I didn't see Mitt Romney interviewed by David Gregory on Meet the Press yesterday, but I've now seen a few choice quotes. Just as the most memorable line from his convention speech (for me) was this one: "President Obama promised to begin to slow the rise of the oceans and to heal the planet. [GOP conventioneers snickering and jeering] My promise ... is to help you and your family. [cheers] ", the most jarring line from the Gregory interview I saw was this one:
Fuck you polar bears. Fuck you planet. Fuck you grandkids.
It's not a photo or video or song that comes to my mind when I think of this shortsighted profit-driven anti-environmentalism. When I think of the world after the ravages of human-influenced climate change, it's these lines from Section V, "What The Thunder Said," in Eliot's "The Waste Land" that come to mind.
"I’m not in this race to slow the rise of the oceans or to heal the planet. I’m in this race to help the American people." -- Mitt Romney, August 9, 2012It's obviously a memorized and well-rehearsed talking point.
Fuck you polar bears. Fuck you planet. Fuck you grandkids.
It's not a photo or video or song that comes to my mind when I think of this shortsighted profit-driven anti-environmentalism. When I think of the world after the ravages of human-influenced climate change, it's these lines from Section V, "What The Thunder Said," in Eliot's "The Waste Land" that come to mind.
Here is no water but only rock | |
Rock and no water and the sandy road | |
The road winding above among the mountains | |
Which are mountains of rock without water | |
If there were water we should stop and drink | 335 |
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think | |
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand | |
If there were only water amongst the rock | |
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit | |
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit | 340 |
There is not even silence in the mountains | |
But dry sterile thunder without rain | |
There is not even solitude in the mountains | |
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl | |
From doors of mud-cracked houses If there were water | 345 |
And no rock | |
If there were rock | |
And also water | |
And water | |
A spring | 350 |
A pool among the rock | |
If there were the sound of water only | |
Not the cicada | |
And dry grass singing | |
But sound of water over a rock | 355 |
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees | |
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop | |
But there is no water |
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