- I am surrounded by oil: The fork I use in the cafeteria, the keys I am typing this post on, massive amounts of plastics that sits all around me. If I think about it too much, I feel surrounded by the melted, extruded, squeezed, and pressed bodies of thousands of dead animals that were dug out of the ground. None of us find this creepy. Now imagine a car or building or computer made of less decomposed and processed bones and bodies.
- I went for hike and climbed 800 feet in elevation. Once I got to the top, I realized half of the hill I was hiking on was a landfill. In order to escape the city, I went to a hill, but the hill only exists because it is the accumulated trash of the city. In a few million years, will the hill become the building blocks of some new society's utensils and television analogs?
- I am enraged over the pointless squabblings on the news about all of the problems we are having. As a nation, as a culture, as individuals. I talk to friends about these things over and over. Yet I haven't actually written a letter or gone to protest, or done anything. How many people like me are out there? How do we reconcile supreme apathy with intense emotion? Is this some sort of inherent human trait, or is this a slow, societal decline of involvement?
Good luck to us all, I suppose.
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