#Plastic | Bacteria Gut

[xtruss]

Could Plastic Made From Bacteria Guts Help Solve Our Waste Crisis?

Bioplastics called PHAs grow like beer and biodegrade like wood. And they may be able to help with our plastic waste problem.

— By Alissa Greenberg | Published: Wednesday March 17, 2021

Drinking straws are one of many single-use plastic products that could potentially be produced using biopolymers. Image Credit: Phichai, Shutterstock

Despite the efforts of recycling programs and environmental education, it’s still hard for many of us to grasp just how much plastic humans produce. We are on track to produce a billion tons of plastic a year by 2050. Cumulatively, we’ve already produced more than 8.3 billion metric tons since 1950. That’s 20 times the weight of all human beings alive right now.

The systems we’ve developed for recycling that plastic are full of logistical, political, and economic obstacles, and the numbers show it. By 2015, three quarters of those 8 billion metric tons of plastic were already out of use, with 9% of it having been recycled and 12% incinerated. A whopping 79% wound up in landfills or the natural environment, destined to sit virtually unchanged for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

It doesn’t have to be this way. “Plastic” is a category that encompasses a huge diversity of materials with one thing in common: They’re made of repeating chains of molecules known as “polymers” and can be molded or extruded while soft to take particular shapes. Until recently, we've only looked to petrochemicals (made from crude oil and natural gas) to create plastics with the properties we find so useful: the rigidity of takeout utensils, the flexibility of plastic films, the moisture barrier that contains greasy food. Although some less-common petroplastics are indeed biodegradable, bioplastics—which are often made from plant materials like sugar cane pulp, corn, or cassava and in many cases biodegrade after relatively short periods—may also be able to help address our big plastic problem.

Enter polyhydroxyalkanoates, also known as PHAs, polymers used to make biodegradable bioplastics from an unlikely source: bacteria guts. PHAs and other bioplastics seek to challenge our assumptions about what plastic can be, and companies like Danimer in Georgia and Mango Materials in California are betting big that their products can help make a dent in our plastic waste numbers. Danimer’s partnership with Bacardi will see that company unveiling PHA bottles in all of its liquor lines by 2023; it also has partnerships in the works with Nestle, Pepsico, and other giants of single-use plastic. Meanwhile, Mango is making inroads into other plastic-reliant industries, like apparel. (Yes, your workout clothes have plastic in them.)

But PHAs aren’t new. They’ve been around for 35 years, and doubters like to point to Metabolix, a PHA company that seemed promising, grew quickly, and then collapsed in 2016. Metabolix and other would-be innovators have lived and died trying to “make PHAs happen.” Is now the time for this bioplastic to break through?

You might not think plastic and beer have much in common, but in the case of PHAs, there’s some surprising overlap. The bio-based plastic is derived from what amounts to bacteria guts, a polymer the microorganisms use to turn food into energy stored away for a rainy day. To make that polymer into something usable for humans, PHA scientists and entrepreneurs grow the bacteria in big vats under specific conditions, feeding them with vegetable oil, sugar, or methane gas and waiting to harvest the results. So far, kinda like beer.

Here’s where it gets a little different. When the bacteria have gotten so full and roly-poly that they’re barely bacteria anymore—when their cells have gone from around 3% polymer to upwards of 95%—they’re subject to a purification process that bursts their membranes and brings the polymer out of solution. The resulting white powder is combined in pellets that then can be made into straws and takeout containers. Voila: plastic that’s not just made without fossil fuels but is also fully compostable, biodegrading in both your backyard and the ocean.

We’ve known about bacteria’s capacity to manufacture plastic since the 1920s. But it took until 1983 to figure out how to get the polymers from inside the bacteria into human hands and until quite recently for that to happen on a scale that could be commercialized. “If you think of what we knew in the early 20th century about bacteria, microscopy, evolution, all those things have rapidly evolved,” says Mango Materials CEO Molly Morse. Only in the last decade have we had the tool set to make PHAs a reality.

Pellets made from PHA biopolymers. Photo courtesy of Mango Materials

Now, there are over 150 types of PHAs, which differ based on the length of their molecules, how they’re structured, which microorganisms are producing them, and what those microorganisms are fed. The longer the molecule chains, the more flexible and stretchable the plastic is; the shorter they are, the more brittle the material becomes. PHAs melt and flow like petroplastics and they can be turned into sheets or molded into many forms. That makes them great for all kinds of applications with one thing in common: whether in backyard compost, in industrial composting facilities, or in the ocean, they’ll completely biodegrade within six months.

The big difference is that petroplastics are synthetic, and while bacteria may attempt to break them down, those organisms lack enzymes to break the plastics’ carbon-carbon bonds, making full degradation impossible. But since bacteria already use PHAs to store energy, they have built-in ways to both recognize and break them down. That’s what makes PHAs uniquely biodegradable—but only in specific settings. To understand why this is possible, “think about wood,” says Danimer Chief Technology Officer Phil Van Trump. If you build your desk out of wood, it won’t just disappear out of your house one day; it needs the right environment for that. “But in your yard, it’s a different story. Put it back in that environment, and bacteria and fungi will recognize it as food and start in on it.”

Of course, there are some drawbacks. In plastic-nerd parlance, PHAs have a “narrow processing window,” which means that their melting point and the point at which heat transforms them chemically into something else are only 10 degrees apart. That limits the ways they can be processed to stand in for petroplastics—for example, in materials that are subjected to very high heat or need very high mechanical strength, like airplane windshields, car bumpers, or bulletproof vests. But PHAs' biggest drawback is cost. Production is relatively expensive, especially the part of the process that draws the polymer out of the bacteria, says Amar Mohanty, a polymer and plastics engineer at the University of Guelph in Canada. Though there are different techniques for doing so, they often require large amounts of expensive chemicals like acetone or chloroform. “And to get a really purified polymer, you need to repeat the steps two or three times,” adds his colleague, fellow engineer Manjusri Misra.

PHAs, like other bioplastics, also release methane when they degrade under anaerobic conditions (like in landfills). Since methane is a major contributor to greenhouse gas emissions, some critics worry that if PHA products grow popular and then are improperly disposed of, they may end up contributing to the climate crisis. In response, Van Trump and Mohanty stress the importance of developing proper waste-disposal infrastructure along with PHA technology, including industrial composting and digesters. “There’s growing we need to do as a society with how much we stick in landfills,” Van Trump says.

In her work at Mango Materials, Morse has taken the methane release issue in a different direction, since Mango’s PHA bacteria actually feed on methane to grow their polymer. Mango has even partnered with Silicon Valley Clean Water in Redwood City, California, to build a digester on site and harness the methane coming off the city’s waste. At just that single location, Mango could produce up to 10 million pounds of PHA plastic per year.

And then there’s the question of toxicity. In a recent study, Lisa Zimmerman, a biologist at Goethe University in Germany, tested 40 different bioplastics, including one PHA product, and found they were not on average any less toxic than regular plastics. And when chemicals from the bioplastics leached into an environment where Zimmerman was raising microorganisms, many of them (including those from the PHA product) exhibited the potential to simulate hormones and interrupt the organisms’ metabolisms. Since some of the products she tested were not toxic, Zimmerman sees her result as an impetus to increase industry transparency. “The problem is that the product composition is not made openly available, so it’s really hard for other producers to integrate those less harmful chemicals,” she says. “To scale up, it would really help if it was openly communicated what is in the product.”

Plastic caps (left) and film (right) produced from PHA biopolymers. Photos courtesy of Mango Materials

Still, all the people interviewed for this article see the current moment as a time with enormous potential for bioplastics. As recently as 2014, when Mango applied for funding through the National Science Foundation to work on marine plastic pollution, their application was denied because the foundation “didn’t believe plastics in the ocean were a problem,” Morse says. She’s seen huge societal change since then, even noticing a difference just within the period of the COVID-19 pandemic. “People are at home staring at their trash cans wondering where all this stuff is going,” she says. “We’ve seen interest in the past 12 months like never before.”

