There is the overwhelming hope that man will develop some sort of upholstery for the planet, a layer or meniscus, a second horizon... It is the hope of preservation, a very different hope than that of architecture that drives man now... We've laid the foundation, we've erected a tower, raised our eyes and heads high above the vulgar earth -- from dirt floors to linoleum -- seemingly sealed ourselves away from any direct elemental knowledge beyond description... This second horizon is a construct, a human construct taking up all institutions, all social formation... And, I find it odd that some deny the naturalistic qualities of this and instead chose to deal with it through philosophy, and there are those that over emphasize the forgotten and are consumed with regaining the truly primitive... In both cases we are talking about simulative approaches to the problem of consciousness... In the former everything outside of the human context is forbidden, hidden, burned-up if it enters the atmosphere of the intellect... In the latter, the agent assumes the position of archaeologist and sentimental primatologist... Neither type is "poet"... What is odd is that neither considers the simple evolution of the planet, the strictly elemental, choosing to rotate around the axis of the second horizon, looking back and ahead. Intellectually slumming it for the sake of velocity, the propulsion upward, the progress built from base repulsion.
So, what happens outside the academy, in private, is the social dark matter of Hermits and Harpies, either hidden in a cave or screaming from on air... With all the earth, the bull's back...