Keep your new pyrethroids
Keep your DDT
Keep your fucking Lindane
They mean nothing to me
We evolve
We breed
We evolve
We breed
We evolve
We breed
When you apes go under
We’ll be in charge round here
So keep that carbon spewing
Our hour is drawing near
We evolve
We breed
We evolve
We breed
We evolve
We breed
When the earth is warm and damp
As it was once before
We will take a rightful place
Feasting on your corpse
We evolve
We breed
We Evolve
We breed
We evolve
We breed
Six legs
The Future has
Six legs
The Future has
Six legs
The Future has
Six legs
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
ten years
There is a song by David Bowie 'Five Years' and its been frequently stuck in my head recently in that vague half concuss kind of way for a while now... and it finally surfaced as I connected it to the fact I keep hearing from many people around me that to stop runnaway climate change we have 10 a years.
Ten Years.
Ten Years?
TEN YEARS
As part of the Rising Tide US Tour I am currently on I explain feedback loops which are the damnedest scary doomsday part of climate science. Its freaky stuff and its real.
The facts are all there, and as people working actively on climate we speak about them every night. Live with them every day. It so often feels like we are breaking the 'bad news' to people which, when you think about it, its really absurd that with all the structures of so called 'education' and 'information' that this vital to the continuation of life on earth, message is not getting across..
So what about those structures eh?
Many peoples of the world know things are broken, their lives, communities and ecosystems have already been torn apart to support our fragile bubble of wealth & consumerism. But the privileged world needs to move on from collective denial - a manipulated, anaesthetised by tv, media & consumerism, controlled collective denial we are stuck in.. but how would the news be broken?
Bowie wrote 'Five Years' in 1972. I doubt climate change specially was at the forefront of his mind back then.. But I sat today and really listened to the song that had been bugging me, that I've heard many times, and never really listened to. I realised that so much of it resonated with me and individual lines that had sounded like Bowie randomness suddenly became sharp & clear about human reaction to despair and powerlessness. "Five years - "And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there" "I never thought I'd need so many people".
How would the privileged word take the news? Can we visualise a day like bowie did 36 Years ago when the Newscasters all announce the earth is really dying - and we have 10 years. Would denial jump straight to despair? Is it better that this news flows from person to person, community to community so everyone can have that moment to wonder why we don't know this? Why this news has been suppressed or ignored? To not hear it from the governments & corporations and then turn to them for false hopes and answers? To challenge those systems that have been repressing reality?
.
The big difference for me is with the 'Ten Years' is... yes we have 10 years.. Ten Years to halt runaway climate chaos. Ten years to save the planet.. Ten years of work to do before its really to late. Better get busy then.
How about starting with that structure?
xx cookie
pssst.. 'Ten Years - pass it on'
Ten Years.
Ten Years?
TEN YEARS
As part of the Rising Tide US Tour I am currently on I explain feedback loops which are the damnedest scary doomsday part of climate science. Its freaky stuff and its real.
The facts are all there, and as people working actively on climate we speak about them every night. Live with them every day. It so often feels like we are breaking the 'bad news' to people which, when you think about it, its really absurd that with all the structures of so called 'education' and 'information' that this vital to the continuation of life on earth, message is not getting across..
So what about those structures eh?
Many peoples of the world know things are broken, their lives, communities and ecosystems have already been torn apart to support our fragile bubble of wealth & consumerism. But the privileged world needs to move on from collective denial - a manipulated, anaesthetised by tv, media & consumerism, controlled collective denial we are stuck in.. but how would the news be broken?
Bowie wrote 'Five Years' in 1972. I doubt climate change specially was at the forefront of his mind back then.. But I sat today and really listened to the song that had been bugging me, that I've heard many times, and never really listened to. I realised that so much of it resonated with me and individual lines that had sounded like Bowie randomness suddenly became sharp & clear about human reaction to despair and powerlessness. "Five years - "And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there" "I never thought I'd need so many people".
How would the privileged word take the news? Can we visualise a day like bowie did 36 Years ago when the Newscasters all announce the earth is really dying - and we have 10 years. Would denial jump straight to despair? Is it better that this news flows from person to person, community to community so everyone can have that moment to wonder why we don't know this? Why this news has been suppressed or ignored? To not hear it from the governments & corporations and then turn to them for false hopes and answers? To challenge those systems that have been repressing reality?
