And a very good morning to you. It’s 4:30am, and I was awakened by a cat and this oppressive, sweltering Durban heat. I do have aircon in my home, but don’t like to use it continuously. I suppose that subliminally, I’m embracing the warmth as we start an irreversible slide into the headwaters of a looming Ice Age. Not that I’m worried about it. It’s out of my hands.
In this world as it is, there are far more pressing issues I would say. Like the Great Global Warming Swindle, for instance. From a sociological point of view, it is rich ground for contemplation. I didn’t want to get involved, but I have to; my social conscience won’t let me ignore the greatest scam – by orders of magnitude – ever perpetrated. When one looks at the sheer scale of the deception, it blows the mind – it’s now a multi-trillion dollar burglary, feeding without mercy on those scraps of decency that let Homo sapiens feel guilty about environmental hygiene and the way that we prey on and decimate other species. Chairman of the IPCC Dr Rajendra Pachauri has already pocketed (personally) millions of dollars, and he’s only just started. The head of this bloated fish is indeed rotten.
What’s the good news? The light at the end of the tunnel for me is that when climategate is eventually exposed, and we sheepishly admit that we’ve been horrendously duped, and we’ve guillotined whoever we’ve caught, perhaps broader society will have insight enough to the corruptions of power and greed, and the horrifying social tumours growing out of propaganda, to see that essentially, it is science and education that are corrupted. The walls of mathematical sophistry are all but impenetrable, and the $13,000,000,000 underground redoubt called the Large Hadron Collider is safe haven for those toying with the personal consequences of owning the Theory of Everything. “Playing God” is the ultimate fascination for man, and I use the gender term advisedly. It is utterly shameful that the unrepentant patriarch in the male of our species reduces us to this. Al Gore could never, ever have been a woman.
Outside the birds have woken, and the day beckons promisingly. I think that my emerging book “Stephen Hawking Smoked My Socks” is going to be a deeply passionate expression of my environmental sadness. Perhaps we can forgive each other, eventually, but I fear that war is the usual panacea for a smoking soul. The Carbon Diaries are written in blood, and Gore’s surname is suddenly sickeningly prophetic.
Lord have mercy!
Breathe in, breathe out, look left and right, and step onto the highway…
Take it easy.
Take an hour or so out of your life to watch this. It’s worth the trouble.