Van Trump also sees a major change in the attitudes of the corporations Danimer is partnering with, like Pepsi, Nestle, and Bacardi, which now seem more willing to invest in solutions to the plastics problem. “We’re growing like a weed,” he says of Danimer, which just opened new facilities in Georgia and Kentucky. And Van Trump and Morse both point out that price and scale are intimately connected. Bioplastics like PHAs are competing against a petroplastics industry producing in simply enormous volumes, with some single plants producing a billion pounds a year—and economies of scale make it possible for petroplastics companies to keep their prices low. “The industry has had 70 to 80 years to optimize and build capacity,” Van Trump says. He holds out hope, though, that “when we get to the scales of the ‘traditional’ polymers, then costs will come down dramatically.”

In fact, Mohanty says the current problem for PHAs is the opposite of what it was in the days of Metabolix: too much demand and not enough production capacity. He expects the industry will grow into that demand in the coming decade, especially as widespread single-use petroplastic bans go into effect. The key, in the meantime, is to educate consumers about their options and to build enough infrastructure that all those new PHA containers and films and straws don’t end up in landfills. Of our voracious plastic appetite, he says, “If we cannot stay away from it, we have to find ways to handle it.”

[learningbreeze]

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Y'all, I am SO excited about this!!!! I've long been fascinated with holobionts, which are basically miniature ecosystems that revolve around one relatively large being essentially acting as a habitat for a whole host of tinier ones in a generally symbiotic relationship. A lichen is (at least to our current understanding) a relatively simple version thereof, with a mycobiont (fungus) creating structure for photobionts (algae and/or cyanobacteria) and, more recently, unicellular yeast--and possibly others we haven't discovered yet.

But our body's microbiomes also make us holobionts! Our skin, guts, and vaginal flora are all a part of our bodies as much as our cells, and often outnumber the human cells in our systems. We are walking around with veritable nations of microscopic beings living out generation after generation in and on our bodies, and without them we would cease to exist. (Though they would outlast us a while in the event of our death.)

What's really cool about this study is that it demonstrates how it's not just our own human genes that shape our evolution, but the ever-changing genomes of our microbiome residents as well. It really pokes holes in the reductionist idea that we are biological islands that grow and develop independently of other beings, and adds a whole new set of layers to us being part of wider, interconnected ecological systems.

We might pretend we're separate from the rest of nature as we build more concrete, steel, and plastic barriers. But we constantly carry our legacy as animals with us, embedded within the matrices of our bodies, just as we carry our heritage of the ocean in our constant need for water and salinity. No matter how much we try to sterilize our indoor environments and our food and our bodies, we are constantly rife with the thriving, overflowing riot of life that has accompanied us from the time our ancient ancestors pasted their split daughter cells together instead of sending them off on their divergent ways.

[cognitivejustice]

There’s been an exciting new discovery in the fight against plastic pollution: mealworm larvae that are capable of consuming polystyrene. They join the ranks of a small group of insects that have been found to be capable of breaking the polluting plastic down, though this is the first time that an insect species native to Africa has been found to do this.

Polystyrene, commonly known as styrofoam, is a plastic material that’s widely used in food, electronic and industrial packaging. It’s difficult to break down and therefore durable. Traditional recycling methods – like chemical and thermal processing – are expensive and can create pollutants. This was one of the reasons we wanted to explore biological methods of managing this persistent waste.

I am part of a team of scientists from the International Centre of Insect Physiology and Ecology who have found that the larvae of the Kenyan lesser mealworm can chew through polystyrene and host bacteria in their guts that help break down the material. Read More

[sosuigeneris]

Socialite Series: Cherry’s Master Post

Things that have helped me, that could help you. Here is a master list of my softmaxxing journey!

Body:

J*hn Bent*n’s workouts: Yes he’s an asshole but his workouts really do work. He used to train models and his workouts are life changing.

2. B-12 Lipo salines: These you can consume in a shot (like an injection) or in a saline (go to a GOOD DOCTOR for this). I prefer the saline, and my doctor recommended the 6 week course for me (one saline every week). It burns subQ fat and that was the main reason why I began using those. There is zero side effect to these, acc to my doc.  edit: don’t really recommend these anymore. I’ll update this list when I finish my Emsculpt.

3. Diet: More protein, more vegetables, more water and lesser intake of carbs. Carbs are important but i used to over-consume them. Cutting down has helped me a lot. I also did a gut bacteria test (you basically sent a piece of your shit to a lab and they analyse it) to understand what foods worked for me and what didnt. 

4. Probiotics for metabolism management 

5. Measuring: I stopped tracking weight and began tracking body fat % instead. I feel that this works better for me. 

6. Wood therapy: I KNOW. You lot will think its bogus but it helped me and im sticking to it, so there. There’s no wood therapy spa near me, so i ordered the wood therapy tools from amazon, plastic wrap, a waist trainer, almond oil. I looked up videos on wood therapy and lymphatic drainage, and i do it for about 5 mins on my tummy and thighs before my work outs, wrap my torso with plastic wrap, throw the waist trainer on top. 

✨

Skin:

Accutane: this helped me tremendously with my acne and my skin is 95% blemish free now. If you are taking this, remember to be disciplined and regular. 

Zero alcohol: I stopped drinking completely and its done my skin and health wonders.

Products: Sunscreen + Vitamin C combo in the AM. Retinol + moisturiser at night. Recommended by my dermat. 

Hair removal: I refuse to shave because its so uncomfortable so i prefer to wax once in 2 months. Personally, when I began exfoliating my body twice a week - I use a scrub by the Body Shop - I noticed that the hair was growing back slower than it used to. I use a loofah for everyday too. I don’t believe in laser because it’s never just 6 sessions; you do have to have “maintenance” sessions as well post the 6.

Face sculpting: Gua sha on alternative nights. I dont know if this works or is placebo, but I felt like it did. 

Body lotion every day. Twice a day sometimes. I swear, it makes you smell good and feel so soft. 

Expensive make up: specially, foundation. I’m sorry, i know this could be controversial. But idk what cow semen Charlotte Tilbury puts in her make up, it seriously makes me glow. I’m yet to find a good drug store alternative. A while back, I stopped wearing concealer, and I began using a lighter shade of CT’s foundation as concealer over my normal shade. I feel that because the products are chemically the same, they blend better and don’t react and “peel.” Highly recommend that too. For the rest of my face like powder, blush, eyeliner, I do use normal drug store make up.  

✨

Oral hygiene:

I used to have braces. After taking them off, I noticed a difference in my jaw.

Brush, floss, Listrine, tongue cleaner

Mild whitening. I think Hollywood level teeth whitening looks crazy and I want to look as “naturally” beautiful as possible.

✨

Hair care:

For hair growth: as recommended by my doc: minoxidil hair foam 5% w/w Tugain Foam.

High frequency wand before wash days on my scalp. 

Moroccan hair oil. I use a tiny amount everyday on my ends after I finish my make up for the day and I swear it makes my hair shine like crazy.

I also got hair Botox done because i used to have curly but absolutely unmanageable hair. I tried to make it work for years but i gave up and caved in to having permanent straight hair and I love it. 

I only shampoo twice a day so on days when i workout but don’t shampoo, i use hair perfume. I spray some of it on my brush and run it through my hair. I swear it works. 

✨

Overall:

The colour palette theory seriously works. I didn’t realise that wearing the right colours can impact you so much.

Confidence is absolutely key. I seriously recommend going to a group class of some sort if you have the time and just mingling with random people. Social situations are important to gauge your “standing.”

Random but if you have a big nose: grow out your eyebrows / fill them in slightly thicker. I noticed that when I had thin eyebrows, my nose would stand out more but when I made them thicker, it balanced my face out better. 

Steam iron your clothes before you wear them. You will look 100% put together. 

*IF* you’re aesthetically challenged when it comes to picking clothes, use my rule of thumb: never wear any more than 3 colours at once  (remember: IF you can’t put outfits together). 

