People of the Past (Fiction)

People don’t change.  People from the past keep going toward the future.  Pointless, dissolute, entropic, they march toward oblivion.  People from the future, they stay rooted in the past.  They know what side their bread is buttered on.

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The Future isn’t pretty.  We all know that.  Just go to any hospital.  That’s your Future, with a capital F.  Long white, or more likely beige corridors.  Antiseptic smells.  Or new antiseptics that try to remind you of fresh baked bread or cinnamon, but just make you feel false and closer to death.  That’s your future if you’re one of the lucky ones, who lives a long life and doesn’t get run over by a bus.  The Future is gleaming and white and cold and synthetic and who the fuck wants to live there if they don’t have to?  It’s where people go to die, not to live.

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Peak Oil

I’m reading the 2005 book Twilight in the Desert about the state of the Saudi oilfields.  The author uses professional papers published by petroleum engineers to try to get around the three-decade Saudi embargo on information about the state of the oilfields.  The author’s point is that the Saudis aren’t being completely forthcoming because they have an interest in maintaining the impression that their oil supply is steady and reliable.  The book is interesting and well-written if repetitive and long-winded, but one thought keeps recurring to me:

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