Saturday, June 12, 2010

BLOOD ON THE WATERS

A vast majority of humans all over the planet are glued right now to TV sets watching the World Cup. Perhaps we're better off watching live webcam feeds of the monster oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico - because it's a man-made disaster on such a colossal scale the mind boggles to even contemplate the possible consequences on every level. Here are two worst-case scenarios I read earlier today. My own feelings about BP's Deepwater Horizon catastrophe will be addressed in a later post.


Here's a truly scary scenario outlined by an oil and gas engineer....

Heard you mention the oil disaster in the Gulf of Mexico this morning, and you (and most everyone else except maybe George Noory) are totally missing the boat on how big and bad a disaster this is.

First fact, the original estimate was about 5,000 gallons of oil a day spilling into the ocean. Now they're saying 200,000 gallons a day. That's over a million gallons of crude oil a week!

I'm an engineer with 25 years of experience. I've worked on some big projects with big machines. Maybe that's why this mess is so clear to me.


First, the BP platform was drilling for what they call deep oil. They go out where the ocean is about 5,000 feet deep and drill another 30,000 feet into the crust of the earth. This it right on the edge of what human technology can do. Well, this time they hit a pocket of oil at such high pressure that it burst all of their safety valves all the way up to the drilling rig and then caused the rig to explode and sink. Take a moment to grasp the import of that. The pressure behind this oil is so high that it destroyed the maximum effort of human science to contain it.

When the rig sank it flipped over and landed on top of the drill hole some 5,000 feet under the ocean.

Now they've got a hole in the ocean floor, 5,000 feet down with a wrecked oil drilling rig sitting on top of is spewing 200,000 barrels of oil a day into the ocean. Take a moment and consider that, will you.


First they have to get the oil rig off the hole to get at it in order to try to cap it. Do you know the level of effort it will take to move that wrecked oil rig, sitting under 5,000 feet of water? That operation alone would take years and hundreds of millions to accomplish. Then, how do you cap that hole in the muddy ocean floor? There just is no way. No way.

The only piece of human technology that might address this is a nuclear bomb. I'm not kidding. If they put a nuke down there in the right spot it might seal up the hole. Nothing short of that will work.

If we can't cap that hole that oil is going to destroy the oceans of the world. It only takes one quart of motor oil to make 250,000 gallons of ocean water toxic to wildlife. Are you starting to get the magnitude of this?

Is he worried? Tony Hayward, CEO of BP

We're so used to our politicians creating false crises to forward their criminal agendas that we aren't recognizing that we're staring straight into possibly the greatest disaster mankind will ever see. Imagine what happens if that oil keeps flowing until it destroys all life in the oceans of this planet. Who knows how big a reservoir of oil is down there?

Not to mention that the oceans are critical to maintaining the proper oxygen level in the atmosphere for human life.

We're humped. Unless God steps in and fixes this. No human can. You can be sure of that!

If an error message appears click here to view on YouTube.

The following was extracted from a long email sent out by John Kaminski, a visionary writer with a keen paranoid edge which cannot be dismissed out of hand...

Once they reach the inevitable conclusion that the Gulf of Mexico oil volcano must not be allowed to continue — all life on the surface of this planet so thoroughly raped by humans will be dead in two years, as the atmosphere rapidly becomes poisoned with benzene, methane and sulfur dioxide, something like the toxic atmospheres of Jupiter or Saturn — the Russian experts they’ve just imported for advice will convince them to nuke the gulf.

Imagine setting off a nuclear device at not only the foot of the New Madrid tectonic fault — quite likely to split the continental U.S. in half — but also in a small ocean of extremely flammable OIL, an entire small ocean extremely full of it, and mixed into a satanic cocktail of Corexit, an extremely poisonous substance. Can any of us really imagine what will happen?

The best case scenario is this. The blast will be so humongous, it will throw the planet out of orbit. When this happens, the atmosphere which has nurtured us for so many millennia, will burst like a giant soap bubble, and every living thing that depends on air to breathe will be dead in less than 30 minutes. It will be a bad death, too — and endless sea of strangling, spasming, writhing blue faces. But it will be mercifully brief. It won’t take long. Faith will get you through it. This is the best case scenario.

What happens if the blast is somehow less profound than that, or if they follow a strategy of lighting small fires from which the Corexit fumes will exterminate the populace in small segments, I can only say God help us. The oily nuclear winter that will follow in a matter of days and last for centuries will dwarf any atrocities fearful men have perpetrated upon one another since the dawn of time. The agony will be long and sublimely frightful. I can’t imagine anyone living through that, not even the Neocon Morlocks who think they’re safe beneath the surface.


In an obvious way, every person on the planet is now frozen in time. The big clock in the sky is ticking down its final seconds. Everything humans have accomplished in the past has suddenly become irrelevant, and every now-frightening step into the future brings us one day closer to our exquisitely crafted, hypocritically conceived, self-inflicted doom.

I explain this to the dapper executive in the BMW and he responds: “So we have to live our lives in super Hazmat suits. We’ll still have built in cell phones and computers. Life will go on even if the air is poisonous.”

So now instead of computers and cellphones, we have to worry about the poisonous properties of a panoply of gasses — ethane, butane, methane, benzene, and sulfuric acid in the rain. Always know which way the wind is blowing. Always know when to run.


