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A Carbon-Copy Confession of a CO2 Sin
Or, more simply: ‘A Flying Guilt Trip’
You turn left not right, disdaining the fight, the unseemly race, for a petty inch of elbow space. You want your escape to a far away place to begin in style, smug inside. More money than sense bought that cocoon, to hide the guilt of your latest beachscape. The indulgent luxury of twiddled toes in warm salt, UV-bathed, sand-displayed skin. To idly witness avarice, no matter if real or vain artifice. You’ve burnt CO2, haven’t you? You took a plane, not a train. You’re raising kids to expect the same. Have you no shame? Don’t you see? What you’re doing won’t help a generation wondering if being born was necessary. We’re but small fish in this sea, your friends all agree. You deserve it. You’re worth it. The money you work for so hard, should help ease your one life, one too short for depressing thoughts on distant things causing strife. It’s for others to decide, not judge, if your sky-high rides mean dire consequences for those less fortunates’ fate. Each castigating the other for doing too little, too late. So now, as before, you’ll escape, spewing planetary platitudes for all of our sakes.
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