In the old days, the fate of armies or nations was read from the entrails of birds. Today, in the belly of the whale, the fisherman finds not a golden ring, not accursed Jonah, but a mass of plastic. We as creatures among creatures are frail. What lives on is not organic, and never was alive, the plastic bottle, the plastic fork, the plastic shopping bag, the refuse of a 100 year old meal. If you wish your words to live for 1,000 years, do not write poetry, do not blog, inscribe them on a garbage sack. The garbage decays at sea; the sack remains and may yet be found in the belly of the beast, if beasts there be years hence. Via PM @The Happy Tutor. My own views, as Chief Philanthropy and Public Relations Officer Pro Bono Publico at Wealth Bondage are more positive. There is no plastic in the ocean. I asked my boss.