I cannot reach you the shimmering mirage of my dreams undone there was no triumph in the sigh that escaped my lungs but all these moments that reveal we had made death in our image and I would be damned if I did not quiver at what we’ve become
The neon world shone through the mist, the creatures called ‘humans’ or more scientifically, ‘homo sapiens’ were becoming like the dragonfish of the deep, deep ocean. Though their physical biology refused to become bioluminescent they were compensated for this by their adaptability and creative abilities. The mist had become an ocean in which they constantly lived and had planet earth been a sentient being it may well have regarded humanity as its greatest mistake.
Their evolution of super adaptability meant they externalised many traits and habits other animals had inbuilt. With delusions of grandeur on a mass scale, the homo sapiens had no regard for animals, despite being one themselves, the animals in their linguistic headspaces had become ‘other,’ and expendable. Some homo sapiens had come to the conclusion they were making too many mistakes, indeed in one cartoon (something they created with an implement known as a pen) that caught my eye the homo sapien had drawn a dinosaur with a meteorite falling from the sky, one dinosaur looked to another and said, ‘We should do something about that,’ and the other said, ‘We can’t, it’ll hurt the economy.’ This cartoon was supposed to be something called comedy. The laughing matter is that the cartoon was pointing out a real phenomenon. To the homo sapiens, the ‘economy’ was more important than saving their lives. And I have wondered ever since what sort of diety this ‘economy’ must have been to them that they were willing to sacrifice their lives for it. They worshipped this God called ‘economy’ and the thought of hurting this God was baulked at more than their own demise. Perhaps they believed in some kind of afterlife. They appeared trapped in a hell of their own making, the air was dense with all sorts of stuff they pumped into it daily. But they could not or would not help themselves. I believe they were all (a term they used) addicts.
They had divided such a line between themselves and the expendable others that they ironically othered themselves as a consequence. They had mind-bending ideas that meant they figured anything ‘man-made’ was not nature, for they were above it or in some minds below it. But the species were so fractured that although they lived by this principle even many of the homo sapiens who purported to be ‘at one with nature’ would baulk at ‘man-made’ progress and they didn’t see how this was a contradiction. They figured themselves enlightened and the ones who would take them back to nature and none of them stopped to question, ‘When did we leave?’ Was it when they first harnessed electricity? Was it when they first landed a man on the moon? If it was the earth that had birthed them in the whole scheme of things, then ‘man made’ need not be excluded from being called natural. After all, it was their evolved capabilities that naturally gave them these abilities.
Homo sapiens by my alien (alien to them) observations, were addicts who were so out of fear of death.
If Homo sapiens were just mere natural beings then they too would perish, they too came from and were part of the dirt.
The homo sapiens were to the earth what the metallic starlings were to poison-dart trees.
Homo sapiens had the disadvantage that they were harmful to all of the earth, but the supposed advantage was their tendency to be highly adaptable.
But too many chose to ignore the signs, too many chose to ignore the men and women shouting and screaming that the world was on fire.
Because they were addicts.
All for fear of the thing they only brought more of, death.
And now, in their misty neon ghettos, they try to forget their inevitable demise, looking into the halo of a neon noose.
How can all this be overcome when we’re always on the run the debris of our rush hanging from the trees plastic dreams tied in string and all the little things we let go to the wind Calamity ahead tangled wings trapped in plastic rings consumed and inside everything the debris of our rush the world being hushed
It was our houses that were the aliens we became the invasions and I am no less guilty needing these things as much as any man if not more lest the cold get to my troubled heart the birds sing of things we couldn’t we’re animals lost in communication in which we still have no translation
There was an orange glow beyond the pier, not a sunset but the apocalyptic glow of a world on fire. The sea was fierce with the guts of humanities creative psyche, a plastic bottle rolling on the waves as if it was meant for the sea as much as the fishes swimming beneath it.
And with that thought, I swam up to the sky and as a God, I looked down and on closer inspection, I saw a fish in the bottle frantically thrashing. The bottle went along with the tide, and the fish swished and thrashed the water inside the bottle into a froth before it died of exhaustion and suffocation.
And then came up a whale with a gigantic splash creating its own menacing tide and gobbling up the plastic waste with the fish rotting and decaying inside. I jumped down from the clouds and back onto the pier, jumping from the pier, I landed on a wooden post, balancing as if I was surfing a tidal wave before jumping to the post in front of it and then the next post till I reached the one that only just breached the surface of the ocean. My feet submerged under the blue. Darkness descending but the orange glow in the distance remained and I was alone but for the plastic swimming in the tide. From here it seemed I and the plastic tide were the only vestiges left of the great ape the Homosapien.
Stepping off the post into the deep, I swam and swam deeper and deeper into the sea until a gigantic plastic bottle jumped out of the water as if a whale and swallowed me whole. My hands up against the transparent plastic, I prodded, thumped and I screamed till another even bigger bottle consumed the bottle and I and slowly as each bottle consumed one another the transparency waned till I could see nothing but the plastic that contained me. I thrashed and thrashed and splashed and splashed just as the fish did, my body frantically hitting the sides of the plastic. The water frothed at the storm I had raged, and then my exhausted body curled and resigned itself to its fate.
The final thing I heard was the plastic carrier bag rustle as it entombed the plastic bottles and I.
I don’t need an umbrella walking through this pseudo forest as the leaves lose their leathery coating blushing red as they blunder as if embarrassed by their fall the elves of autumn cleaning the trees while the doves coo and woo and the Jays covet a squirrels cache of acorns and I, just a small part of the picture walk and tumble through pondering on the permanence of our damage done like a tattoo on the landscape while trying to find a place non human to dispose of my civility a wry smile hidden by a mane of hair as I recognise I’m so much more at peace without that polite formal mimicry.