Come Wednesday it won't be alright

People who know the water have a way of sensing when something big and nasty is coming from the ocean. They can feel it, the way a strong breeze will crescendo for a second or two, laden with thick moist air from the tropics.

Nothing you can quantify, nothing the news channels have told you about with their forecast projection models and wind speed estimates.

What will likely come ashore Wednesday, going into Thursday: and it seems it usually comes ashore at sometime between midnight and dawn, will be a thing like nothing many of us have ever seen; a thick black tide within the waves themselves.

Remember those images of the Persian Gulf after Saddam lit the oil fields on fire?

Yeah, like that.

Only then will people wake up around this country, around the world and understand what this corporation has done to us.

Those who have been urging us not to Boycott BP are going to realize all this time they have been placing themselves in the role of the German House Frau of the early 1940s who with feigned nervous calm, did her dishes, humming a guilty little tune, while the trains clickety-clacked by just a few yards from her home; trains en route to places like Dachau and Auschwitz.

Those who have filled their tanks recently with gas from BP stations, also, are going to experience a sinking feeling in their guts; something like they felt the first time they ran over a dog, or a cat accidentally, but with fatal results none-the-less.

BP will likely have stores in their corporate fleet shuttered or perhaps even boarded up. Some of us are going to be so... damned ... angry. Some of us, already brought to the brink of hopelessness will not be able to resist the temptation to vent their anger on those god damn signs with the hypocritical yellow and green coronas, under those innocent letters in lower case.

Those of us who understand the sea know that there are few things in this world more inexorable than herself. When wind moves across water at a high rate of speed over a number of days, say, more than three, whatever is floating in the water there within that fetch, will inexorably wash ashore.

Those of us who know these things, and who have also not shielded ourselves in a cocoon of denial about the size of this oil spill; those of us who have gritted our teeth and dared ourselves to open the web URL with the satellite image of this monster in the Gulf exposed in all its hideous glory, can see where this is going.

It doesn't matter that the storm called Alex is moving well west of the Deepwater Horizon ground zero site. The wind fields extend hundreds of miles, nearly a thousand, from the center of the hurricane. Southeast wind will have its say, and the black tide will hit our coasts.

It will likely be something so black and evil as to approach biblical proportion in many a shocked eye.

You can already see it in the concerned, sweaty looks from the weather forecasters; feel it on the web in the panicked typings of madmen such as myself and the conspiracy theorists.

This time, however, we are not wrong.

This will not be something anyone can stop. It won't matter what your politics are; who you voted for, what you tweeted on the internet. It won't matter how you politicize it, from the right or the left. You won't be able to use it to boomerang your hate onto your enemy or philosophical foe. It will be beyond the reach of all such trivial conflict.

We should all be forced to look at it in all its evil magnificence; every last dead creature, every last ruined marsh.

We should feast our eyes on it until we suffer nightmares, and know that while a corporation is to blame in this case, it is just as true that we did this to ourselves.