We thought the sea took away the waste we dumped. And we complained if a shitty oil tanker dumped waste near us. Well, we are eight huge super ships dumping the shit of their passengers into the sea - one of the ships is very small, but it seems like its life depends on following in the wake of the big ones. And in shit, let's not just include little poops, there's oil, fertilizers, chemicals, medical and industrial waste, and whatever else you can imagine. Because we dump more than you can imagine.
We thought we would never pass through the same place again. And that if we did, the sea would have swallowed everything. Come on, we thought the sea didn't need to digest. Since we haven't seen its stomach or intestines, it turns out we're going to start discovering it through its ass. However, we were worried and outraged by the waste that the sea threw onto the deck over our sides. Slobs, we said, who are the ones throwing this that comes to us? Slobs, civilization!, as if our ships were sailing ships. Now, what do we ask the captain for, another route? To clean the sea?
The rains that fell last winter in La Graciosa were sterile, to say the least. Few flowers dared to take that information. Now stop and imagine: it rains, rains and rains and nothing turns green. Don't believe it. But it happened. Well, something turned green but it lasted a sigh. How much seed lost.
They taught it in school: rainwater comes from the sea. Or from lakes and rivers that are even more screwed up. And in cloud format they sail through those skies collecting all kinds of fumes and filthy particles. There were a few who were sent to the crow's nest, shouting, alerting and warning until they seemed like dislocated clowns to that mass that happily wandered around the deck.
The rest, the majority of the passengers in the holds, cabins and game rooms, oblivious to everything, throwing more wood into the powder keg. Angry if someone minimally stained their machine or their honor. Looking at the world on crystal screens. Dreaming in the holds of 'Paradise' - as the flotilla calls itself - of traveling to other paradises, where the sea is blue and emerald green transparent.
Now, some and others lean over the sides and look incredulously at how much crap. And how much strange and untimely life. And of course they ask for a change of captain. So that the new captain changes course. Not what we throw into the sea.
