Homo fatuus brutus: veni, vidi, abii

In the end, entropy always wins.

Sometimes, it can be hurried along.

On an insignificant speck of rock hurtling along in a vast expanse of nothingness, a thin film of gas nurtures a rare and wondrous thing that has, over aeons, struggled to improve and refine itself. Its latest offspring considers itself to be all-powerful; supreme master of the universe: yet, for all its vaunted skills, its visionary foresight is stunted such that it can barely see beyond the tip of its own nose.

At a time when the north polar ice cap – the air conditioner for the planet – is in full retreat, and the antipodes burn with an insatiable hunger, the descendants of those who once devised something they called ‘democracy’ are now so thoroughly subjugated by a crooked and broken global economic system – one that is both too big to fail and, at the same time, on the brink of freefall implosion – that they resort to felling the forest on the slopes of a mountain that was once believed to house a squabble of deities.

Just to keep warm (for a while).

On their way up, as they raped their way across the entire planet, these jabbering ape-descendants named themselves ‘homo sapiens sapiens’: the wise, thinking man.

On their way down – had they paused to think at all in their headlong descent – they might have reflected that they had succeeded in evolving into ‘homo fatuus brutus’: the foolish, stupid man.

Veni, vidi, abii.