Why I Hiked Neahkahnie Mountain Instead of Shutting Down the Port   20 comments

I’ve been buoyed of late by the Occupy movement. Having joined the kick off march and rally for Occupy Portland, participated in the October 15th global day of protest, and closely followed OWS for months, I saw the movement as the first real possibility in my lifetime of enacting broad social, political and economic change. As a proponent of such change–of radical change–I dared to hope that this may be the beginning of the long sought revolution, unveiling itself before my very eyes, in my lifetime, at what seemed a critical moment of history. I have, in recent years, danced around the sense that a reckoning is coming–an apocalypse of some kind, the collapse of industrial civilization–and I have wanted to see a revolution to help head off that collapse, or at least to try to work within its confines rather than fight it to the bitter end, inevitably to the still-further impoverishment of all.

Occupy slotted itself very nicely into the space in which those dreams resided. There was an intoxicating power to the way it grew and flourished, drawing in thousands and spreading across the globe, linking up with other protests, movements and revolutions, and commanding the attention of political and economic elites. This, finally, seemed to be history unfolding. It was happening.

But then, within the same time frame, I began to question my dreams of apocalypse. Much of this questioning came out of a series of posts written by John Michael Greer over at The Archdruid Report. In writing about magic and thaumaturgy, he brings to account the sort of binary thinking that drives such apocalyptic thinking, as well as its utopian sibling. Greer argues that humans have a tendency toward binary thinking, seeing “polarized relationships between one thing and another, in which the two things are seen as total opposites.” He believes, due to its frequency, that this is “likely hardwired into our brains” and that it stems from “the snap decisions our primate ancestors had to make on the African savannah,” sorting things into “food/nonfood, predator/nonpredator, and so on.” Today, we have the ability to go beyond such binary thinking into more complex thought processes, but a proper amount of stress can trigger our more primitive mind frame, pushing us back into binaries.

The tendency to project our timeline out into apocalyptic or utopian fantasies, then, stems from that binary thinking. Some see history moving us toward an ever-more-perfect society while still others believe that we are heading for a complete collapse–the end of civilization or, more colloquially, the zombie apocalypse. I’ve tended toward this latter mind frame, spurred on by signs of ecological catastrophe, a rapidly changing climate, the plateauing of oil production and the exhaustion of physical resources. And I do still think that we’re in for a reckoning on a global scale. Yet the idea that it’s going to collapse all at once, in some kind of fiery apocalypse–or more specifically, in some kind of sudden and complete withdrawal of governmental authority, industrial economic activity and legal and social structures–no longer holds as much sway with me.

My new found hesitancy to embrace such a concept stems, again, from recently-read writings of Greer’s. He notes that past civilizations that have collapsed have all followed a similar model, though the details of course vary wildly. However, the similarity tends to manifest itself, in Greer’s words, as a “stairstep sequence of decline that’s traced by the history of so many declining civilizations—half a century of crisis and disintegration, say, followed by several decades of relative stability and partial recovery, and then a return to crisis; rinse and repeat, and you’ve got the process that turned the Forum of imperial Rome into an early medieval sheep pasture.” Furthermore, in his book The Ecotechnic Future, Greer argues for a long perspective view of societies that casts them in evolutionary terms, with our current industrial civilization being, essentially, a less-evolved mutation of a technic society. In his frame, our use of technology was the evolutionary leap and our current use of it is just one early and not particularly resilient manifestation of that leap. As we deplete the fossil fuels and other physical resources that power our current evolutionary branch of society, we’ll be forced into new branchings. However, he foresees (far) future societies likely still using technology, just in more appropriate and sustainable manners.

Looking out on Cape Falcon from the beginning of the trail.

These new-to-me perspectives–of stairstep collapse and an evolutionary model overlaid on our society–has evolved my own thinking about what our future may entail. While, as I mentioned above, I still see that reckoning on its way, I see it less likely as playing out in complete and catastrophic collapse. Rather, I’m swayed by Greer’s argument that we’ll see more of a stairstep collapse and future transitional phases–though they’ll likely be trying affairs, to say the least. This shift in perspective on collapse, meanwhile, has also shifted my perspective on the Occupy movement. Simply put, I no longer think it can or will lead to the revolution I previously hoped for. More specifically, I don’t think that revolution is even possible.

