Gasping

The last week I've lived in blurry distorted reality, alternating between sweats and chills, and coughing until my brain runs out of oxygen and forces the body to collapse. I thought it was a malaria relapse, but it's more likely swine flu, or some other super-virus, because malaria doesn't coat your lungs with green sticky rubber. I had big plans to intervene in the Climate Summit talks in Barcelona. It's the last place the big shots are meeting, right here right now in Barcelona, the final round of discussions before Copenhagen. I did manage to crawl out to one action last night, where we disrupted the posh dinner of the hydroelectric dam lobby. They were treating various world gov't officials to some fine fish and peddling their influence at the same time. Maybe they ate salmon, farmed salmon, since it's nearly impossible to get wild salmon in europe, now that the rivers have long been modified to suit only mankind and no longer have healthy fish stocks. We made noise, blocked the entrance, etc.. of course the police eventually arrived but the job was already done so we packed up and left. But now I'm thinking that I didn't go nearly far enough, that I've got a special gift to deliver. I should find out who the real assholes are at this summit, disguise myself as a courier, enter and elevator with them, and start coughing. My super-flu would take them out of the negotiations for a a few weeks. I could change the course of the Copenhagen Summit and save the fucking world, five well placed coughs could prevent total ecological collapse! Here is a bit of press in Kenya about some of our antics here, it's mentioned in local and UK media of course, but somehow it's more exciting to think about Kenyans reading about our humble efforts while drinking their morning coffee.