By Brian George
At Fukushima, in his almost non-protective suit, a volunteer from the cleanup crew surveys the uncertain outcome of his work. As the representative of an industry that I hate, he is one out of a long list of potential enemies—and yet. My attitude is little more than a mechanistic program. He is one of the “Fukushima 50,” who, as he struggles to prevent a total meltdown of the fuel rods, will sleep on a blanket on the concrete floor, and will almost certainly die. His hands are clean, as are those of any servant of a cause.
He did not intend to send free energy in a cloud that with its glow would power the factories of the Northwest USA, there to prompt a boom in sunglasses, and to circulate throughout the udders of all cows. If only in terms of the logic of the Hypersphere, each cause can then be made to correspond to an effect. Beam technology from a lab in the Northwest USA can then be bounced from a great height down to Libya—in the latest of anti-terrorist experiments.
There, even as we speak, a fault-line has just started to crack open. And from there, after being dropped on chutes, droids will transmit geothermal data to the engineers who dream about a pipeline to Afghanistan—an archeological relic, dead from the word “go.”
The five media conglomerates have decided to join forces. Their goal: To preserve our Way of Life. There is no reason for the phrase “military contractor” to be used. Nor will there be “collateral damage.” It is perhaps no one group’s fault that the time-cycle is indifferent to our safety and our comfort. Learning nothing from their experience in the Gulf, a small oversight by BP on an offshore rig will soon turn the Atlantic black.
(Illustration: Brian George, Girl underwater with turtles, photograph, 2004)