[materialsscienceandengineering]

A team of scientists from Nanyang Technological University, Singapore (NTU Singapore) has developed an artificial 'worm gut' to break down plastics, offering hope for a nature-inspired method to tackle the global plastic pollution problem. By feeding worms with plastics and cultivating microbes found in their guts, researchers from NTU's School of Civil and Environmental Engineering (CEE) and Singapore Centre for Environmental Life Sciences Engineering (SCELSE) have demonstrated a new method to accelerate plastic biodegradation. Previous studies have shown that Zophobas atratus worms -- the larvae of the darkling beetle commonly sold as pet food and known as 'superworms' for their nutritional value -- can survive on a diet of plastic because its gut contains bacteria capable of breaking down common types of plastic. However, their use in plastics processing has been impractical due to the slow rate of feeding and worm maintenance.

Read more.

[jacksprostate]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The five days Tyler's stolen my voice from me, I spend watching. The commons, group therapy. I visit my cave with my eyes open. Mills should get used to the cold. I've heard if it drops below 50 while your respiration is this depressed, you go to sleep and never wake up.

Valley of the Dogs.

An orderly with fresh bruises peppering his temple lets me take my walk in the same time Mills is carted around. This is how I must've looked for months. Glazed. Drooling. At this point they probably have to use elephant tranquilizers on me, the tolerance I've built.

God, his petty ass, we meet up for one on one and he says he has to give me some bad news.

No, it's not about Mills.

Tyler, whatever.

He is giving me the bad news, of the passing of one Marla Singer. Everyone seems to think this is bad news. Found dead in her apartment because she didn't pick up any Meals on Wheels for her neighbors for three weeks, and they worried about those little old ladies, up there all starving alone since their angel in black stopped showing up.

Her corpse was found, instead. I imagine it all waxy, tits rotted off just like she said, at some point you're so sick even the bacteria in your gut won't bother decomposing you. I imagine Marla's skin pulling back, fleeing, away from her eyes, her teeth, like a mummy. Dried out as all her collagen rots.

Paper clutched in her hand. A will, sort of hasty and half-assed.

Marla's many worldly possessions all fit on a hotel notepad.

Many other worthless things go to a small number of worthless people Marla has mentioned leaving behind in her life, and god says, Marla Singer has left me something.

That's the entire reason I get to know all of this.

If not, I would've never known.

The world could blow up, and you'd never know in here unless it was in someone's will to tell you.

Marla Singer left me her dildo.

Oh, Marla.

Addressed me in the will half the time as Tyler.

I wonder, did the cancer spread from her tits to her brain, like the cancer I didn't have. It's everywhere now. God says they're working out treatment. I wonder if it matters.

Without Tyler between us, I don't really know what connected me and Marla.

What kept her calling.

I liked her. Another psycho boyfriend in her stories. There will never be another, unless she's gone to Heaven, the real one, and they've got some sort of exchange program going on for her to have fun with.

I think Marla might deserve that. She deserved better than this.

I wonder if it was pills. There was no Tyler to save her, this time. No one to listen to her death rattle. I don't have the voice to ask.

I won't be getting her dildo, because you don't get possessions in a psych ward. It'll get dumped in some other landfill to persist for time immemorial with all the other plastic iconography of our stupid, stupid lives.

Released back out to pasture, I watch Mills. His wife was murdered. Murdered, you see, it's an action, and it's solvable. Mills solved it.

You can't solve the slow death. Not really.

I think about how empty Mills is.

Am I empty?

An unidentifiable amount of time ago, Marla called me again, and she told me all about what happens at the new support groups she goes to, since I ruined the old ones for her. They were willing to rally behind her for the whole blowing my brains out show, and she only would've had to wait them out for six months or so, but she decided to just find new ones. A new church, with new temptations like Living With Angels, a group for those caring for severe dementia patients, and Recovery Road: a program for those trying to rebuild their lives after a loved one blew them up. She said, when I got out, we could both go to that one, and I could talk about Tyler, and she could talk about me, and we could have fun getting kicked out together.

Marla was always talking about that. When I got out.

I wasn't ever hearing any of it.

Mills, they've let up on him, finally, you can see his eyeballs aren't floating with all they've juiced him up on. He's watching me, back.

I wonder if he knows about Marla.

Would Tyler care?

Tyler had said, don't call this love.

Does it need to be?

When I get my voice back, I bury my thoughts on the subject and Marla and everything in a relentless campaign to needle Mills until he looks like a voodoo doll in a shitty tourist trap.

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 5 (attempt no 2)

"Bacteria please, Watson!"

Sherlock and Rosie were back in laboratory mode, goggles, gloves and coats donned, while John sat at his desk with a cup of tea and scrolled through the latest comments on his blog.

Over at the kitchen table, Sherlock held open one of the growth medium-filled Petri dishes and offered it to Rosie. With a tense expression that spoke of utmost concentration, Rosie dispensed a few droplets of bacteria solution in the middle of the plate with a pipette that looked like Sherlock had lifted it straight from one of the Barts laboratories. Knowing Sherlock that possibility was not even very unlikely.

Sherlock placed the dish down gently in front of himself on the table.

"Glass pipet please, Watson!"

He extended his empty hand and Rosie placed a disposable glass pipet in there, just as demanded.

With practised movements, Sherlock held the glass tube by one end and stuck the thinner side into the hottest part of the flame until it glowed red hot and began to droop under its own weight. Once it was bent at a 90° angle he repeated the process with the very tip of the thin glass before holding it away from the flame with a flourish until it stopped glowing.

"Next you can cool it down to bacteria-safe temperatures by pressing it gently against the growth medium, but be careful to avoid the actual bacteria until you are sure it is all cooled down!", he narrated as he lowered the bend pipet tip to the petri dish were it indeed cooled down with a quiet sizzle. "And then you can spread the E.coli with gentle, circular movements, just don't press down too hard or you are going to slice up the agar." He demonstrated the procedure with his customary level of grace and finished by closing up the plate, turning it upside down and handing it off to Rosie.

"Into the incubator please, Watson." She carried it off reverently as if she had been handed a great treasure and not just a small plastic plate containing some glorified gut bacteria.

While Sherlock started cleaning up the workspace, his eyes wandered over to John for the first time in a while. His light gaze immediately spotted the cup in his hands.

"Tea, John?"

John crossed his arms in mock protest. "What? I don't get watsoned around?"

Sherlock stared at him in genuine bafflement while peeling off his gloves and chucking them into the bin underneath the sink. "No, why? Watson is Watson, you are my John!" He gave Rosie an exaggerated wink overtop Johns head before returning to the topic at hand. "Tea please, John?"

At least he had the decency to make it sound more like a request than a demand. But John had come prepared. He picked up one of the two extra cups that he had brewed before and pressed it into the other mans waiting hand as soon as he was done cleaning up at the sink.

"Here you go, my Holmes!"

--------------------

Troubleshooting, part 4/?

-> I have started uploading the first finished chapter on ao3 as well (so attempt no 1), so if you prefer to read it over there, just click here!

-> The next snippet can be found here!

-> Start reading right at DAY 0 or read the previous part here.

[loominggaia]

What are the grossest or most controversial dishes each of the Great Kingdoms has?

This is difficult to answer because there are usually many different cultures operating within each Great Kingdom, and each culture has different cuisine. Also, many of these dishes are shared between multiple kingdoms and cultures.

For example, the nasty troll cuisine I talked about in another post is not specific to any one kingdom, but can be found in several of them.

That said, I can talk about some controversial foods that are most commonly eaten in different kingdoms (though they may not be exclusive to them or even originate from them).

Folkvar: Brodfesk - also called "cheese 'n chovies", it's raw fish slathered in blue cheese on a piece of bread. Many Folkvarans also eat raw blubber, especially from marine animals.

Matuzu: Sugar-coated locusts and other insects. Setsiki brain soup. Matuzans eat a lot of animal brains and livers in general, sometimes raw. In some Matuzan cultures, men eat the genitals of powerful animals because they believe it increases their sexual prowess.

Lamai: Gruju - a drink made from blended maggots. The Lamaish eat a lot of reptiles and amphibians, such as snakes, turtles, lizards, and frogs. They also eat a lot of wild fungus, some of which has psychedelic effects.

