Because for the sore awfulness of this century we need more fur, not less.
That’s the root of the trouble: a hairless mind. Hairless mind has us far distant from cormorant and eaglet, from birch bark and anaconda.
Understand me, there’s a great deal about people I like. There’s a vigorous gleam of the unique in a few. Danger lurks in the observation, but it’s undeniable. But humanness seems truest and most vivid when smeared into the petri dish of the mad-bad-and-beautiful expressions of a wider earth.
To have a bald mind is to have black-magicked yourself away from those wider nerve endings.
A pox on the house that brewed that up.