Weapons of War
I don’t even remember where, or when, or how often I have remarked on the very troubling fact that nothing is made in the USA anymore; everything is made in China – with one very troubling exception: weapons. Today, on the news, Donald Trump is being called the world’s preeminent weapons salesman, as he gloats over his record of promoting the sale of American made weapons all over the globe. The problem with that is that the American economy flourishes in direct proportion to the prevalence of war and rumors of war worldwide. In the event of a period of relative peace on earth, the American economy would plummet disastrously, while the rest of the world, led by China, would enjoy a period of increasing prosperity. The implications of this consideratum are inescapable. When this situation is added to the historical perspective that the last manifestations of an aging and dying empire are typically a resort to military adventurism, it is clearly time to book seats on Timothy Leary’s rocket ship into outer space in search of new pastures for the survivors of the human race fleeing from Armageddon (see previous article, Requiem for a Lost Planet).
There is nowhere to go to be safe from the fallout patterns after a Nuclear Winter. Perhaps you might consider the Southern Hemisphere, far away from the major land masses of Australia, Africa, and South America, and settle upon some South Sea island as your best hope. Unfortunately, the effects of global warming will mean that those islands will all soon be under water. But, perhaps, with the advance of global warming, by the time that the last South Sea islands are sinking into the sea, a warming Antarctica may become relatively habitable. I suggest that the smart money will quickly get enough settlements established there to declare the continent to be a sovereign nation, with vast tracts of land doled out to the early settlers as speculations for a future land rush. I remember a funny cartoon about a real estate agent showing “Lakeside Condominia” to prospective buyers: “Oh, I guess the lake isn’t in yet.” I know the joke is ruined by my insistence on the Latin plural, but I just can’t help it.
Anyway, you heard it here first – if there are any human survivors on this planet, the descendants of the early colonists on Antarctica will be living high on the hog. Perhaps we should set up some gambling casinos and regulated brothels to jump-start tourism. However, most projections only give such “safe havens” an extra year or two before the inexorable tide of death supervenes everywhere.
Sorry if I seem to be descending into cynical pessimism these days (I used to be an optimist, expecting the human race to pull itself out of the spiraling descent into chaos at the last minute), but it’s hard to see any bright spots. I am reminded of the computer simulated war games – no matter what start-up assumptions are programmed into the computer, every single simulation always ends up with the annihilation of all life on earth. No wonder there’s an “opioid crisis” – whatever you do, stay away from the psychedelics – stick to the opioids or that standard of despair, alcohol. Ease the pain of the end of life on earth with a bottle of absinthe, and go out happy.
The Evanescent Press