Yerim-Mor: There aren't many offensive dishes in Morite culture. The nasty part is how they're prepared. Because this kingdom is so poor, sanitation usually takes a back seat, so food is washed in unclean water, left unrefrigerated, and cut with dirty utensils. Most Morites have adapted to all this bacteria, but it makes foreigners sick.

Zareen: Just about everything on the traditional Zareenite menu is loaded with questionable chemicals, harmful fillers, heavy metals, and god-knows-what-else. While everything is prepared in sanitized factory settings, the ingredients are so over-processed that you're basically eating plastic. There are Zareenite dishes that cannot legally be called "food", and are instead labeled "edible products".

Evangeline: Bloodbread - This dish originated from underfed slaves in Kelvingyard. These slaves make a crude flour from dried weeds, dirt, and blood, which they baked into a bread-like biscuit in the sun. The blood was usually from vermin like rats or insect, but sometimes it is harvested from their fellow slaves who were too weak to defend themselves. Needless to say, this stuff is hella nasty and only eaten in life-or-death scenarios.

Mogdir: If eating bugs and bug byproducts sounds gross to you, you will not like Mogdiri cuisine because it's very bug-based. One of the most popular foods is a cheese made from fermented caterpillar silk. They also eat raw grubs and giant roasted caterpillars.

Etios: Minotaur breast milk is a popular beverage for all ages in Etios Nation. Many Etiosi also eat animal marrow straight from the bone, then dry the bones in the sun for a few weeks before grinding it into bonemeal. This bonemeal is used in cooking other things.

Seelie: Speaking of bonemeal, the ancient Seelie were known to grind up the bones of their enemies and use that bonemeal to bake cookies. Cannibalism in general was pretty hot in this kingdom for a very long time. It's illegal today, but it's still happening in some dark pockets of Seelie society.

Unseelie: Where to start? Basically everything on the Unseelie menu is weird and nasty. Stray dog meat, roasted vermin, blood wine, pickled squid...just take your pick.

Damijana: Has the same problem as Zareenite cuisine, where most food available is overly-processed into what is basically plastic with vitamins sprayed onto it after the fact. By far the nastiest thing though, is a dish called "gutter roast". The poorest Damijani catch wild rats in the city and roast them. Though this is one of the least-processed dishes in Damijana, these rats are often riddled with disease, their guts are full of trash, and there is weird chemicals in their blood from the polluted environment.

Aquaria: Aquarians will see the grossest, slimiest, most alien-looking marine critter wriggling across the sea floor and think to themselves, "Mmm, looks like dinner! :D"

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[mariacallous]

Kim Kardashian’s newest range of products, launched in late 2022—post SKIMS shapewear, post SKKN facewear—is a menacing set of raw concrete forms for storing bathroom products: a gray tissue box, Q-tip tin, wastebasket. Dry, brutal, and mysterious, the items look like you hired one of Gary Larson’s cavemen to decorate your vanity with found objects.

“Having the concrete material and monochromatic design are important for my mental wellness,” Kim said in a recent interview with Architectural Digest. Concrete … for wellness? I imagine her removing her shoes and socks and planting her feet on the gritty sidewalk, grounding herself on the concrete slab, gathering power from the sprawling gray. Kim abandoning her activated charcoal and turning to powdered concrete to treat her gut problems and ensure clearer skin. Jade egg? No, concrete egg. Wellness concrete!

Concrete does not, objectively, promote wellness. It is responsible for 8 percent of the world’s C02 emissions. Concrete dust ruins the lungs of those who inhale it regularly. Concrete cityscapes exacerbate flooding and degrade joggers’ joints. Thanks to a reliance on concrete for construction, the world is running out of certain types of sand. Other high-end brands have sold home products made of concrete, like Comme des Garçons’ concrete-clad perfume bottles, but these usually use the material for its brutal and rough-hewn qualities, not to promote wellness. Kim is an alchemist though. She has taken a material that is undeniably a product of industrial modernity, imbued with a century’s worth of architectural and ideological baggage, and reconfigured it as healthy, intimate, and integral to self-care.

Always ahead of the curve, Kim may have hit on something the rest of us are just coming around to. The idea that we might stop—stop producing plastic, stop building cement megastructures—seems out of the question. Decades of activism, policy work, and think tank-ery have done little to stem the tide of globalized capitalism and the torrents of plastic water bottles, polyester blend clothing, and Squishmallows that discharge from its perpetual motion machines. Blowing up a pipeline or fomenting revolution requires networks of solidarity and logistical capability that most people can’t imagine acquiring. Meanwhile, the microplastics are already in our blood.

What’s left is the alternative that Kim and her concrete line seem to offer: that we can learn how to metaphorically (or literally) digest the toxic brutality of the built environment and transform it into something else—or let it transform us. “I’m just putting little pieces of fibreglass into my cereal to get my body used to it,” tweets one nihilistic wiseass. We’re entering our metabolic era.

Nonhuman systems offer metaphors to help us comprehend and describe our own existence, and structures of behavior we might mimic to cope with intolerable conditions. Over the past decade, you may have noticed mushrooms and fungi embraced as the objects of this kind of attention. The fungal imaginary is powerful because it envisions a world where endless growth is possible, and might even be environmentally beneficial. We can build anything as long as we make it out of mushrooms. Houses, bridges, burgers, clamshell packages for said burgers. Fungi also offer a powerful, nonhuman other we can turn to for inspiration: Mushrooms can grow at the end of the world, form vast underground networks, and offer mystic insight.

More recently, though, metabolic metaphors and processes are emerging alongside, and sometimes overtaking, fungi’s place in the cultural ether. At the more practical end, digestive processes are cropping up as popular solutions to all kinds of crises: compost, vermiculture, bacteria to digest just about anything, biohacks for your gut microbiome. Elsewhere, the metaphor of metabolism is called on to describe the way people process emotions and build feedback loops, and the growth of cities.

Unlike the fungal model, the metabolic imaginary lets us envision a world in which we can get rid of anything. If the drive for endless growth has led to a world too full of bullshit and toxicity, perhaps we can chew it all up and digest it without harm, engineer bacteria to metabolize it, or transfigure it into something new and strange. There is no big other in metabolism, no consciousness to commune with or learn from. Where the fungal era has been about venerating unknowable nonhuman maybe-intelligence and believing that hope can be dredged from ruin, the metabolic era is about submission, subsumption by the great enzyme, the desire for transformative annihilation. Metabolism is an impulse that makes sense at the end of the usable world. If we’ve exhausted our current ways of being and the planet’s existing materials, we must embrace radical breakdown.

One version of creative, apocalyptic metabolism is on vivid display in David Cronenberg’s most recent film, Crimes of the Future. Set in a near future in which environmental degradation and unspecified climate events have led to generalized decay and deterioration, Crimes of the Future imagines what might happen to human digestion. In the film, a sector of the population is evolving to successfully digest and receive nourishment from plastic. At the beginning, we see a young boy crouched in a bathroom taking bites out of a plastic trash bin like he’s compelled by an insatiable craving. Later, we learn of a whole underground organization of plastic eaters who undergo surgery and other interventions in the hopes of spurring their bodies to better metabolize plastic and other pollutants.

In this world, it’s too late for a cleanup. Toxicity is endemic, and the plastic eaters consider the best path forward to be evolving human biology to flourish in the aftermath. The film captures something essential about our zeitgeist in its oscillation between anxiety about how to metabolize everything toxic we’ve created and desire to experience the bodily and social transformation that might accompany this perverse new digestion.

This scenario is only a half step away from our current reality. Efforts are well underway to metabolize the plastic that suffuses our environment. Scientists have found multiple strains of microbes and bacteria that have evolved to digest plastic. Comamonas testosteroni can metabolize complex waste from plants and plastics. Ideonella sakaiensis enzymatically breaks down polyethylene terephthalate (PET). With each new study of microbial plastic-phagy comes a spate of hopeful, if hyperbolic, news articles: “a potential breakthrough for recycling,” “This discovery … could help solve one of the world’s most pressing environmental problems.” People love the idea that we can digest our way out of this mess. The jury is still out on whether it’s possible to operationalize plastic-eating bacteria at scale. There is some movement on this front. Carbios, a well-funded French company developing enzymes that break down plastic, recently announced funding and investment for the world’s first PET “biorecycling” plant, for instance. But many scientists are skeptical about the idea that microbial digestion is a viable solution to the problem of oceanic or terrestrial pollution. For now, plastic digestion at scale remains a pipe dream.

