Once upon a time, and this might be hard to believe, The Impossible It, became math, adding, subtracting, the square on the hippopotamus cankle and on into a set of symbolic interactions which were the polar opposite to the symbolic interactions of language.
The two faiths have clashed, number has retreated to the home of the white coats, and language has been dressed up, given a dead rat authenticity by Grammarians as theater went to die in what are loosely referred to as musicals, usually with dancing before dance became a glorified version of death by violence with plenty of blood as a simplistic visual alternative to the spilling of passion.
Give me a surrey with a fringe on top just so long as the sheepdog dies in slow motion so we can all have a good cry As for Civilization it all went wrong in the very late Stone Ages, early Bronze Ages when the materialists of agriculture successfully turned people, animals and plants into soulless objects.
Go ahead, blame the boys, I will, thick as frogs on the new girl, it was their time to shine, as the ultimate chick magnet became twenty acres, a winter's worth of wheat, barley, maybe a goat to milk and a something dashing in metal that cut meat and killed other boys who tried to take your sourdough starter.
For those interested this current homoerotic fashion for communal taint tanning found in the less attractive corners of what in the USA is still referred to as the GOP, may harken back to the Neolithic collapse of diversity in the human Y chromosome roughly six thousand years ago.
So what might the moral be?
Don't blame the several million years of Paleolithic Nomadic Excellence for the decline of our species, blame the damage done to the sense of place granted us by the endless creaking of farmers.
