I find myself tripped by the proposition that culture might have a purpose; toe-stubbed at the brink of a Petrie dish brimming with active ingredient. After a lifetime of trotting politely around our Darwinian corral I shy at the thought howling in the waste: here be fungi with intentions, plans without brains, gods self-made in the image of rust.
'...nothing is little...'
I'm thinking of carving these words into my writing desk.
Thank you for this John.
But you have to thank Jane Davis for picking that one out!
But if not for you, I wouldn’t know about it!
😊
Nice one John!
I find myself tripped by the proposition that culture might have a purpose; toe-stubbed at the brink of a Petrie dish brimming with active ingredient. After a lifetime of trotting politely around our Darwinian corral I shy at the thought howling in the waste: here be fungi with intentions, plans without brains, gods self-made in the image of rust.