Life. Wonder. Joy.

In the blackout, the sound of a soda can opening and pouring into a glass of ice. A voiceover commercial begins and runs simultaneously with Ruth’s monologue. The voiceover commercial is warped and subliminal and quite easily mistaken for a host of angels. Ruth is wearing a black ski mask.

V/O Commercial.

*You can see a billboard for Sprite and think: Tom Hanks drinks Sprite, Grant Hill drinks Sprite, Marisa Tomei drinks Sprite. Just think you can drink Sprite too. Sprite is Sprite and no matter how rich you are, you can’t get a better one than the one the homeless woman on the corner is drinking. All Sprites are the same. And all the Sprites are good. Tom Hanks knows it. Grant Hill knows it. Marisa Tomei knows it. The homeless woman on the corner knows it, and you know it too.

Ruth

*I don’t believe in the American Dream. There is not one small place. Not one small place. Not even in your heart. There is no small place where freedom rings and doesn’t sound like a cash register. That shiny red car with the leather appointments doesn’t buy you freedom even with the monthly lease option. We live in an occupied country. Freedom is manufactured, mediated, and massaged for your guilty pleasure on a Hollywood soundstage starring people who are prettier and thinner than you. Wake up buttercup! You’re not retired. You’re not on medicare. Forget about Social Security. Forget Security. You don’t contribute to the GNP, the GOP, or the DNC. You’re not a member of the CFR. You don’t dance naked at midnight with George Shultz and the rest of the Bohemian Club. You’ll never attend the opening of the Opera, sleep in the Lincoln bedroom or guest star on Letterman. You’re part of the grid. You’ll always be a part of the grid. You’ll never exist outside of it. Please stay seated while the planet is in motion. Earth: (she removes her mask) heavingpleadingringring ringingrebellingpleading therearethoseofusandourlegionaremany living underbridgeswhereendsnevermeet canIgetawitness?sellsell selling buy!buy!buy!buy!buy!more!youcanberichtoo! Hey! Hey. Who works the remote?

Scott

The Iraqis must have released about six million barrels of oil into the Gulf before they set the refineries on fire. The Persian Gulf covers 90,000 square miles. That’s about the size of New York State and Pennsylvania combined. The oil formed a slick 30 miles long and 8 miles wide. Ad Daffi Bay and Abu Ali Island were hit hardest. The entire shoreline around the bay was covered in oil and balls of tar. They say three to four million barrels of oil burned each day. For some perspective: the United States imports close to 6 million barrels of oil a day. The Exxon Valdez spill was “only” two hundred and thirty thousand barrels. Sixty-seven million tons of oil burned all told. A black, greasy acid rain fell on Saudi Arabia and Iran. There was black snow in Kashmir. About fifteen hundred plus miles away. We breathed oil smoke for 30-days. I never knew exactly where I was. The smoke obscured everything. The last day we were in Kuwait, the sky was so full of smoke I couldn't see the sun. The skies were always black. Our faces and noses were covered with this black resin. I spit up black chunks of grit. I would shower, clean it off, and the moment I set foot outside it’d be all over me again. Oil spewing out of wells streaming across the desert. Lakes of oil. Birds: Cormorants, grebes and auks died. About thirty thousand of them. Their feathers were coated with oil. There was so much oil the ground couldn’t absorb it all. It collected in little pools and still more birds became trapped and died in those. Have you ever seen something struggle for life? One day we watched this bird suffocate to death. Beautiful white bird. Tried to lift itself out of the muck. Heart beat like a son-of-a-bitch. Its body would shudder. It’d get tired and lay its head down. We bet on how long it would last. By the end of the day, it had this defeated look. I remember. I remember that moment. The look in its eyes that instant it gave up. I won. I won that bet don’t cha know. Yes, sir. Survival is the greatest thing in the world.

Spider

The meek shall inherit the earth. When this glorious planet is plundered, when the greed that ravages it daily has run its race; the meek will inherit the irredeemable, God-forsaken husk of Paradise. It amazes me that more people don’t believe that! Don’t believe it! In their bones, in their meat, in their heart! The fabric of society is shredded. Life is corrupted by pavement, pollution, and mind-numbing media-brainwash-face-play. Fix it or ignore it? Which do you choose? Those who would destroy the earth for profit can easily be defeated- if you're ready to embrace the struggle. Now the world is complicated. The world is complex. I’ll not deny it. Does anyone give a rat’s ass if a bomb goes off? Fifty calls come in. I did it I did it I did it No! I did it No! I did it No. I did it. I did it. I did it I did it I did it I did it I did it and I’m not sorry. I did it and I'm not sorry. We are all accountable. But all by virtue of our existence, we are accountable. There's a reckoning coming. There is going to be a reckoning.

Clay

Dogs won’t shit or piss where they sleep. That’s how you house-train them. Give them only enough room to sleep. Increase their space in increments. They get only as much space as they can be responsible for. That’s good policy. Except not all species have the same qualms about soiling their nests. This is where I plug in my statistics. We’ve lost 70% of our ground water. 70% of our topsoil. We have thirty years. Thirty years to turn this ship around. Can we do it? I have no doubt. Will we? Connect the dots, brothers and sisters. We’re dead.