The metabolic turn isn’t just about learning to digest toxicity. It also plays out in fantasies—both desirous and anxious—about being digested. In times of stress, it’s a relief to imagine being crushed and consumed by some other metabolic system. “Why Does Everyone Want Their Crush to Run Them Over?” asked The Cut a few years ago. Being pulverized by your crush is a dream of being relieved of your own agency, destroyed and reconfigured, freed from the pain of consciousness so that you can be reshaped for someone else’s uses. A version of this obliterating impulse is made more explicit in vore, the erotic desire to be swallowed or devoured whole (or, conversely, to swallow or devour another), which is often expressed in role-play or illustrations. In vore, the process of digestion is imagined as a relationship between devoured and devourer—a desire for the kind of intense intimacy only possible when one is literally consumed by another.

Only a short jump from vore is the transhumanist fantasy of having your brain uploaded into the cloud, outrunning death by being absorbed into another system and transformed into bits and bytes. Ray Kurzweil famously advocated for brain uploads to achieve technological immortality, estimating in The Singularity Is Near that “the end of the 2030s is a conservative projection for successful uploading.” Russian entrepreneur Dmitry Itskov’s now mostly defunct 2045 Initiative aimed “to create technologies enabling the transfer of an individual’s personality to a more advanced non-biological carrier, and extending life, including to the point of immortality.” The desire to be consumed and immortalized by technology reveals a belief that your consciousness is uniquely important and your own creation is uniquely powerful. It’s no surprise technologists like Kurzweil lust to be dissolved by their own machines.

Similarly, some of the recent hype around generative AI reveals a conflicting set of responses to metabolic machinery. Large language models and image generators are enormous digestive systems that ingest and transform the raw materials of cultural output and behavioral data on behalf of voracious corporate interests. They suck down the sprawling detritus of human effort and swallow it into the great black box stomach of the AI system, which converts it into something uncanny and instant and profitable. As with transhumanism, some may find this extremely exciting, the emergent opportunity to create the world’s biggest digestive tract, and hence the world’s biggest (and most profitable) collective intelligence. For others, the idea that their labor and creativity is nothing but grist for the generative mill owned and controlled by unaccountable companies is a cause for great anxiety. It’s harder to be optimistic about the future of technological digestion if you’re forced to be an unwilling participant in a voracious process of corporate metabolism.

Kim’s wellness concrete and Crimes of the Future highlight the ambivalence of digestive politics. If the environment is inescapably suffused with pollutants emitted by the biggest and worst companies on earth, then learning to digest this toxicity is a sensible coping mechanism. Of course, there are creative and aesthetic possibilities within the process of toxic digestion—minimalist home goods in Kim’s case, strange new forms of sex and performance art in Cronenberg’s film. We can eke pleasure and art from all kinds of wretched situations—and we should. As Boots Riley put it in a recent interview, “Culture is what we do to make our survival normal.” Still, these visions of metabolism leave us stuck absorbing the excretions of a system that hates us. We have sprawling digestive capabilities. What might it look like to embrace our role as part of a massive and massively weird ecological and metabolic system, and to experiment with the creative and expressive potential of digestion?

Nothing is more natural or strange than metabolism. It happens on many scales, around us and within us, via processes that involve human bodies and microbes and other flora and fauna. I move through the world, digesting it as I go—material entering the mouth hole at one end, exiting the anus at the other—and in between my body does the work of processing, sorting, excreting. I am also here to be digested—built cell by cell inside another’s body and extruded into the world, only to exit back into the earth via a final hole (the grave, the furnace, the mouth of the bear) where I provide fodder for the next stomach. What a trip, what a pleasure.

Digesting with and on behalf of the earth’s ur-metabolic system means wanting more than to function as the unhappy stomach that processes capitalism’s excesses. Embracing digestion as a tool and a metaphor can help us to not only accommodate the horrors of the existing system, but to dissolve it and break it down until it no longer exists in its current form. Some ideas for earth-first digestion are already familiar, thanks to proponents of the circular economy: recapturing waste streams from one process to become inputs for another, designing to ensure reusability. However, ideally digestion wouldn’t just be mobilized to enable human industry and profit. I’m also interested in more creative and psychedelic experiences of metabolism, like collaboration with enzymes, embrace of rot, and joyful submission to the knowledge that humans are just one digestive node of the material world, rather than its apex.

Metabolism can be framed through the lens of mutual aid. While the mainstream medical industry is now catching up, biohackers and anarchist IBS sufferers alike have been experimenting with DIY fecal transplants for years, trading advice and healthy poop samples in the interests of helping each other digest better. It can also be seen as a kind of collective destruction, where communities decide a system or an infrastructure that causes them harm should no longer exist and work together to metabolize it, dissolve it, and perhaps transform its constituent matter into something entirely new. Outside of human-centered processes, composting and rot provide inspiration for rich and generative multispecies metabolism, like worms and microbes working with chemical heat and leafy greens to produce rich and unrecognizable loam. If we’re brave enough, we can even look forward to our own bodies being digested. It’s hard to know what that experience will be like, but let’s try to imagine. Space travel is uncertain, and the singularity is a mirage, so why not stay here, nestled into the cool damp ground. There is much to learn from becoming compost for the original stomach.

[o-craven-canto]

The Vital Art

When the human species began to master the molecular machinery that underlay its own existence, the first applications were thoroughly practical. It eventually became simple to engineer viruses that, injected into one's bloodstream, would go hunting on their own for pathogens and cancerous cells, and destroy them instance by instance with a thoroughness and ruthlessness that would make an inquisitor shudder. It was not unheard, of course, that some of these viruses would escape control and become pathogens of their own, as any selfish mutant would necessarily enjoy an immense evolutionary advantage over its obedient brethren. But other waves of nano-cleaners would come to chastise the first, and it would be rare for more than one to rebel.

Bacteria and other such microbes would be tailor-made for all sorts of industrial applications. The cunning alchemies devised by four billion years of seething mutation and merciless selection could be gathered and placed together by the foresight of intelligence. Some would be sprayed over landfills and polluted rivers to break down plastic polymers, encase radioactive waste in glassy foam, strip polluting organochlorides of their flesh-warping powers. Others would swarm on metal structures and use the energy of sunlight to reverse the oxidation slowly eroding their beams; or sifted through mining waste to concentrate and purify metals. It was possible to translate any message into a sequence of nucleotides, and to store them safely in bacterial spores, packing terabytes of data in a droplet of water. All had been carefully crafted so that they could never survive within animal bodies.

Thence it was hardly a leap to cultivate animal and vegetal cells in aquaria and petri dishes. It became trivial to grow any tissue from a single cell; and soon later, authentic giant panda meat was no more expensive than chicken breast. The basest mixture of organic matter, down to dead leaves raked from a yard, could be liquefied into nutrient broth, and sown with the seeds of a feast worthy of royal courts. Rumors were heard of wealthy eccentrics dining on their own projected and multiplied flesh. (Conveniently enough, large swathes of humanity agreed that raising animals for meat was a moral outrage only a few years after synthetic meat had become cheap and satisfactory; though not large enough to prevent meat breeds from surviving as pampered status symbols in isolated regions of the planet.)

Bio-artists managed to grow whole functional organs out of stem cells; and then linked them with artificial nerves and guts and blood vessels, giving life to minimal creatures, networks of interconnected glands lying in a collection of petri dishes. These could turn food into colored secretions or pleasant scents, baring every step of the process to the gawkers. Miniaturized versions were later enclosed in a smooth carapace and sold as decorations, such as living lanterns that could produce a warm firefly light for a few drops of nutritive solution. Designing self-sustaining systems that could perform such functions on a spoonful of sugar became a common assignment for schoolchildren.

