. And any of those upon whom I have visited my unjustified criticism can now say, "Nyah nyah nah na na na!" though I'm sure they won't. It's like the joke about the arrogant mouse that tries it with an elephant - "Suffer baby! Suffer!"
What Ever! Whatever the outcome I laid it out as true as I were able.]
Erm ... of course there are ...
... other points of view, other opinions, takes & glimpses, wise and otherwise (and not necessarily either stupid or sentimental).
Says Natalie Dee: "The world isn't going to end, we're not that lucky. It will just get worse and dirtier and we will be trapped."
Miel (almost) smiles and says nothing.
Joep Bertrams is on about a national health care situation - but for me it works better ... more 'globally', as the blind leading the blind.
A-and Gado takes the brass ring.