MIASMA OF DISBELIEF

The President makes a ineffectual TV address. Oil CEOs appear before the House Energy and Commerce Committee and display blind ignorance. A helicopter dices the night air over my apartment. Meanwhile crude oil still hemorrhages massively into the Gulf of Mexico without a tomorrow, while the estimates climb, killing the seas as though it was some prequel to Soylent Green, and all BP seems able to focus on is public relations spin and limiting their liabilities. So far – if witnesses are to be believed – they have manipulated Google, removed dead wildlife to prevent the carnage being filmed, and now they are refusing to supply clean-up workers with hazmat protective clothing, and threaten them with firing if they bring their own. Supposedly this is so BP will make no tacit admission that the oil and dispersants pose a health hazard that might be used in a court of law against them. I no longer know what to think. How long is it now? How long have we floated in this miasma of disbelief? 58 days? Oh mama, is this really the end? Is there any way out of this horror, or are we hearing the whimper with which the world ends? Is that Chicken Little I see, coming down the road, carrying a chunk of sky?

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The secret word is Desperate