If we are heading for a stairstep collapse rooted more in the increasing scarcity of fossil fuels and their incredibly-concentrated sources of energy, as well as the inability of America to continue to control a share of the world’s resources far beyond its population share, then we are facing a future with no grand solution. Our course is untenable; there’s no solution to make it tenable. If there’s no grand solution, then there’s no revolutionary moment that can save us from collapse, from  a series of harsh changes that we don’t want to and are unprepared to make. There are only small moments of adjustment. There are only high levels of persistence. There is only a long process of muddling through, of taking the next step not in accordance with a long-established plan, but with a deft adjustment to recently-arisen circumstances. There is only a series of moves made in conjunction with local realities, not one grand saving grace rooted in a globalized reality. There is only you, and your family, your household and your neighbor’s, the small community around you, a watershed, a localized climate and geography that is asserting itself every day as a greater and greater percentage of your total reality. That’s the only solution, and there’s nothing particularly grand about it.

 

My experiences with the Occupy movement have been intoxicating. They’ve been empowering. And I don’t think there’s anything surprising or unique about this. In the context of a political and economic system that has rendered the vast majority of people powerless, that voice and sense of impact that the Occupy movement has provided can be addicting. Finally, we think, politicians are responding! Finally, the media is acknowledging us, even if it’s half the time an acknowledgement made up of nothing more than spite and degradation. The Occupy movement isn’t an online petition destined to be ignored. Nor is it dispiriting, as such petitions tend to be. It, rather, engages you in a way that such easy actions do not. Instead of clicking mindlessly, you come together with like minded people and you voice your displeasure, your anger, your frustration and outrage. My experience with that was addictive–I wanted more of it! Based on the growth of OWS, I don’t think my reaction was an isolated one.

Yet, Greer once again wrote something that impacted the way I thought about this reaction. In an essay entitled “A Choice of Contemplations,” Greer writes that “The vast majority of Americans these days believe that something has gone very wrong with their country, but there’s nothing like a national consensus about what has gone wrong, much less how to fix it. By chance or design, the Occupy movement has capitalized on this by refusing to be pinned down to specific demands or specific critiques, mounting a protest in which protest itself is the central content. Tactically speaking, this is brilliant; it’s created a movement that anyone with a grievance can join.”

A particularly beautiful and calming spot along the trail.

This rings true to me. Since the inception of the movement, I’ve been sympathetic to people who have called for specific demands, but unconvinced. Ultimately, I thought the lack of demands lent the movement a great strength. As soon as demands were introduced, they could be used to split apart the movement, to discredit it, and could become a flash point for a full-fledged attack from the movement’s enemies. All of which, I think, is true. Yet the part I wasn’t seeing as clearly was what Greer wrote. The lack of demands opens the movement to anyone who’s angry, which is damn near everyone. Not all will join, but the potential is there. In that sense, the movement was primed for growth. It seems not a coincidence, then, that it grew very fast from its inception.

But I can’t help but think there’s something more we’re facing here. Yes, we have an exploitative and brutal economic order and a corrupt and ineffective political class. Yes, we have a co-opted and bankrupt media and decaying national infrastructure. Yes, we have a societal and cultural order that is propped up by the underpinnings of domination and brutalization. And God yes, we need movements against these unfair and destructive aspects of our society. But what do we do when these movements get caught up in the same system? It’s a common refrain from the Occupy movement (though by no means a consensus) that we need to rebuild the middle class and create a fair economy that provides everyone an honest opportunity for a well paying job with benefits. But let’s be honest for a moment here. The middle class America that most of us envision when we talk about this is bullshit.

It is, I’ll say it again, bullshit.

This is a class built on the exploitation of the rest of the planet: many of its human occupants as well as all its non-human occupants and damn near everything else found in the earth’s ecosystem. The American way of life consumes vastly more resources on this planet than it has population–and the planet is overpopulated. We’ve been living in a fantasy land of the exploitation of concentrated-energy fossil fuels and the destruction and waste of the planet’s physical resources, and we built multiple classes on that exploitation and waste. One of those is the middle class. It’s not as wasteful and as unsustainable as the upper class here in America, but it sure as hell isn’t sustainable, either.