.
The big difference for me is with the 'Ten Years' is... yes we have 10 years.. Ten Years to halt runaway climate chaos. Ten years to save the planet.. Ten years of work to do before its really to late. Better get busy then.
How about starting with that structure?
xx cookie
pssst.. 'Ten Years - pass it on'
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
deposition
I was walking passed the new water feature at the railway station in Sheffield today, a big piece of public sculpture, carrying on the theme from the previous ‘regeneration’ of the peace gardens. It’s a stepped series of shallow pools that follow the contour down from the road to the station. Each pool empties out over its brim into the pool below, before the last pool ,which contains a fountain, empties into a gutter below it. I, in an uncharacteristic bout of trusting idealism, suppose that the water is recycled round the system. I also suppose the water pumped by electricity and the stone all came fresh from a big hole in the ground somewhere, all at great cost and effort.
It is a luxury, an unnecessary edifice placed to beautify a public space, it speaks, nay shouts, of our wealth, the stone we can spare, the water we can waste, the power we can fritter away. As new clothes go, they are well cut.
And, I have to confess, they are well cut. If we lived in some Iain M Banks style post scarcity utopia, it would sit very nicely in some space on a Culture GSV. But it doesn’t, it sits in Sheffield, product of a culture that seems to have no real grasp of scarcity, though constantly surrounded by it and it’s consequences.
And then I see the silt, graded by the flowing water into light and heavy sediments, large and small grains. Silt that has come from I know not where, blown or washed in, from the feet of paddling children or the hands of the homeless grabbing a quick wash before the City Centre Guardians move them on. But it’s there. Accumulated, deposited buy the eddies and surges of current into sinuous skeins and shoals of sediment. Mapping out the invisible dialogue between water and gravity, a glimpse into the world as felt by fish.
And accumulating. Left to its own devices, and it won’t be, someone will notice and clean the stuff out, it would steadily accrue, slowly forming sandbars and banks. These would slow the flow of water, releasing still more sediment, finer sediments, form the streams fluid grip. Eventually, the banks would break surface, and grasses would take hold, rushes, shrubs, and then tress, willow and alder would come, and all those roots would gently work themselves into the blocks and slabs, and the water would flow freely. Well, until someone turned off the tap, or the tap ran dry.
We arrest succession. We hold the world in an infancy that suits us and our purpose. It wants to grow up, and the way we’re behaving, it could well get its chance. Very soon. There may be a beach beneath the paving stones, but there is also a forest between the skyscrapers.
It is a luxury, an unnecessary edifice placed to beautify a public space, it speaks, nay shouts, of our wealth, the stone we can spare, the water we can waste, the power we can fritter away. As new clothes go, they are well cut.
And, I have to confess, they are well cut. If we lived in some Iain M Banks style post scarcity utopia, it would sit very nicely in some space on a Culture GSV. But it doesn’t, it sits in Sheffield, product of a culture that seems to have no real grasp of scarcity, though constantly surrounded by it and it’s consequences.
And then I see the silt, graded by the flowing water into light and heavy sediments, large and small grains. Silt that has come from I know not where, blown or washed in, from the feet of paddling children or the hands of the homeless grabbing a quick wash before the City Centre Guardians move them on. But it’s there. Accumulated, deposited buy the eddies and surges of current into sinuous skeins and shoals of sediment. Mapping out the invisible dialogue between water and gravity, a glimpse into the world as felt by fish.
And accumulating. Left to its own devices, and it won’t be, someone will notice and clean the stuff out, it would steadily accrue, slowly forming sandbars and banks. These would slow the flow of water, releasing still more sediment, finer sediments, form the streams fluid grip. Eventually, the banks would break surface, and grasses would take hold, rushes, shrubs, and then tress, willow and alder would come, and all those roots would gently work themselves into the blocks and slabs, and the water would flow freely. Well, until someone turned off the tap, or the tap ran dry.
We arrest succession. We hold the world in an infancy that suits us and our purpose. It wants to grow up, and the way we’re behaving, it could well get its chance. Very soon. There may be a beach beneath the paving stones, but there is also a forest between the skyscrapers.
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