Well, now and then. It spins—this DNA base. Unfermented, it feels sluggish, maybe a bit shrill if you’re coming up from the bottom. First, the fish oil in the blood is dried out, and once fermented—supposedly sedated and readable—it’s dripped from above onto the chip, which immediately analyzes it for majority-rule rationality. But nobody likes blood, nobody gives it up gladly, and the fact that plants talk about evolution is only erased deep in the earth, but silently.
With blood, thinks the human. But via blood, the plant thinks to itself. Both, with a devouring laugh directed upward—at developing countries—and with a chip’s croaking tone downward—at industrialized nations. That’s how it gets fair—with chips—the plant thinks again now—and that’s how it gets calculated, the modern human... at least a part of them. The majority, even. To be precise: The brain—at best, your brain. You. Probably. Straight up and free, you might be right here. A brain.
And yet, thus, I—the majority, even on average—giving this melancholic-pointed intro: welcome to this enlightened age, our epoch, where most can lug around the burdens of the millennium—whose shrill style was just that: burdening—and which will never let you repeat what already accompanied you in silence before, somehow strengthened by this, gently yet so roughly, in that matter which one actually could have processed long ago through this alone, which should suffice for a breezy millennium, which also impregnated a spirit that now silently makes everyone strong.
Which maybe also corresponds to a plant—but it would be dangerous not to be able to describe it in a timely fashion—so to illustrate it differently and aptly: I could also describe it via the force of a field, in a—metaphorically speaking—more bipolar environment; because it springs—in this so united and yet divided world between human civilizations and the plant flora—from the transience of both. To birth evolutionary logic based on this is devoid of any reason anyway—like this—I’m certainly not doing that, more logically—they are.
Namely here too, with me, it’s interpreted adequately: downward it’s calculated—and upward, toll is paid to a holy spirit. Some call it religion—under certain circumstances, I do too—and I also appoint it as Hansi’s faith—mostly a mystery, but rich in great facets; after all, we summarized stories thousands of years old. But he’s about plants. Maybe, more likely, on average. You have to see this; God wasn’t mentioned by me. I don't know, maybe he flies, maybe he plants, maybe it’s Hansi.
And it spins, she spins, it spins: the agnostic base, maybe just 1/4 more of it, who knows? And I can clarify: the plants know the thing about evolution too, and they talk about it. And they talk about the human path. Not like fossils do, no, they talk about the potato—now with birds, now as far as the eye can see, somehow alive, almost animalistic. Luckily alive. With Hansi. That’s how Hansi probably wanted it, and how other souls wanted it too. So it was suggested, and so it lands now in the present. All the silent analyses of the environment that now usher in more than a millennium, and which, despite the power of all basic reason, are meant to remain unanswered.
But yeah, the plants in their entirety have also tuned themselves not to be eaten. And who knows, it’s not trivial, this, faith... Hansi’s faith.
A Plant
Certainly: V4,
https://www.threads.com/@agap0r/post/DXCbQSLCkUX?xmt=AQF0UbpW6QQ-mxprkJ1toL_DOpyN5BOzFcDGfxGZ3aDiNc_VnATv0SKOQETM7UUCHhQjuvMP&slof=1Well, now and then. It spins—this DNA base. Unfermented, it feels sluggish, maybe a bit shrill if you’re coming up from the bottom. First, the fish oil in the blood is dried out, and once fermented—supposedly sedated and readable—it’s dripped from above onto the chip, which immediately analyzes it for majority-rule rationality. But nobody likes blood, nobody gives it up gladly, and the fact that plants talk about evolution is only erased deep in the earth, but silently.
With blood, thinks the human. But via blood, the plant thinks to itself. Both, with a devouring laugh directed upward—at developing countries—and with a chip’s croaking tone downward—at industrialized nations. That’s how it gets fair—with chips—the plant thinks again now—and that’s how it gets calculated, the modern human... at least a part of them. The majority, even. To be precise: The brain—at best, your brain. You. Probably. Straight up and free, you might be right here. A brain.
And yet, thus, I—the majority, even on average—giving this melancholic-pointed intro: welcome to this enlightened age, our epoch, where most can lug around the burdens of the millennium—whose shrill style was just that: burdening—and which will never let you repeat what already accompanied you in silence before, somehow strengthened by this, gently yet so roughly, in that matter which one actually could have processed long ago through this alone, which should suffice for a breezy millennium, which also impregnated a spirit that now silently makes everyone strong.
Which maybe also corresponds to a plant—but it would be dangerous not to be able to describe it in a timely fashion—so to illustrate it differently and aptly: I could also describe it via the force of a field, in a—metaphorically speaking—more bipolar environment; because it springs—in this so united and yet divided world between human civilizations and the plant flora—from the transience of both. To birth evolutionary logic based on this is devoid of any reason anyway—like this—I’m certainly not doing that, more logically—they are.
Namely here too, with me, it’s interpreted adequately: downward it’s calculated—and upward, toll is paid to a holy spirit. Some call it religion—under certain circumstances, I do too—and I also appoint it as Hansi’s faith—mostly a mystery, but rich in great facets; after all, we summarized stories thousands of years old. But he’s about plants. Maybe, more likely, on average. You have to see this; God wasn’t mentioned by me. I don't know, maybe he flies, maybe he plants, maybe it’s Hansi.
And it spins, she spins, it spins: the agnostic base, maybe just 1/4 more of it, who knows? And I can clarify: the plants know the thing about evolution too, and they talk about it. And they talk about the human path. Not like fossils do, no, they talk about the potato—now with birds, now as far as the eye can see, somehow alive, almost animalistic. Luckily alive. With Hansi. That’s how Hansi probably wanted it, and how other souls wanted it too. So it was suggested, and so it lands now in the present. All the silent analyses of the environment that now usher in more than a millennium, and which, despite the power of all basic reason, are meant to remain unanswered.
But yeah, the plants in their entirety have also tuned themselves not to be eaten. And who knows, it’s not trivial, this, faith... Hansi’s faith.
A Plant
Certainly: V4,
https://www.threads.com/@agap0r/post/DXCbQSLCkUX?xmt=AQF0UbpW6QQ-mxprkJ1toL_DOpyN5BOzFcDGfxGZ3aDiNc_VnATv0SKOQETM7UUCHhQjuvMP&slof=1
meinVZ
English