Plastic Rocket

Imagine in the far future, when the beaches of Long Beach have been under shallow water due to the rise in coastline, and then, during some seismic activity, some of the seafloor gets thrust upward. Now exposed, pieces begin to crumble away until a certain piece of sandstone appears, and locked in it forever is our legacy, our fingerprint for the future generations of dominant animals that may not have any concept of epochs or eras or past or future.

Our fossilized legacy staring back up at us, looking almost like a rocket:

At first I thought this composition looked pretty cool, like a plastic rocket  hurtling through the air. After I got it on the computer it began to resemble a fossilized nightmare.

Instead of Lucy's footprint in the Toba eruption's ash, the symbol of the Homo genus beginning it's upright march to modernity, we get our legacy, our footprint.

And it is scary and wasteful and indicative of our thing. We've created the world where weak drugs like caffeine can be spread all over the globe through a market, and the delivery method to your body is achieved through a receptacle that may not need fossilization to last forever. It is at once both wondrous and stupefying.