Some bioart companies released all-purpose "basic creatures" into which decorative organs could be plugged and exchanged at will, so that the same pulsing fleshsac could nourish a cluster of multi-colored lights one day, musk glands with the scent of lavander and pine resin the next, then a chitinous carillon or a battery-recharging orifice. Subcultures made a game out of the collection of functional organs. This resulted, for a while, in unpleasant exchanges of pathogens; and many owners found expensive organs swollen and oozing with infections. Specialized antibiotic vials became very quickly an indispensable accessory.

All the arts of the animal and vegetal kingdoms were repurposed for human enjoyment. Cephalopod skins were grafted onto the manufactured creatures, and stimulated electrically so that pigmented cells would expand or contract as commanded, serving as biological pixels to display pictures and videos. Swarms of fabricated insects danced in the sky in evanescent shrouds, painting streaks of light with the glow of their own bodies. Worm-like ribbons were wrapped around Christmas trees, or around columns and lampposts during public holidays, to fill the air with the colors of their photophores, or festive stridulations; artificial syringes and gular sacs modeled after tree frogs and siamangs to produce songs of staggering beauty and complexity, with an organic, animal quality that no mechanical instrument nor human voice could have produced.

Synthetic pets came into demand, offering more flattery of human biophilic instincts in lieu of the cleanliness and efficiency of pet robots. They were built at first in imitation of slugs and shrimps (without unpleasant secretions, and built to withstand the manipulation of impatient children), then of birds and mammals. Soft textures, pleasant sounds and smells, endearing features were agreed upon in bioaesthetic committees, endlessly simulated in virtual ontogenesis, and finally translated into proprietary genetic code and packed into a convenient egg. Clean and sexless they were made for families that would feed them daily with patented formulas; and others were made in less innocent places for less innocent purposes.

Brain-designing teams became accustomed to threading a very fine needle, creating minds that were developed enough to avoid most frustrations of pet-owning, without crossing the threshold that would grant them the same personhood and self-ownership granted in extremis to the last gorillas and elephants. Years of poring over the daedalus of neurons with the resources of industry and its hunger for results uncovered many secrets that would feed the next waves of the vital arts.

The following wonder was of course the return of recently extinct species, the delicate-hued passenger pigeon, the reptile-jawed Tasmanian wolf, the purple-cheeked orangutan. Century-old plans were fulfilled as ruddy herds of mammoths wandered once again the pale tundra, although they had to be relocated to a thawing Antarctica. Much clamor was raised by the announce of restored dinosaurs, which were later revealed to have been manufactured out of modified emus and hoazins. Still they enjoyed a great popularity, in increasingly bizarre forms, that eventually resembled more the drooling monsters of ancient movies than the breathing animals of the Mesozoic. They were joined by other false resurrections, the living effigies of clankering sea scorpions, wheezing proto-tetrapods, and gibbering australopithecines.

The orangutans enjoyed the greatest success of all resurrected creatures; they established a thriving population in the half-sunken ruins of a once-great megalopolis in Southeast Asia, whose surviving inhabitants had long since moved to floating swarms of pelagopoleis. For many decades the reborn apes could be sighted from the sea, sitting placidly under red shawls of fur, on the greening roofs and rusting pylons. Apparently jealous of their own new life, they disappeared quickly into the thickest brush, or into galleries believed to extend deep below the sea level of that time. Many fantastic conjectures were made about their secret existence, though nobody quite managed to probe it by force or deceit. Presumably, when the War came some three decades later, the resurrected orangutans fell for the second time into the chasm of extinction.

In the later phase, mammalian and even human brains were produced, some apparently capable of nervous activity. There were many ways to expose it to the world: in some cases it was translated into a musical codex; in others, the outer cortex was made translucent, and the flow of neurotransmitters could be seen as a warm-colored glow. A Museum of Qualia was briefly opened in a northern city, where one could experience the colors of distant longing, the textures of sexual rapture, the notes of filial love, and the taste of divine inspiration. It became simple, then, to induce the same sensations in natural brains, and make everyone into a poète maudit and a prophet of God.

Most synthetic brains were mercifully awash in endorphins for all their existence. But in one infamous case, a particularly mad artist had their farmed brain glow with neuronal activity in ways consistent with excruciating pain. The debates were fierce, on questions both of fact and moral, and after a few months the damned creature, if such it was, was disconnected from support and incinerated. Its luckier brethren followed it soon. The natural-born brains that had been stored and preserved in view of a future reanimation, which for the time trauma or decay had made impossible, were kept in storage as long as dutiful heirs or charitable organizations funded it, and not one minute longer.

This one scandal marked the zenith of popularity of the vital art, and from there it swiftly withdrew from public exaltation into the pockets of practicality -- food production, medicine, waste treatment -- where it could not be abandoned, and where people had long accepted it as normal and natural. People would still dine on vat-grown meat -- who but a savage would prefer another kind? -- and saved their loved ones from death with any necessary mean. But year after year, the breathing infrastructures were quietly dismantled or fell into disrepair, and the synthetic companions lost much of their appeal.

Many countries of the world banned the applications of the art that were not essential, and some of those that were. Quickly the wealth of volumes written on the manipulation of life became little more than a catalogue of past curiosities, a glimpse into the alien thoughts and values that so recently were the rule.

In the last few years before the War, new developments of the vital art only occurred in secret, in the laboratories of tyrants and revolutionaries, meant not for unscrupulous creation, but for exceedingly scrupulous destruction.

[walaw717]

How Leaky Gut, Gary Snyder, Jim Harrison, and Okakura Kazuko Helped Me Rediscover Coffee.

Or, My Dad was a Zen Master, and I Didn’t Notice.

Zen is not some fancy, unique art of living. Our teaching is to live, always in reality, in its exact sense.

Shunryu Suzuki

It began simple enough, well, not that simple. The Traditional Chinese Physician diagnosed my partner with leaky gut syndrome. That sounds terrible, and it was for her. She loved boxed prepared foods and was not fond of vegetables. Time and malnutrition brought on by General Mills, Conagra, and a variety of corporate food chemists had caught up to her, killing the terrarium in her gut so that everything she ate penetrated past the lichen-like lining of her intestines and digestive tract so acid ate at the inner skin like a chemical spill eating the epoxy resin on a high school science class table. This acid wash triggered various autoimmune disorders and led to arthritis, diarrhea, malaise, and general misery for her and those around her. She spent a lot of time in the bathroom, travel was curtailed, and there was general unhappiness all around because the irritation in her gut often seeped out of her vocal cords.

The Physician approached me in the waiting room. At the same time, my partner lay in a private room with needles, restoring her chi into its proper channels and outlining the changes needed in our lifestyle to cure this plague of misery. The doctor told me I also needed to join the new dietary regime to be supportive.

“Well, OK,” I said with outward unfelt enthusiasm.

So we went home and cleaned cabinets, throwing packaged foods away and feeling pangs of guilt — should we throw it away or give it to a shelter? I had visions of homeless people excitedly getting free food that passed as quality and eventually needing a traditional Chinese physician to tell them why they had started crapping so much and with such urgency. I took it to the dumpster, deciding that if they dove for it, it would at least not be the typical garbage they found to eat there that already messed up their guts and energy meridians, contributing to a miserable lifestyle. Their choice would not be my responsibility. I am, after all, an American and well-practiced at ignoring or at least rationalizing my guilt at ecological and cultural destruction. The dumpster became my version of a clear-cut in Oregon. Behind twenty-five yards of pristine natural beauty and unseen from the speeding motorists on the interstates is a desolated waste that can only support the lifestyle of the rich and infamous. To paraphrase an adage from pop psychology, “What we don’t think about, we pretend we don’t bring about.”

