Dinosaur, Latin for fearfully great lizard. Maybe our species will one day be called dinoman, fearfully great man. Our counterparts in this future would look back and dispassionately judge dinoman as an inexorably expanding fire transmuting basic elements into an intricate pattern of light, a short-lived explosion of an intensity only surpassed by its contrast with the ashes in its wake.
The top of the food chain is a precarious place to be despite the predatory prowess of the species. In fact, it is the predator that prays to its prey. The apex species must bow down to the complex web that sustains it and quickly adapt to its caprices. The innovation of the next great species will likely be the parsimonious digestion of worldly resources. They will glide through the biosphere like wisps of air. Transparent and weightless, they do not consume or resist the material world but enliven it and make it glow with increasing intricacy.
As we presently choke in the soot of dinoman, we can still make a collect call to our future selves, if not to bail us out, then at least to soothe us with their song, the harmonies of which we may make practical use today. Even if our song is short and subdued, let it be the echo of the crescendo to come.
Inspired by watching Koyaanisqatsi for the 8th (or something) time.
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