I don’t see a future in which we don’t have to deal with dramatically lower wealth and standards of living. This doesn’t mean we all have to be miserable, dead or living in squalor–though I will be surprised if we get through this tumultuous next few decades without our share of chaos and suffering–but we sure as hell aren’t going to have processed foods and microwaves, TV and the internet, video games and 401k and guaranteed retirements, a country in which a tiny fraction of the population farms, massive tractors and automobiles and development strategies powered by oil, or an endless supply of cheap technological gadgets to distract us from our ever-more meaningless lives. We’re going to have to reacquaint ourselves with limits and physical realities and the necessity to live with the sustainable levels of energy and resources provided by the planet’s ecosystem. The analogy is simple and has been used numerous times: we’ve run up the credit card bill and now we’re going to have to pay it off–while simultaneously learning how to live without the extra purchasing power of that credit.

 

The model going forward is impossible to predict in its exact details, though one could sketch some likely outlines. One reality that seems undeniable, though, is that we’re going to move away from globalization and return to localities. In fact, we’re looking at a hyper-localized future, in which we’re going to have to reacquaint ourselves with the idea of making our living from a particular piece of land, rather than just existing on a piece of land that means nothing to us while we import our existence in from the globalized, industrial economy. This is huge. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to be made harder by the fact that, over the last couple generations, we’ve discarded an incredible amount of the knowledge needed to live in such a manner. We’re going to have to resurrect as much of that knowledge that still exists, create new knowledge through lengthy trial and error, and train incredible numbers of people in these forgotten skills. And we’re going to have to do it within a compressed time frame–much quicker than such a process would play out naturally.

A stray root from this tree forms what looks like a little hobbit house door.

Over the last month or so, as these ideas have been percolating and coalescing in the back of my mind–spurred on by a variety of Greer’s writings and my own knowledge base and lifestyle–I’ve been struggling to figure out what I think now about the Occupy movement and my place in it. And while I haven’t come to a firm conclusion, I did come to one particular course of action on December 12th. On that day, I had originally planned to travel to Portland from the Oregon coast, where I’m living on a farm, and join in on the attempt to shut down the Port of Portland. As the Occupy encampments had been broken up by authorities and massive displays of force had successfully pushed the movement into a new and quieter phase, I felt the urge to join in on striking back and making clear to the authorities that the movement was not defeated–that it had not been broken under their violent repression. But as the day grew closer on the calendar, my motivations changed. The more I thought about leaving the farm to drive again into Portland, the more I wanted to stay. The more I thought about shutting down the port, the more I wanted to connect to my local landscape.

Therefore, I chose to hike on December 12th. I hiked up Neahkahnie Mountain, which is not the particular land I live on, but is a prominent element of the local geography. It was not a long hike–about four miles round trip, up to the top of the mountain from a midway point and back down to that point. It was a beautiful hike on a glorious day, the sky blue and the sun shining and everything simply far nicer than it typically would be on a mid-December day along the Oregon coast. The air was chilly, but it was no match for the body heat worked up by the physical exertion. I hiked, I observed, I experienced, I worked my body and touched the trees and stood multiple times in awe of the beautiful world around me. I felt calm and relaxed and my mind slowed but became sharper, more perceptive. This, then, was a different kind of exhilaration than the protest and port shutdown would have offered. It was something that struck me as more holistic, more calming . . . more grounding. It was a connection to my local landscape, and it was critical.

If we’re to live in a future with limited access to fossil fuels and the need to live at a truly local level, then we are going to have to rediscover the places we live. We will need to study them, observe them, become intimate and familiar with them. We will need to do our best to understand them, love them, forgive them the challenges they provide us and embrace their peculiarities. This is not a quick process. It is, in fact a lifelong process–a process ideally suited to multiple lives, even. In an ideal reality, culture would provide us the capability of understanding the land over multiple lifetimes in the form of the knowledge passed down to us from previous generations, living on the same land we came to live on. The reality today is far different. Very, very few of us have such a connection. Many of us are nomads.

The port–in its current form, at least–will not last my lifetime. Perhaps my certainty is hubris, yet that certainty remains within me. The land I live on now and in the future (which will hopefully be approximately the same) will be there throughout my lifetime and beyond. And at some point during this life of mine, I will be necessarily more tied to it than I am today. If I want to secure my future, then, and to make that future better, than I best learn the lay of that land. And every day I jet off somewhere else is another day I’m behind in that process. Similarly, every day I exist on this land but spend the day on my computer rather than out on it is another day I’m behind in that process. (Hello, today!) I need to make these days count, and on December 12th I believe I made my day count.