And then there was the Mr. Coffee. It sat on the kitchen counter, a yellowing plastic oddly shaped box protectively embracing a clear glass carafe that produced without much effort or thought a dark brown nectar that started our day. It was simple: you pulled out the black plastic cup, lined it with bleached paper, measured several small scoops of coffee, replaced the black plastic cup, filled the box with water, hit the button, and left the room, knowing the watery brown liquor would be ready after the morning shower and shave. Frankly, I was addicted to the tasteless brown water that came out, full of caffeine that gave me a lift but no longer a sweet aroma, depth of flavor or anything but a buzz. The Physician said that they had to go. The little lichen and animal-like bacteria in the gut didn’t like the acid. She equated it with Agent Orange. Being of a certain age, I was more familiar with Agent Orange than I wanted or should be, and I suspect she knew that just by looking at my grey hair. She was playing dirty there, but “Well, OK.”

So Mr. Coffee went somewhere. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to become like stomach acid and create more irritation. To ease the pain, I read an article by a Buddhist who said he quit coffee for six months and felt great but eventually had a cup of the dark roast at Starbucks. He didn’t get a buzz but got jazzed for two days. That didn’t help as I read his article while drinking weak green tea with ginger, waiting for caffeine-induced enlightenment.

As a caffeine junkie and failed Roshi, I needed some relief. Each morning, I scrolled Tumblr’s pictures while drinking my tea and tried to distract myself from the lack of coffee and junk food. Before I went to Tumblr and its processed version of the good life, I had returned to Zazen, you know, meditative sitting, but I was haunted by Buddhist demons carrying Starbucks cups. That was akin to the demons I had seen as a young college student Buddhist “wannabe” reading Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki, practicing their version of sitting zazen. The forms Mara took in those sittings mostly looked like the red-headed girl I was dating. She would arise in my meditations dancing with her female roommate, both naked dakinis looking beguilingly at me, beckoning me. Needless to say, I never found a Bodhi tree as lovely as Keanu Reeves’ in Little Buddha. I usually went to the red-headed girl’s apartment, leaving my cat to fend for herself for several days. The cat was often irritated with me — the story of my life with females.

Giving up zazen for scrolling Tumblr didn’t help much. There were many beautiful images of landscapes, cityscapes, horses, wildlife, and old trucks and cars. It is a veritable Life magazine online, and being a trained art historian studying reproductions of pictures was right up my alley. There were many images of beguiling dakinis, but more provocatively undressed than those I showed freshmen when I taught art history. As an old man, experienced in the wiles of youthful Dakinis, they looked generally unbeguiling and un-tempting. Sometimes, they wore a plaid flannel shirt tied above the waist, standing next to a campfire, or sitting on the tailgate of a pickup, holding a tin cup of coffee; those got to me — I love plaid, and there was coffee. Even more painfully, there were camping pictures, not just any camping pictures but old percolators on campfires, some with steam coming out of their spouts, some with the cooked brown fluid being poured into cups. As I hit the little heart to acknowledge I liked those images, they appeared more and more frequently. I began to seriously think there were hells, Buddhists and otherwise, and real demons determined to steal my peace.

I was not always addicted to coffee. It all began next to the Seine at a little cafe on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where I first tasted café au lait. I was a typical 18-year-old 1970s kid backpacking through Europe, and Paris was a first stop. I hated wine and was not too fond of beer, though I drank large quantities with friends at college my first term, and Perrier was breaking my travel budget. One day, I learned that café au lait was mostly milk, and being a farm boy still wedded to the idea that milk was good for me, I downed a cup of café au lait, then another and another. At the end of my first sitting, the waiter counted eight saucers and asked if “Monsieur was feeling okay.” “Sure,” I replied with composure I didn’t feel. I left the café, strolled down the Qui Voltaire, crossed the river on the Pont de la Concorde, hiked through the Tuileries and toured the entire Louvre in 45 minutes flat.

I continued my travels in Europe and tried every type of coffee I could find, settling on Turkish coffee in little cups with big cubes of sugar. In a pinch, I would accept espresso, but by the time I got to Italy, espresso seemed a weak way to live.

Then I returned to America, tried various diner coffees, and wondered why they served browned hot water. By then, Mr. Coffee had replaced percolators and any other form of making coffee all across America. Joe DiMaggio was happy and smiling on every new box containing a coffee maker and heading to an American home.

I tried to make Turkish coffee. Generally, I failed and finally settled on strong home-brewed Mr. Coffee with lots of heavy cream. I would occasionally daydream about camping with my parents and blue-speckled-ware coffee pots on the fire or the aroma of the coffee their electric percolator made as it rhythmically gurgled in the kitchen. It never occurred to me to get an electric percolator because they were, thanks to Mr. Coffee, passe and un-American. I also avoided percolator coffee because I associated it with the odor of my parent’s cigarettes. No matter how good the coffee smelled, I had an aversion to their cigarettes and my parents. Therapy helped me overcome my aversion to my parents but not cigarettes, and the association of stale, burned, chemical-treated tobacco and perked coffee remained.

I felt good after six months of a healthy life, eating right, losing weight, and spending less time on the toilet. I still, however, craved caffeine. I started looking at Mr. Coffee online and realized it was a version of pour-over coffee. So, I bought a plastic two-cup Merlita sit-on-the-cup pour-over device. It was an odd orange-pink affair, but It made a good single cup of coffee, and I discovered that the two-cup size worked just fine to make a single cup of coffee. I understood that a pour-over made better coffee than Mr. Coffee, even though the process was the same. The two-cup pour-over process did require me to pay attention to what I was doing.

This pour-over coffee period came while I re-read Gary Snyder and Jim Harrison, two old Buddhists who were even grouchier than me. They got me rethinking, too, about the practice of the wild and how aggravated I was with General Mills and Conagra and the whole mess of modern American consumerism I allowed myself to get sucked into. I realized I missed camping, hiking, and the smell of coffee perking on an open campfire. I truly missed robust campfire coffee with its flavor and aroma.

I bought an Italian Bialetti Moka pot to remain civilized about my need for aroma. ( I didn’t say I escaped consumerism, just I was aggravated with it.). As I entered the ritual each morning of making coffee in a Moka pot, so strong that I had to serve it in tiny espresso cups to keep the buzz low, I realized that making coffee was really about paying attention, like a Japanese tea ceremony. It took time and required focused measuring of the coffee, packing the funnel, preheating the water, a degree of zazen, listening for the gurgle of the pot and knowing when to take it off the heat so it did not get bitter. I liked the meditation of preparing it. I hated the tiny, over-caffeinated cups. ( My coffee fast had at least broken my addiction to triple-dose caffeine.)

Then we had a cold front, I mean a really cold front that made me wish I had remembered to close the windows the night before, and I had visions of camping, dakinis in plaid flannel shirts, me in plaid flannel shirts, lakes and campfires and a percolator on the fire. It was a memory of connection and loss rolled into one. I was young, and it was a time before Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki when I knew how to sit, breathe, watch, observe, be present, and smell the coffee with childlike naturalness. So, back to the consumer websites. I scanned a couple dozen percolators. Being aware that I had to make sure I was not as irritating as stomach acid in my choice, I picked a shiny stainless steel eight-cup percolator over the twelve-cup spatterware blue of my encamped youth. Two days later, it arrived and posed gloriously on my stove. Even my partner admitted to its silvery beauty.

I then read internet manuals on how to make the perfect pot of percolator coffee. They all disagreed about the amount of coffee, timing, and type of coffee. Then I remembered my dad, carefully spooning a heaping tablespoon of coffee per 6-ounce cup of water and one for the pot. I remembered how, while he measured his coffee into the basket, the pot would sit on a rock on the fire’s edge and come to a boil. He would gently lower the full basket into the boiling water, place the lid on the pot and move the pot away from the heat, allowing it not to boil vigorously but return to a slow boil so the coffee would not become bitter. And then he would wait, light a cigarette when the water would start its gentle dance in the glass cap of the lid. While he waited, he watched the perking water in the glass knob at the top of the pot without fidgeting or seeming to allow his mind to race away with him. And at the end of his cigarette, after his short version of meditation, he would lift the pot from the fire, place it on another warm but not hot rock, wait again for the basket to finish draining into the pot and remove the basket so the coffee would not become bitter, pour his mug of coffee, and sit again. Still, this sitting involvedwatching the forest and just being. The memory reminded me of Okakura Kazuko’s “Book of Tea,” his extended essay about aesthetics, tea, and Japanese life. As I remembered my Dad by the campfire, I realized Mr. Coffee’s plastic convenience erased coffee’s aesthetic from American life.

