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The Mass Media

The Mass Media

The Mass Media

Human Becomes God of Pacific Trash Vortex

Human+Becomes+God+of+Pacific+Trash+Vortex

Imagine, that you are on a boat in the Pacific. Imagine you are in the middle of it, and your boat sinks.  You are floating with nothing in your possession but a life vest, a pocketknife, and a wet lighter. Sharks have already stolen two of your friends.  Your legs are dangling in the water. You are almost certain the only reason you survived was because you gave up earlier then the rest of them and decided to play dead. Things are looking dire. You are probably not going to live through this, you realize. You run through your head all the stories you have ever heard about marine survival. There was Rose, yeah Rose!  She survived Titanic! But her man didn’t… Shit….okay well the cook!  Cooks all over the world have survived right?  From drinking cooking sherry!  With cooking sherry one never freezes!  Woo!  So all I need is cooking sherry.  Your hopes rise momentarily. With a smile you look expectantly around, your salted throat happily opening in anticipation! To the left! What horror!  Only ocean as far as you can see.  To the right, waves! Shit! Coming straight for me. These preside on dunking you under water continuously until you pass out from exhaustion. You wake up while its still dark.  You manage to suspend your panic and temporarily convince your self that you are merely a dreaming giant god floating in an ink black cosmic bathtub.  Your body becomes insignificant as you begin to feel the movements of the water as part of your thoughts and part of your body. On your land life, all that you remember is merely a dream and all that you hope for is merely a dream. You. Are. Just. Chillin. The sun is rising on the horizon. You smile as you realize you are still conscious.  Something feels odd though, like tentacles brushing your skin. Dropping your legs beneath, you rise from the floating on you back position and have a look around. Dear God, what on earth is this?  All around you, for as far as you can see are bits of trash.  Like some landfill stew, swirling all around you are pieces of plastic confetti, bottles, tangled fishing line, nets, diapers, plastic bags, flip flops, everything!  Miles, you can literally see for miles around you human destruction in Technicolor. Baffled you begin to examine the pieces of wreckage nearest you.  Picking up a battered commercial bleach container, you look inside it and find three baby fish, all of different species, huddled together in terror.  Your monstrous eye blinks kindly at them and returns their home gently to the water.  Looking at the flotsam and jetsam drifting alongside you, wondrous towards the people who thought this stuff was not useful, a beautiful idea begins to creep upon your mind.  What if…what if I can use this crap to build a new boat?  Those wee little fish had the right idea! It will keep me safe from predators, I can collect rainwater, make some shade, rig a sail dry out my lighter, make a torch, fuse shit together.  Oooou baby!  I had a VISION. Thus, I began.  I used rope and fishing line to tie together, within a couple hours, a 20 by 10 foot semi-solid platform.  Pretty soon I had my lighter dried out enough to begin patching plastic bags together to make a sail.  A gentle rain came, with calm seas.  Gratefully, I set out some open containers to collect the sweet water. Smiling, I began to make a life for myself.  Within a couple days I had managed to reinforce the hull, raise a sail, collect water, and set some lines to catch me some dinner. Admittedly, I found some more baby fish in containers to use as bait… Onwards I sail, with the setting sun beaming orange gold into my face. I proudly mount one foot upon the bow like a proud captain and almost go for a dunk as it snaps off and floats away, back to the stew. Humbled, I remember to say my prayers to Poseidon that a storm will not tear this ship apart overnight. Sailing west, I hoped to rescue my destiny from being un-manifest.