Waste Mismanagement: Space Junk
My army buddy Phil wrote a story he called Trash Wars: earthlings worry about trash disposal, landfills are filling up: some clown proposes sending our trash into space: we do; extraterrestrials retaliate: they send our trash back to us and add their own on top. That was 1962 or so. Yesterday I read a report of some guy, Japanese-sounding ethnicity, who’s proposing a startup company to clear nearspace of junk. The idea is vivid in the wake of Alfonso Cuarón’s impressive Gravity.
Shit Comes Around, and Around
George Cluny and Sandra Bullock loose stuff in earth’s nearspace, amid stuff already lost: nuts, bolts … other astronauts. Then don’t you know it all comes around again: hard. Whizz, Whamm, Death!
Human institutions are set to assure that warnings don’t get heard let alone heeded till, if then, it’s too late.
I wanted to link that internet report which I read only yesterday but my browser’s History loses stuff the way our heroes were losing nuts and bolts. One of Cuarón’s great effects showed Sandra fantasizing that lost George has come round again: very good ghost conception. And appreciate: who better than Cuarón, ever, activates background till it competes with foreground?!
Children of Men
We asked for it. We insist. Without knowing we’re asking or insisting. But: no institution becomes an instituation without demand. Corrections correct, get corrected. King John can’t be a son of a bitch without a son of a bitch public. The resurrected Jesus gets sabotaged again. By people who won’t learn.
2016 02 18 A while back, a year or so, Jan got a flat tire parked in front of my trailer. A long screw protruded through the tire: seemed perfect perpendicular: how did it accidentally get in so straight, as though someone carefully placed the puncture. Jan is always looking for causes for things, making half-baked, shallow leaps, that drive scientific me crazy. In any event I agreed that the screw could have been dropped there by Rocky, who, bless her heart, was renovating my house under her sponsorship.]
Regardless, I bought a disk magnet, attached a wire leash, dragged first my driveway, then the area in front of my car port where she likes to park, then borders nudging into my neighbors’: then all of her driveway and environs at her house: and that’s a big driveway: lots of surface area.
Everywhere I dragged the magnet I subtracted metal from the mix of earth, grass, and gravel. Screws, nails, filings: large, small, shinny new, ancient, rusted, bent …
Now she’s worried seeing the next door neighbor doing some renovation, so I promised to drag again. Not bad: a few filings, and only one ancient, bent, rusted nail.
Militaries don’t pick up their land mines either. And I hear of cannibis farmers who boobytrap their mariquana farms: walk in the woods and get your eye plucked out.
For the last couple and a half decades I wade fish a great deal: and I’m always stepping on broken bottles, steel spikes, constellations of tangled filiaments of mono and rusty fish hooks.
Oh boy: now we’re headed to Mars to lose more junk.
That Mexican’s movie sure was great, George Cloony and Sandra Bullock bombarded by space junk: all put there in the last half century.
If we every find God, will we find him dead? with a rusted nail in his foot and tetanus spreading? Or did God loose nails all over before we “invented” them?