The criss cross of wires and cables, sighing with the wind and the weight of words. Sagging with the sadnesses of words unsaid. Burning with the failure. Wish the wish to have only SAID IT. To frame the thought. To fit the words in the frame. To make the message. This burning, sagging and sighing mesh. If you take away the wires and the switchboards and the phones. It is still there. From the evolution and natural selection of mineral crystals, one (#1). To the complex carbon molecules DNA and RNA and their machinery favoured by (natural) selection, two (#2). Our abilities to converse and describe. To the new infantile generation of the very ideas we have and speak and write. To pass from thought to book to speech to film to cyberspace to thought to thought. And through (natural) selection, to survive or die or even propagate. On the mesh the wires left behind. r