 

I don’t begrudge the Occupy movement. Rather, in many ways, I cheer it on. We need the activism. We need protest. We need people who are willing to do whatever they can to try to stop this machine as it murders our fellow creatures, human or otherwise. But I also think we have to keep a steady focus on a future beyond that machine. It’s coming down, the machine–that’s inevitable. It’s fuel is running out and its structural integrity is degrading. What replaces it is a question of high importance and whatever the answer is, it’s going to be rooted in a future reality that is smaller and more local and far more connected to the landbase and the ecological sphere within which each individual exists.

I ask people not to lose sight of that. Protest, yes, absolutely, but don’t become too addicted to the intoxicating sense of power and voice. There is a smaller, quieter, but I would argue greater power in learning your land, connecting to the creatures of this world, and figuring out how to live and work well in this world. That is the ultimate struggle of our time. The machine we attempt to stop is simply the result of our failure to do this good work. We have to figure out our own lives and how to live them better–how to live them as properly as we possibly can–if we are to craft a future better than that machine. Otherwise, when it comes to a coughing halt, devoid of fuel and falling to pieces, all of us who spent our time only fighting will no longer have an existence. We’ll be lost, and in that loss will only be chaos–the vacuum where a meaningful and connected life should be, where our new culture is searching for purchase, for the nourishing soil within which it will grow.

The view from the top of Neahkahnie Mountain, looking out over Manzanita, Nehalem and beyond.

20 responses to “Why I Hiked Neahkahnie Mountain Instead of Shutting Down the Port

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  1. My favorite part of the Occupy movement is in it’s diversity. I was reading an account of a protester at the port in Oakland and she thanks the Food Not Bombs folks for bringing out coffee and muffins just when she was about to faint from hunger. Who would think muffins are a part of the revolution? But feeding people and walking local trails and slowing down and in general being happy are all ways we reclaim our natural humanity and place on this planet instead of being in the constant state of agitation about where we fit in. The real challenge is to have compassion for those who plan strip mines and tar sands projects and see in them what needs to be healed in all of us. Our minds can tell us many stories about who is right and who is wrong and how things are and will be. The only reality is the one we choose. I choose a world where people who plan wars and LNG projects are put under suicide watch at a local healing facility- their mental processes seen as self destructive, dangerous and in need of care. Let’s start talking about this stuff as what it is- a greed born mental illness- instead of legitimizing it by calling it the “economic indicators” and “collatoral damage” and “environmental impacts”. Oh- wait.. this is your blog! I’ll rant somewhere else. Thanks for the thoughtful prose Joel!

    postivefuturevisions
    • Thanks, Ginger. It probably hasn’t come through very well, but I have been working on processing what you’ve been saying lately about crafting positive visions of the future. I’m still trying to figure out what I think about that. Not that I’m against it, obviously, but . . . I do think there are some physical realities and limits that we’re coming up against and that it means there’s going to be some harsh adjustments in the near future. So I’m thinking about positive visions in the context of what I think those realities might be. I want the positive vision, but to feel honest about it I want to craft it within the context and constraints that I think we’ll soon–and are already starting to–face.

      Some of that positive vision is already in place. Being rooted in the local land. Working well on that land, in a way that provides me a living while simultaneously nourishing the land and all the other creatures that live and depend upon it. Connecting to the members of my community–all of them, human, animal, plant. Listening better. Reducing distractions. Being physically active in a productive and joyful manner. Appreciating the beauty around me. Taking time, though in the context of getting done what I need to. Learning, always. There’s more, of course, and those are somewhat general, but that’s part of what I was thinking in this post–we can only work in generalities and then very specific details that are rooted in a very specific place.

      Anyway, I continue to think of what you’ve been talking about so that I can eventually provide my own positive vision for when you’re collecting them.

  2. Wonderful post! I agree that getting connected to the land you live on is essential, even if you live in town or city… that much of the fragmentation we experience in our society comes from having no base. I find myself increasingly reluctant to leave my plot of land to travel, even to see good friends and family. But thank you for the reminder that sitting in front of my computer isn’t being outside. The day’s a-wasting!

