Scientists- the new prophets

I've been seeing posters around campus advertising for some environmentalist get-together. Besides the innitial irony of such paper advertisements posted by folk who care about the trees another more perterbing detail has made me awaken from my long silence here on the blog. The get-together advertised is called "Smells Like Green Spirit". I couldn't help reading this without noticing the irony dripping from the organic ink of its grainy recycled paper. This title is an obvious reference to Nirvana's anthem for the early 90's, "Smells Like Teen Spirit", a time when people had become so disollutioned with the decadence and horrid gaudiness of the 80's that they began to proclaim en mass that they didn't give a shit about anything. The spirit of this song invoked images of raggedy teens swaying apathetically back and forth, arms akimbo, maws gaping, eyes vacant, all embrassing the utter stupidity of life without once cracking a joke about it. Why would an environmental group that obviously cares about something invoke the image of one of North America's most apathetic moments, or perhaps that is it. Perhaps they do not actually care about the environment, perhaps they too are merely wishing to be entertained, standing before their wizzened dildo David Suzuki, painfully aware that he has no capacity to perform anything but intellectual debasement. Incidentally, David Suzuki walked past me on campus last week. I felt to ashamed that I didn't tell anyone. Why didn't I at least do something horrendously strange to make hsi day a bit stranger. Now don't get me wrong, I don't hate he environment, I rather wish that trees and grass would grow over our cement prisons, but I just don't see any life or passion in the so called "environmental movement", or intelligence for that matter. I see politics for sure, people lobbing arguments back and forth in imagined public spheres, but their words mean as little to me as the vegitables thrown by the Paris mob.

Perhaps my issue in this circumstance just goes back to my loathing for isms and ists. If history shows us anything it is that the pulsating wave of human activity moves up and down the beach regardless of the puny humans caught up on it, desperately clinging to driftwood and if they're lucky, a surfboard, or maybe even a boat. Either way the wave will break, dissolution will set in and a new ideal will be set up for us to prostrate ourselves before. We will find a new entertainer who will be both our god and our slave, and we likewise will fullfill both rolls in reciprocation. And so we will find ourselves caught once again in a fruitless attempt to control history, to stack the blocks of each moment, so that we can achieve a dream we had about the future before we were born.