I say this with utter confidence because the problems with Twitter are not engineering problems. They are political problems. Twitter, the company, makes very little interesting technology; the tech stack is not the valuable asset. The asset is the user base: hopelessly addicted politicians, reporters, celebrities, and other people who should know better but keep posting anyway. You! You, Elon Musk, are addicted to Twitter. You’re the asset. You just bought yourself for $44 billion dollars.
With an analogy to architecture, one could imagine that this document suggests the use of ramps to facilitate movement for people in wheelchairs where a staircase has been designed. The word “disability” is used correctly, yet seems to suggest that the web is already accessible for all people without physical or mental issues. However, continuing the analogy, a large part of the Internet today not only lacks paths suitable for anyone burdened by a handicap, but also proudly displays insurmountable steps, doors without handles and open manholes.
Facade signage is one of a building’s most prominent and visible features. And yet it’s frequently the part executed with the least skill and care. If we want architecture that better communicates with the public realm in which it sits, type needs to be recognised as a small but integral element in the making of good buildings.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
The disease is now being offered as the cure. Economic growth is merely a measure of how much was extracted from nature to convert to capital. It cannot be a solution to the ecological crises that extractivist money-making caused. The increased availability of financial resources cannot regenerate the life lost in nature through ecological destruction.
Our gut is being recognized as our second brain, regulating our health through the biodiversity of 100 trillion microbes, which need a diversity of food that is rich in a diversity of nutrients. The soil is not an empty container for pouring synthetic chemical fertilizers. Plants are not machines, running on nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium from factories and mines. Our bodies are not machines, food is not fuel. Food is life, woven through biodiversity in the soil and in our gut.
One cubic meter of healthy soil can have 25,000 kilometers of mycorrhizal fungi. The fungi are living, intelligent systems that select and discriminate, and give and take nutrients in mutuality. They are intelligent filters that seek out essential nutrients, absorbing them and sharing them with plants. Moreover, they exclude harmful substances. The ability of living organisms to discriminate between essential and harmful substances—and to encourage exchange of the beneficial through the protective membranes—is what makes life and health possible in living systems, from the tiniest cells and microbes, to the organs in our bodies and our bodies as a whole.
I love the sheer weirdness of the kitchen life: the dreamers, the crackpots, the refugees, and the sociopaths with whom I continue to work; the ever-present smells of roasting bones, searing fish, and simmering liquids; the noise and clatter, the hiss and spray, the flames, the smoke, and the steam. Admittedly, it’s a life that grinds you down. Most of us who live and operate in the culinary underworld are in some fundamental way dysfunctional. We’ve all chosen to turn our backs on the nine-to-five, on ever having a Friday or Saturday night off, on ever having a normal relationship with a non-cook.