    • Thanks, Cathy. Yes, I think we need to spend a lot more time rooting ourselves where we live. It’s something I struggle with still. It’s so easy not to notice the land around you, even when that’s where you spend the majority of your time. It really is amazing how that works. It does show how divorced we are from the concept that has been common throughout human history that you have to make your survival mostly from the land you live upon.

      I spend too much time on the computer, too, and I’ve particularly spent a lot the last few days–from writing this post through to responding to comments on it here and more so over at Daily Kos, where I cross-posted it. Today I got away from the computer to work at the farm down the road and get my first knitting lesson. Tomorrow I think I’ll take some time to go for a long walk and perhaps go poke around in the lower field a bit. The land calls!

  3. I read this post late last night, and have been pondering it all day – so many interesting thoughts and ideas. I came back to scan through it again, and I will return to comment when I have more time. For the moment though I just wanted to say, Lovely photographs! I invest quite a bit of time and energy to exploring the areas I find myself in, and even as I prepare to move elsewhere I am eager to get outside a few more times to revisit favorite trails and take one last view of this coastline. I especially appreciate that last photo of yours, and am looking forward to seeing the West coast for myself next year!

    • Thanks, Sarah! I highly encourage the going back outside a few more times before you go. I’ve never been to Maine, but I’ve always had the sense that I would really love its beauty. I imagine an impressive coastline for the state–I really have no idea if that’s the case or not. That said, the West coast is incredible–particularly the Oregon coast. In many places it’s a rough and rocky edge, which lends itself to some pretty dramatically beautiful stretches. I definitely recommend the general area where I am. It’s one of the more beautiful stretches, I think.

      I definitely hope to hear thoughts from you on the post. There’s a lot in it, I realize. I was trying to deal with some 25,000 words worth of heavy concepts from the blog posts I linked to as well as elements from Greer’s book. Trying to process that in 3,000 words might not have been the best idea!

  4. Thank you for your well-written and thoughtful observations. I landed here from your comment on JMG’s most recent blog post, and found it well worth the time. You seem to have a firm grasp of the ideas Mr. Greer espouses, and incorporating them into your thoughts of participation in the Occupy movement really seems to have paid off for you in terms of getting involved locally, which is the only viable direction in which to travel. I DON’T think many people will find the contraction and simplification of our current economy and “standard of living” to be as miserable as you imagine, though of course there will be a potentially stressful period of adjustment.

    I especially appreciate your comments about the Occupy movement concerning itself with rebuilding the middle class (whatever that is or may have been) as bullshit, as it totally ignores the reality of energy and resource depletion. If you haven’t already checked it out, you may like the writings of James Howard Kunstler (http://kunstlercast.com/), who writes both fiction and non-fiction accounts of life without cheap energy. Thanks for the post, I’ll be checking it out again!

    • Thanks, Tim. I’m still grappling with what kind of downsizing of our energy and resource consumption I think we’ll face in the future–as well as trying to figure out how much to even bother grappling with it. It will be less, I’m sure, and I expect significantly less. But the details and timeframe and the way it all plays out . . . that’s really impossible to know beyond very general levels. My tendency is to try to know, anyway, and I’m working on getting away from that tendency. It’s an internal battle, for sure. As you note, though, I do think we’re facing a quite stressful period of adjustment. I’ll be quite happy if it’s not as bad as I fear it might be.

      I read and generally enjoy Kunstler’s blog, but I was unfamiliar with the KunstlerCast. Thanks for the link to that–I’ll have to listen to a few episodes.

      I also want to note that I clicked over to the (your?) blog linked to your name and from there went to this and was absolutely blown away. I recommend anyone reading this comment to check out that link and take the time to read through it completely. Absolutely brilliant. It dovetails a bit with what I wrote here, except that it’s far more detailed and far more thought out and exists upon a much stronger base and in general is just significantly more impressive. I loved it and I suspect I’m going to be thinking about it and reading the various links within for awhile. I imagine I’ll eventually write about it here on this blog. So thank you for getting me over to that essay, Tim.

  5. Hey Joel – this is a follow up to your reply over on JMG’s site…

    I was actually talking about Iberdrola Renewables…but you’re spot-on about Vestas and Intel as well.

    I did get to have the North V. That’s one mighty tasty IPA. There are many, many things to love about Astoria. Unfortunately, I’m still hooked into the Office Fauna reliance JMG was talking about, so there aren’t many options for me there. Maybe some day…

    Did you see the article in the SeattleTimes about the Blue Whales? Worth checking out.

