The only technological development worthy of general approval at this stage of human evolution would be weapons of mass destruction that are deadlier than ever.

Addendum I (September 15, 2025)

As can be witnessed from my writings over no less than five decades, I am far from a fan of technological development. In spite of my many years at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology or the Institute, where I was both a student and teacher, I remain dubious about its long-term benefits. Minus the weapons of mass destruction, that is. And I am especially partial to nuclear weapons of all descriptions. The deadlier, the more to my liking. But why? The answer is straightforward: polyanthroponemia (“Polyanthroponemia,” April 26, 2009). Thanks to James Lovelock, human overpopulation is best understood as a disease that threatens life on earth. And the only plausible solution to this problem comes from the human species, as well. All the wars since the onslaught of civilisation a bit more than ten-thousand years ago have been pretty powerless in this regard until the end of the last global conflict. Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki showed what nuclear weapons can accomplish, and the Institute was involved in providing the engineering behind the bombing. With some luck, the upcoming global conflict will change everything. To wit, life on earth will finally be saved from its perilous disease. In the last analysis, humans will save themselves by their own devices, albeit unwittingly, for those few who survive the cataclysm will be regaled with life worthy of their own primate species. Which is why this haiku has gone this morning to the five most powerful humans on planet earth—Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, Xi Jinping, Narendra Damodardas Modi, Donald Trump, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Pasted on wonderful postcards, it may well strike the button. Three cheers for technological development!

Addendum II (September 16, 2025)

Each time I carry my postcards to the post office, which is behind the walls on top of the Motovun hill, I show them to all friends and acquaintances I happen to bump into on the way. Almost all of them laugh at the names of the most powerful humans on planet earth, but a few of them also express some concern about the possible consequences of my plucky pranks. “Gosh, “ they mutter half in jest, “what if these potentates bomb our hilltown in response to your endless shenanigans?” But I regularly dismiss such a possibility. “Listen,” I say with all the conviction I can muster, “they know the coordinates of my house, which they will aim for if they wish to punish me.” And I explain that the coordinates are available in one of my pieces of writing on my Residua website, the World Wide Web address of which is included in every postcard I send (“How to Find Me,” April 18, 2006). Just to be sure there can be no mistake, here are the coordinates once again: North 45º20’10.1”, East 13º49’39.4”, 269 meters above the sea level. If Putin, Xi, Modi, Trump, or Erdoğan wish to get rid of me in one fell swoop, they should aim for my house only. All the other residents of this wonderful medieval town should be spared. And I am the witness of their everlasting innocence. Amen.