By Dwight Gilbert Jones
“Character is fate.” – Heraclitus
Homo avarus is incapable of adjusting to the species singularity presented by the climate heating inflection. The scientists say CO2 warming may be controllable – thereafter methane acceleration will not be. There is no option for anyone to wait and see.
And so the Sun watches and feeds the all-comers, carbon bonanza burn-off aboard Earth, teasing out the methane and sulfide spirits. The planet will indeed be barbequed like Venus, to accompany her on Sisyphean death marches around the Sun.
And there had been so much promise.
As an infant species of apes, Homo – already an orphan of its own genus – now recoils from a reality derived from its short lifetimes and brief dreams – an uncomprehending prisoner of hormones – a child grown old, but no wiser.
Where all had once played togther on the commons with matches and gasoline and partied on the bonus money in Nature’s piggy bank – setting alight the fireworks of eons, now a sober silence in the kindergarten. Begun innocently enough in the age of coal, steam and kerosene, the greedy ape, progressively drunk, delighted in energy bombs to blast apart the night, the cold, the hard work – and especially any competing apes.
But lo, there is a final arrow in his quiver – small as the atom, quick as a computer, strong like a web.
Or not. Or maybe yes.