    Be well.

    • Hey Dan,

      I haven’t actually heard of Iberdrola. I should have realized you weren’t talking about Vestas as it’s a Danish company. I was thinking there was some Spanish angle I didn’t know about. :)

      I like Astoria quite a bit, myself. It’s a great little city and I could see living there, though I have no plans. A farmer from the area is actually down visiting our place tonight. I’ll have to track down some of that North V. I’m sure I can find it on tap at Apex or Horse Brass or Bailey’s or somewhere in Portland while I’m there over the holidays. I thought maybe I saw it somewhere in a 22oz bottle, as well, though maybe I’m imagining that.

      Did not see the Blue Whales article. I’ll track it down.

  6. Joel-

    One other thing…I think part of being rooted in the land is being rooted in our understanding of our selves. For me, that’s taken form in the turn to Eastern spiritual traditions; poetry, prose, meditation, etc. I think it’s important to explore not only the nuts and bolts of a new world in the physical realm, but also the hows and whys of a new world in the metaphysical realms…in the true meaning of the word…the relationship between the physical and the created, the hard stuff and the mental stuff.

    A long hike up a tall mountain is just about the perfect start…

    Dan

    • I agree completely. I’m still sorting out my metaphysical self, to some degree. It’s always been rooted in nature and the land, though. Hiking and camping have always had spiritual elements to them for me and running water and forests do something special for my soul. They’re healing, no question. I particularly like hiking in this regard as the combination of the immersion within the landscape and the connection to my physical self that comes out of the work and movement of the hike–hitting that point of exertion where everything syncs up and my breath matches my movements and it feels as though I could hike forever–creates a great calm and sense of . . . connection, spirituality, greater than. Whatever that is. It’s lovely.

      I was recently poking around the AODA website and picked up Greer’s Druidry Handbook. I’m reading through it and debating the possibility of embarking along the Druid path. I’ve made no decision, but I’m feeling a definite draw.

  7. “It is, I’ll say it again, bullshit.This is a class built on the exploitation of the rest of the planet:…”

    So true. What good arrival can we expect when it is begun with harm. Thanks for the writeup, Joel.

  8. “we sure as hell aren’t going to have processed foods and microwaves, TV and the internet, video games”

    I don’t know why not. Contra the Archdruid, we’re not facing a collapse of industrial civilization. We are facing a collapse, I believe, but of a more limited sort. The personal automobile will likely have to go, along with airplanes, and a few other grossly profligate and wildly energy-hungry items. There simply is not room for them. But there is still a great abundance of resources — sufficient for PCs, microwaves, etc., that you mentioned. We’re not about to regress to 1800 or 800 (AD). More like 1950, except with computers. :-)

    IMO, of course. (After studying peak oil and related matters for about 12 years.)

    • Well, you’re a bit more optimistic than I, Alan (though I don’t know that I would classify a continued widespread use of microwaves, TV, the internet and video games as optimistic [okay, I do quite like the internet, but am unconvinced it’s made the world better]) but it’s entirely possible I’m seeing a more limited future than will occur. And I don’t expect all those things to be long gone in the next decade or two–but perhaps 30-50 years out, toward the tail end of my life (if I manage to stick around that long.) But I just don’t see the massive industrial infrastructure needed for the continued widespread use of these gadgets to be able to be maintained too much farther into the future. That’s all built on fossil fuels and they’re going to become much more expensive and much more restricted in their availability.

      Video games I expect to become a luxury that most people will not be able to afford, before the industry collapses completely. TV will likely go the same way, though it will probably stick around longer. Microwaves I can’t foresee too much of a future for. Even if they stay economically viable, as we necessarily transition to a food system that’s more reliant on organic and small-scale agriculture, thus transitioning most people from the processed food diets of today to diets based on real foods, I think microwaves will simply become less popular. We’ll deal more in actual cooking and that will be quite a wonderful change.

      PCs and the internet . . . that requires a massive industrial infrastructure, very intensive computer manufacturing (which has been mostly outsourced to Asian countries) and incredible amounts of electricity. I think the internet will become very expensive and within 20 years will be a much more exclusive network, maintained possibly in a different capacity for governmental and military use but not a widespread consumer luxury as it is today.

      We’ll see, of course. That’s part of the excitement about the future!

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