[ s 1,1 ] The mystery of religion is the mystery of public order (Napoleon Bonaparte).
[ s 1, 2] The pendular cadence in a bio-volitive expressway waxes and wanes viceversally from tarmac to fruit, buffering an «in between» dairy ground of coarse tolerance (Max Klük, 2020, Notes from the ecocide, Babylon Schizoversity Press).
[s 1,3 ] HOMO – HUMUS – HUMANITAS three words, the same origin, the same destiny HUMUS IS THE REAL BLACK GOLD Humus has a beautiful scent the scent of humus is more sacred and nearer to God than the scent of incense He who walks through the woods after the rain knows this scent Of course, it seems a monstrosity when our garbage can comes into the center of our home and when the humus toilet becomes our seat of honour But this is just the turn which our society, our civilization must take if we want to survive The scent of humus is the scent of God the scent of resurrection the scent of eternal life (Hundertwasser - The Sacred Shit - The Shit Culture https://www.hundertwasser.com/en/texts/scheisskultur_-_die_heilige_scheisse)
[ s 1, 4] compost.
We think with knowledge-as-humus*.
We are dedicated to the ubiquitous queer knowledges embodied in the entangled performances of the myriad earthlings.
How critters and things make and unmake/are made and unmade by things and critters.
Plants and humans are continually affecting/becoming affected by one another in their inter(intra)active becomings*. And they are simultaneously shaping and being shaped by a tentacular web of other coworkers.
Our own small community is unfurling in webs of mycorrhizal conspiracies* making our compost hot and juicy. As part of our companion species, we are gratefully indebted to feminist science studies scholars for speaking worlding-words, and providing wormy soils to grow the powerful, decolonial, kin-making, troubled stories necessary to play the non-innocent games of dancing for plants on a damaged planet. And plants set the rules.
Their chemical insights are already laboring at every corner of our naturecultural capitalistic assemblages: they are feeding us, healing us, housing us, dressing us up, and breathing out the air we live from.
But plants are mattering* in many other ways. They are skillful fomenters of symbiosis/sympoiesis technologies, the unruly knowers of team world-designing, relentlessly queering identities, time, space and bodies. They are the compost kweens. (dance for plants ~~ http://www.danceforplants.com/)
[ s 2, 1] Phloems have no special interest in rational arcade’s ribbings, eventhough a set of silly-i-conic mammal laws make the latters out to be blood-sap referees. The furthermost sensitive throbbing mammal (an electrobiovegan) seems unable to understand any flux without pulses, pumps, or hormoned glues (Max Klük 2020, Notes from the ecocide, Babylon Skizoversity Press).
