As I mentioned carbon sequestration recently
I figured I'd mention this, too: The U.S. Department of Energy awarded $126.6 million in grants on Tuesday to test carbon capture and storage in underground caverns.
The DOE has identified enough underground "sinks" to store 1,000 years of storage capacity.
Imagine, if you will, a thousand long years from now, an earth so terraformed by the might of tiny men - termites in a billion year old house - that it is literally crumbling at the edges, rank farts of toxic gases belching out of her like a tired old diesel run to the ground.
The California test will be in the San Joaquin Basin in Central California, where CO2 will be compressed and pumped 7,000 feet underground.
Imagine a world in which real oil, the oil of your forefathers, was a historical mark on history, not your reality. A world ten hundred years in the future where real oil is a dream, a faint but pleasant smell from the past. A world with a halo of crusted CO2 cloaked around it, and us teeter-toppling on top.
GreenPeace on Monday issued a report that called so-called clean coal "dubious technology" and inadequate.
"Carbon capture and storage is a scam. It is the ultimate coal industry pipe dream," said Emily Rochon, climate and energy campaigner at Greenpeace International..
Which got me thinking, why? From Wikipedia:
Unminable coal seams can be used to store CO2, because CO2 absorbs to the coal surface, ensuring safe long-term storage. In the process it releases methane that was previously adsorbed to the coal surface and that may be recovered. Again the sale of the methane can be used to offset the cost of the CO2 storage, although release or burning of methane would of course at least partially offset the obtained sequestration result.
Well, that explains it. What will the world look like in 1,000 years? Does anybody even have the slightest idea what 3008 might mean for the world? Broken, tired out, heaving big sighs of gaseous relief as the final sunset of the last human's eyes slowly pulls their lids down down down over'n out, bingo; she's free. Or, abandoned? Left for greener pastures, the tired old jalopy - that backwater! - left with broken mirrors and busted out tail lights out, seeping fluids of noxious chemicals at the sagging, rusted out seams. Perhaps.. gentrified and stately, with all the honour of a singing plastic fish father's day gift forgotten and dusty on the mantel. No, hopefully not. I'd hope for ignorance and bliss, and a playful childlike spirit, as if mother earth thought that those first 4.5 billion years old went by in a blink of an eye, just the beginning of a long and lustrous career of fending off the pock marks and blemishes a young teen can occasionally find themselves doing battle with upon the surface of their faces.