I would like to proactively begin this essay with Supplemental Materials to this essay:

OIL ON CANVAS

Jackson Pollack was less an artist than a psychic predicting the Exxon Valdez disaster. Or the captain of that ship, Joseph Hazelwood, drinking all night, wanted to pay tribute to his favorite painter, getting loaded and crashing his vehicle bigger that same way.

There’s a well-known episode of the old “Twilight Zone” series where a book-loving Burgess Meredith sequesters himself in a bank vault so he can enjoy an uninterrupted reading session during his lunch break.  He emerges from the vault to find that while safely underground, nuclear Armageddon killed off the rest of the world, leaving him as the last homo sapiens on the planet.  He finds this a positively delightful result and proceeds forthwith to the library, where he eagerly stacks all the books he plans to read.