Pleased To Meet You, Hope You Guess My Name

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America gets everything it wants.   It wants oil, and for its sins, it’s getting oil.  70,000 barrels a day of it, coming ashore on the Gulf Coast with more on the way, flowing like black blood from that gaping wound in the earth, ripped a mile deep by the weapons of greed, held in the hands of stormtroopers of profit, nothing can stop it, no one can staunch it, that black blood will keep spilling all over our shores, through the loop current out into the Gulf Stream, up the East Coast and across the Atlantic, written on the waves like a message from Hell.    

Tell me no more of your plans to control this, tell me no more of your feeble response, the sea will not hear you, the tide will not heed you, the poison is spreading above and below. Our fate has been written in carbon emissions, in ozone depletion and polar cap melting, in black bloodstains of horror on the face of the deep.  

The devastation unleashed by BP/Transocean/Halliburton is already orders of magnitude worse than Katrina and there’s no end in sight.  A billion words have been written about this disaster, but the enormity of it is beyond words, only two words come even close to describing it . . .    

Corporate greed and political corruption have triggered this catastrophe in the Gulf, there is endless suffering ahead and no way to avoid it . . .

These are people used to surviving disaster.  It seemed there was nothing they couldn’t handle.  Until this spill.  Oysterman Buck Battle, who lost his house to Katrina, calls the oil spill “the monster of monsters.”

“I’ve never heard so much fear in people’s voices,” says Mike Tidwell, author of “Bayou Farewell,” which chronicled southern Louisiana’s long legacy of environmental problems. “A hurricane is an event with a beginning, a middle and an end.  This is more like a nuclear accident offshore and a radiation cloud is coming in.  There’s a sense of doom.”

No one in that White House that shames us, no one in that Congress that betrays us will defend us from corporate greed.  The toxic poison surging ashore all along the Gulf Coast is the latest proof of that, the latest proof in a very long list of proof.  

Horror has a face . . .

Horror has a propaganda machine, Horror has a banking system, Horror has a headquarters and there’s a Dome on top of it.  With the complicit approval of their bought and paid for politicians, Horror Incorporated has been waging war on the earth itself.  But they don’t call it war, the call it capitalism. They feel no remorse, they have no shame, they are incapable of shame, they are the Masters of War, they are the Masters of the World, and in the aftermath of every Blitzkrieg of Profit they unleash, we get hauled out to the battlefield to clean up the mess they’ve left behind . . .

Workers rake the oil and sand into big piles; other workers collect the piles into big plastic bags, and still other workers take them to a plant where the sand is separated out and sent to a hazardous-waste dump and the oil goes on for processing. Then the tide comes in with more oil and everybody starts all over again.

The tide of consequences, the tide of destruction, the tide of horror will never stop coming in unless we rake the politicians and bankers and corporate criminals into big piles and haul them off to Leavenworth and San Quentin in garbage trucks.  If we don’t, I’ll show you the consequences.  I’ll show you Extinction.  I’ll show you Dead Oceans.  I’ll show you a Dead World.  I’ll show you humanity’s future in a handful of dust.

(Cross-posted at Wild Wild Left and Firedoglake)