For those of us who regard this description of life as insane, our minds wriggle with conceptual travel plans. One friend is jumping in his SUV and heading for Alaska tomorrow morning. But others are just sitting by the seashore, oblivious to the gathering storm, shrugging their shoulders, saying “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about it,” and sipping on their beer. And the fish on the end of the line is covered with oil.

Edgar Cayce books are suddenly selling well these days. He’s that “Sleeping Prophet” dude who predicted the Great Lakes will run down the Mississippi and cut America in half, and wouldn’t you know that wellhead they’re thinking about nuking sits right at the foot of the very tectonic fracture that would exactly accomplish the trick.


So where do you run? Which way do you go? Do you buy an ocean liner like Alan Greenspan and try to ride it out? Watch out for Somali pirates, true representatives of the people. Hide out in the mountains of Nicaragua, hoping the mudslides don’t get you? Tuck yourself away on a hillside in Maui? That might be worst of all, when our mother the ocean, the entity that gave this planet its life, finally decides to chastise us for what we have done to her. You have never seen awesome like the angry sea...


If you choose to run, especially after the forced evacuation announcement (which I’ve heard will be June 16), your first roadblock will be your last. The men in the white trucks have orders to shoot to kill anyone who disobeys their orders. But if you follow their orders, chances are good you’ll wind up in a FEMA camp, where you will be herded into a barbed wire encampment (rented by the Feds in Georgia and Alabama for this particular event) and left to starve to death, just like Eisenhower did to those Germans all those years ago.

In these bleeding days, beating the rush is the best way to stay alive at least a little longer.

If I’m wrong about any of the things I’ve said or written in the past few weeks — since I first felt the Earth begin to bleed in a serious and howling way — once the danger has passed and I see this has all been a paranoid panic attack, when the all-clear is sounded, I will only be too glad to queue up at my local VA psych ward and request admittance to medicate the error of my ways. I pray that my future will be that bright.


A number of you reading this and a much larger percentage of those who aren’t will not make it to the end of the year, felled as you will be by the hazards of this unprecedented, rapidly unfolding disaster, and other disasters shortly due that will greatly reduce your chances of surviving. I will have a longer story later about useful procedures should you encounter that event.

Tonight they were talking about oil burnoffs near Navarre Beach, in the Florida Panhandle, in water overloaded with the dispersant named Corexit, which exudes lethal fumes at temperatures above 90 degrees.


And this is the brew that the hurricanes sure to come will rain down on Georgia and the Carolinas when they whirl through the Caribbean, as they do most every year.

I know a couple of young mothers in the Smoky Mountains who should be moving further north. But everybody’s not going to get the message. Charles is going to sit there on Bourbon Street and play his horn until the sky turns red. Brigitte is saying "come on down, we’re going to rebuild N’Orleans bigger and better than ever." I turn my head away in pain. I wonder which of my friends will make it to the Canadian Rockies before British Petroleum’s deliberately errant shot turns the entire southeastern United States into a giant gas chamber.

You’re not all going to make it. You don’t need to be a fortune teller to read these cards. There has been not one bit of good news since this nightmare began. Things run true to form. Get out while you can still breathe. But remember. The amount of poison in the Gulf will hiss for many years. Whether it will actually kill every living thing on the planet is a question only the future can answer. But what we know now — facts on the ground — that enough poison has been released already — with much, much more to come in the future... it’s enough poison to do the job.

John Kaminski is a writer who used to live on the Gulf Coast of Florida, but is now on the run from the rapidly growing shadow of human greed, which as we speak now creeps north toward Georgia.

Useful links:

The Death of BP?


GULF OIL DISPERSANT COREXIT IS 11 TIMES MORE LETHAL THAN OIL

The Similarities Between Deepwater Horizon and Global Financial Meltdown


Imagine North America on fire



7 comments:

Pat said...

Thank you for this, Ant. Riveting reading.

I've passed it on to my friends.

mh said...

Dear Antares.....why do they continue to call it a "spill" when it is spewing & gushing undersea with all the mighty force of several volcanoes. The fuel for the inevitable global firestorms. You are so right, it is a metaphor for human greed. Now... lets put our hearts and minds to averting it in all the ways we know..... xxx

masterwordsmith said...

Dear Antares

Thanks for sharing this. Most alarming to read about what could lie ahead...Why is truth almost always veiled? To think the rest of us have to pay the price for the greed of some!

Sighs

Anonymous said...

mate do u think ur the only person who's thought of this?
This aint hollywood so take a step back and believe that their are others who understand this fully well, and havent given up hope.
Let them do their job, pessimists aren't needed.

Antares said...

Anonymous @ 7:04AM - Been meaning to ask, what sort of gratuity will you be getting when you quit the marines?

Dublin Mick said...

http://dublinmick.wordpress.com/2010/06/29/the-gulf-of-mexico-sea-floor-will-collapse-fau/

Antares said...

Dublin Mick - Thanks for the links in your very interesting blogpost. It made me realize how little most of us know about the planet we call home and how she's structured. Yet, in our feeding frenzy, we go around drilling and blasting and heedlessly mucking around with elemental forces.