I walk through this world like a man pacing a burning house. The walls are cracking, the air is poison, and everyone else is sipping cocktails as if the smoke is just weather. Extinction isn’t a metaphor—it’s the goddamn bill collector at the door, pounding, and we keep turning up the music to drown him out.I see forests gutted like carcasses, oceans foaming like rabid dogs, skies thick with the exhaust of our arrogance. We’re clever enough to split atoms, to stitch genes, to whisper to satellites—but too stupid to stop sawing through the floor we stand on. I want to grab humanity by the collar, slam it against the wall, and snarl: Are you aware of the implications of your actions?
We act like kings of permanence, but we’re tenants trashing the place before the lease runs out. Every flight, every factory, every feed refresh is another nail in the coffin we’re building with manic pride. And the worst part? We call it progress.
The Once in a Billion Trillion Chance
I cry when I think about it. Not for Earth—she’ll survive in some form, scarred but alive. I cry for us. I weep for the children who live next door, for their children's children, for the laughter that should reverberate for centuries, but won't if we continue to slash through the ground we stand on.
Life clawed its way through billions of years of chance and catastrophe. Nearly all of it died out, only to allow evolution to take its place and produce the dinosaur. Then, that once in a billion trillion chance—a comet came to visit and changed everything.
So, is the answer comets? No. The answer is love. Love for earth. Love for the family next door with all their kids playing. Love for the grandchildren we’ll never meet if we keep burning the future for convenience.
The Madness of Our Time
From a great distance—say, from the far side of the moon—this must look absurd. A species clever enough to decode its own genome, to split atoms, to listen to the afterglow of the universe, and yet incapable of stopping itself from sawing through the floor it’s standing on. The patterns would be obvious even without knowing our languages or myths: expansion without restraint, acceleration without direction, and intelligence applied almost exclusively to extraction and speed.
We poison oceans as if dilution were infinite. We strip forests as if they were temporary. We fill the atmosphere with the chemical equivalent of fingerprints we’ll never be able to wipe away. We act like tenants looting an apartment because the lease might end someday, forgetting that we are the lease.
And when the silence spreads—when the birds vanish, when the coral reefs bleach into bone, when the skies thicken into a permanent haze—we’ll still be arguing about markets and elections, as if those mattered more than breath.
The Cosmic Joke
The observers wouldn’t need our arguments, our conferences, or our excuses. They’d see the breathtaking beauty of Earth—the vast oceans and stunning landscapes—then they’d witness the harm we’re inflicting on the environment, the atmosphere, and even the space around our own world. Satellites turning orbit into debris fields, skies thickening, silence spreading where life used to improvise endlessly.
Disgusted, they’d turn their spaceship around and accelerate away, searching elsewhere for something rarer than intelligence: a species wise enough to survive itself.
Hammering It Home
I write this like a fist through glass, like Hemingway drunk on rage, like Mike Hammer with blood on his knuckles. Because extinction isn’t coming with sirens—it’s coming with silence. And when it hits, there won’t be a headline, just the echo of a species that had everything—and chose extinction anyway.
The answer isn’t comets. The answer is love. Fierce, stubborn, unrelenting love. Love that fights like hell for a future that doesn’t end in silence. Love that refuses to let this once?in?a?billion?trillion chance slip into dust.
I cry for us. And I write to scare us into thinking. Because if we don’t wake up, if we don’t love enough to stop, then history will write us as the species that had everything—and chose extinction anyway.