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Not Quite Dead Yet

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Holly Jackson

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“Microplasticosis will be result of an invasive entity residing within all living things. What is this entity? Micro-plastics! They're here right now in all food chains, within all life and beyond. Will there be a cure? Sadly, no because it will be in everything and everywhere. We breathe them in. We ingest them. We cook with them. We drink them. We sleep with them & work with them each and every day. Sadly, in our race to embrace technology and a life of laziness & indifference we have created our own demise. They will change us and everything else in a way that we never thought possible. Microplasticosis...Remember the name because you, your family, your friends, and even your pets will have it in some form or another.”

“One final note on the biogeographic divisions of the world. The very feature that stunned Buffon and his contemporaries, and eventually led to the revolutionary insights that would define the field of biogeography—the evolutionary distinctiveness of different regions—is now waning in the face of the geographic and ecological advance of one species: our own. Few taxa and regions across the globe have escaped the biotic homogenization caused by humanity. Regional biotas are becoming increasingly similar as a result of two pervasive, anthropogenic activities—extinctions of endemic species and species introductions. In fact, these two homogenizing effects of humanity are interrelated, with species introductions being one of the major causes of extinctions of endemic species. Recall Gertrude Stein’s lament over the loss in distinctiveness of place—that “there is no there, there.” Tragically, this is becoming the sobering reality for the increasingly homogenized biosphere. While we may not be suffering from the muted, “ Silent Spring ” that Rachel Carson warned us about in 1962, the monotonous cacophony of coquís (frogs native to Puerto Rico) and cicada in exotic lands as isolated as Hawaii now drown out the euphonious, more subtle calls of honeycreepers and other birds native to the islands.”

“And while it’s nice of you to want to call us ‘modern’ or ‘moderate,’ we’ll do without the redundancy. Islam is by definition moderate, so the more strictly we adhere to its fundamentals — the more moderate we’ll be. And Islam is by nature timeless and universal, so if we’re truly Islamic — we’ll always be modern. We’re not ‘Progressives’; we’re not ‘Conservatives’. We’re not ‘neo-Salafi’; we’re not ‘Islamists’. We’re not ‘Traditionalists’; we’re not ‘Wahabis’. We’re not ‘Immigrants’ and we’re not ‘Indigenous’. Thanks, but we’ll do without your prefix. We’re just Muslim.”

“La visión fue tan confusa y poderosa a la vez que se sintió mal y se vio obligado a detenerse, cruzar los brazos sobre el volante y reposar allí la cabeza, cerrar los ojos y repetirse en silencio que desde el inicio de esta aventura había jurado ser totalmente disponible, asumir todas las situaciones, dejarse llevar por cualquier sugestión, estar abierto a todas las alternativas y, esto era lo más difícil, mantener su inteligencia afilada siempre, afinando los accidentes azarosos o voluntarios que los demás crearían en su camino, percibiéndolos pero jamás impidiéndolos o rehusándolos”

“Without boring you with the specifics, I will tell you that it is an experimental ‘truth-serum’ formula, many times more powerful than sodium pentothal or SP-17; with properties in common with LSD, which is enjoyed recreationally by many in your country’s ‘counter-culture’. I’m afraid this formula will be decidedly unpleasant. SP-17 had the unfortunate side-effect of leaving the subject somewhat sane afterward. This, which we call ‘Veritas X’, will most likely lead to permanent madness…”

“Jeff’s’ father, Ethan Fortner, World War Two and Korean War hero, and one of the original agents of ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan’s post-war Central Intelligence Agency, sat in the chair before him. He had a tumbler of single-malt Scotch in his hand, and a Cuban cigar in the other. It was 1958, and his father was chastising him, again. Ethan Fortner was a patriot, and a legend in the intelligence community; but he was also a high functioning alcoholic and a bitter widower, ever since the day of Jeff’s birth.”

“Jeff cautiously peeked above-deck. The Captain was headed towards the pilot-house, still holding his shotgun at the ready. As soon as he turned his back to enter the pilot-house, Fortner dashed across the deck after him. He burst through the doorway and fired into the radio just as the Captain had flipped the ‘transmit’ switch. The Captain swung about the shotgun barrel, knocking the Luger from Jeff’s hand. Jeff grabbed the barrel and the two of them began struggling over possession of the weapon. They collided with every surface in the cramped room.”

“He set down the coffee and placed another log for splitting. Another biting cold wind blew through the trees, and he pulled his red stocking cap down more over his ears, and pulled up the collar of his wool-lined denim jacket. He had neglected to shave for a few weeks now, and was sporting a beard; and his light brown hair was even beginning to grow over his collar. If my old drill instructor from Parris Island could see me now, he’d kick my ass across the barracks, Jeff mused.”