KESSLER SYNDROME
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The Michigan mushroom is a misnomer. The thing itself lurks before-after-beneath an allegedly pleasant peninsula that’s called Michigan.
The Great Shroom is biomassive and older than old, more ancient than the notions of blood and bone. The fungus came to be the first time there was any time, when god crawled ashore from the fractal to make here–when author arrived all tired and tempest tossed (a haggard refugee).
Some time after the first Big Bang called Once The Author’s evolution algorithm abhorred the vacuum the lack of decomposers. Without them, the dead things, all the life that lived its brilliant day in the sun piled high and wide and threatened to bury all the rest. Decomposers come to close the loop the circle in any biological system. Composters. Mouths. The mighty maw at the center of your galaxy and the microscopic things that will turn your meat and mine to tree feed. As above so below, and this is the way god rhymes: mouths great and small are mighty and do, at scale, devour.