All the wishful thinking in the country can’t resurrect a long-dead corpse. By the time president-elect Obama takes the oath of office, he’ll have all the power of a quadriplegic EMT without a medical kit, much less a resuscitation device. And he’ll be staring at a patient with a DNR order, courtesy of a lethal combination of inevitable geology and abysmal policy.
As usual, I have good news if you don’t like the direction the government and culture have taken: the problem’s going to take care of itself. When the empire completes its fall, when the federal government loses the ability to control everything from foreign wars to domestic sex acts, when the dollar’s even further in the toilet and the transportation networks are completely impotent, when the cheerleader-in-chief of American Empire can no longer destroy the lands and waters and the organisms on which we all depend, that’s when we can bury the neoconservative agenda.
Sometimes my attempts to stir the pot are not successful. And sometimes they result in shaking instead of stirring.
“Without extra investment to raise production, the natural annual rate of output decline is 9.1 per cent.” Energy experts generally agree that a 2 per cent annual decline in extraction of crude oil translate to reasonably painful adaptation and the cessation of economic growth, a five per cent declines spell very painful adjustments and an economic depression of unprecedented magnitude, and a ten per cent decline means societal breakdown at a monumental scale.
As waves of red ink from the Overdraft Ocean lap at the shores of The Check(book) Republic, the cry goes out: The economy must grow.
I have new vision of the United States. I call it “Bucket-head Nation.” My inspiration came from a humorous scene in Werner Herzog’s latest film, Encounters at the End of the World. The scene portrays students in an Antarctic survival class wearing buckets on their heads to simulate the zero-visibility, white-noise conditions of the Antarctic tundra. The leader of the bucket-heads had the objective of leading the other bucket-heads to a location specified by the instructor. They failed this task twice because the leader of the bucket-heads misguided them. The scene ends with a shot of the disgruntled bucket-heads in a confused, clustered entanglement. Sound familiar?
It seems neither the Fed nor the Treasury Department cannot stop sunshine with an umbrella, much less interrupt the relentless tsunami of dire economic news.