Life is aged 15. It had a bright future, but all of a sudden, it’s terminally ill. About 10 galactic seconds ago, it developed a rare form of cancer, modern humanity, which has already metastasized throughout its blood, bones, and tissue; through its land, water and air. In 10 galactic seconds—the time it takes you to read this sentence relative to 15 years—this species has burned everything it can find to power the triple luxuries of keeping rooms at room temperature, eating meat, and being anywhere in the world by plane. This has come at the low, low price of 50,000 species going extinct every year. Marine life? Suffocating. Terrestrial life? Burning. Avian life? Plummeting.
Yet, when we tune in to political debates where humans (life’s cancer and self-anointed dictator) discuss how to best extricate themselves from this quicksandic quagmire they hath wrought, you find that they conclude that two galactic seconds into the future is deemed far too abstract a time horizon to consider when making decisions of life and truly eternal nothingness.
Or, at least, the early onset thereof.