I have discovered that Coffee is not just a daily punch line at Starbucks with crazy concoctions snatched by a string of crazier motorists, nor is it the caffeine jazz you get from a neglected Mr. Coffee after a shower and a shave. Making coffee is a meditation, an act of beauty, a reminder of history and a rare act of America behaving in a more civilized way. In the Book of Tea, Kazuko comments, “The Westerner regarded Japan as barbarous while she indulged in the gentle arts of peace and began to call her civilized only when she began to commit wholesale slaughter on the Manchurian battlefields.” I realized that Mr. Coffee not only made barbarous coffee (we won’t even discuss Keurig), but Mr. Coffee was part of our uncivilized behavior toward the entire world, eliminating a small act of spirituality from our racing over-wrought lives.

I now regard the loss of Mr. Coffee not as a loss. It is a spiritual gain. Each morning now, I conduct a ritual. I rinse all my utensils, fill the pot with eight six-ounce measures of clean water, eight heaping tablespoons of freshly ground coffee and one for the pot. I bring the water to a boil, carefully insert the coffee, and place the lid on the pot. I watch until the water rises into the glass knob and then sit, and breathe for eight minutes, the amount of time I think it would have taken Dad to smoke a cigarette. I remove the pot and sit long enough to allow the water to finish draining from the basket, remove the basket and pour coffee into a mug reserved just for coffee, the one with the horses standing in a stream, drinking clear water. And then slowly sip while I sit on my porch, looking at the mountains. When it is cool enough, I wear a plaid flannel shirt and remember a time in my youth watching my father, who had never heard of Alan Watts, D. T. Suzuki, or Zen, sit his version of Zazen drinking his coffee, smoking one of his ever-present cigarettes looking out over a campfire at the lake and being at peace and away from the “chaos of the rat race,” as he defined it.

Maybe being a Roshi is realizing that life itself is Zazen if you slow down and allow it to be. Today, I lifted my cup to a man who was my Roshi that I didn’t notice. I suspect we all have such untitled Zen teachers.

[koalacopperau]

Premium Copper Water Bottle Australia: A Blend of Health and Elegance

Copper water bottles have been revered for centuries for their health benefits and aesthetic appeal. In Australia, the demand for premium copper water bottles has been on the rise, as health-conscious individuals embrace sustainable and natural alternatives to plastic bottles. These bottles offer a perfect balance of style, durability, and well-being, making them a popular choice for modern consumers.

Health Benefits of Copper Water Bottles

Copper has long been celebrated in Ayurvedic medicine for its numerous health properties. Storing water in a copper bottle allows a small amount of copper to infuse into the water, a process known as oligodynamic effect. This is believed to provide various benefits, such as:

Boosting Immunity: Copper possesses antimicrobial properties that can help kill harmful bacteria and support the immune system.

Improving Digestion: Drinking water from a copper bottle can stimulate digestive enzymes, aiding in better metabolism and gut health.

Anti-inflammatory Properties: Copper is known to reduce inflammation in the body, which can alleviate joint pain and arthritis symptoms.

Promoting Skin Health: Regular use of copper-enriched water is thought to enhance skin elasticity and combat signs of aging.

Why Choose Premium Copper Water Bottles?

Premium Copper Water Bottle Australia stand out for their superior craftsmanship and quality. Made from 100% pure copper, these bottles ensure maximum health benefits and long-lasting performance. They often feature elegant designs, polished finishes, and leak-proof caps, making them both functional and stylish. Additionally, these bottles are eco-friendly, offering a sustainable solution to reduce plastic waste.

Maintaining Your Copper Water Bottle

Proper care is essential to maximize the longevity and benefits of a copper bottle. To maintain its shine and effectiveness:

Clean the bottle regularly with a mixture of lemon juice and salt or a mild vinegar solution.

Avoid using harsh detergents or abrasive scrubbers that can damage the surface.

Store the bottle in a cool, dry place when not in use.

Where to Find Premium Copper Water Bottles in Australia

With growing interest in sustainable and health-oriented products, premium copper water bottles are readily available online and in specialty stores across Australia. Look for trusted brands that prioritize authenticity and quality.

A premium copper water bottle is more than just a vessel; it’s a commitment to health, sustainability, and timeless elegance. Invest in one today to experience its myriad benefits and make a positive impact on both your well-being and the environment.

[curtiscripe]

Understanding the Link Between Nutrition and Brain Plasticity with Curtis Cripe

Curtis Cripe How Nutrition Affects Brain Plasticity and Cognitive Health

Brain plasticity, also known as neuroplasticity, is the brain's remarkable ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections throughout life. Curtis Cripe recognizes that this ability is crucial for learning, memory, and recovery from brain injuries. While many factors influence brain plasticity, one of the most impactful is nutrition. The foods we consume can either support or hinder neuroplasticity, making it essential to understand which nutrients contribute to a healthy brain.

The Role of Omega-3 Fatty Acids in Brain Health

Omega-3 fatty acids, especially docosahexaenoic acid (DHA), are essential for brain health. DHA is a critical component of cell membranes in the brain, aiding in the transmission of signals between neurons. It also supports synaptic plasticity, which is the process that strengthens or weakens synaptic connections in response to increases or decreases in activity. Omega-3s are known to promote the growth of new neurons and reduce inflammation in the brain, which can enhance learning and memory.

Fatty fish like salmon, sardines, and mackerel, as well as plant sources such as flaxseeds, chia seeds, and walnuts, are rich in omega-3s. Incorporating these foods into your diet can help improve cognitive function and support ongoing neuroplasticity.

Antioxidants and Their Neuroprotective Effects

Antioxidants play a significant role in protecting the brain from oxidative stress, which can damage cells and inhibit neuroplasticity. When free radicals accumulate in the brain, they can lead to inflammation and cell death, contributing to cognitive decline. Antioxidants help neutralize these harmful molecules, reducing their damaging effects and supporting brain health.

Vitamins C and E, as well as polyphenols found in foods like berries, dark chocolate, and green tea, are potent antioxidants. Regular consumption of these nutrient-rich foods can boost brain function, enhance memory, and promote the formation of new neural pathways.

B Vitamins: Fuel for the Brain

B vitamins, particularly B6, B9 (folate), and B12, play a crucial role in brain function and neuroplasticity. These vitamins are involved in the production of neurotransmitters, such as serotonin and dopamine, which influence mood and cognitive abilities. B vitamins also help regulate homocysteine levels—a compound that, in excess, can harm neurons and impair neuroplasticity.

Leafy green vegetables, legumes, eggs, and meat are foods high in B vitamins. Adequate intake of these nutrients can support neurotransmitter function and overall brain health.

The Gut-Brain Connection: How Diet Influences Brain Plasticity

The gut-brain connection highlights the importance of gut health in maintaining cognitive function. The gut microbiome, composed of trillions of bacteria, influences brain health through the production of neurotransmitters and the regulation of inflammation. A diet rich in prebiotics and probiotics can positively impact the gut-brain axis, supporting neuroplasticity.

Prebiotic foods, such as garlic, onions, and bananas, and probiotic sources like yogurt, kefir, and sauerkraut, can improve gut health and, in turn, enhance brain plasticity.

Nutrition plays a critical role in brain plasticity, influencing everything from the formation of new neural connections to protecting the brain from damage. Incorporating omega-3 fatty acids, antioxidants, B vitamins, and gut-supporting foods into your diet can promote cognitive health and support neuroplasticity. Curtis Cripe says that by prioritizing a balanced diet, you can help keep your brain adaptable, resilient, and primed for learning.

References: 

https://www.vaia.com/en-us/explanations/medicine/neuroscience/plasticity-and-diet/#:~:text=Certain%20foods%20can%20promote%20the%20growth%20of%20new,that%20supply%20glucose%2C%20the%20brain%27s%20primary%20fuel%20source.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2805706/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9090458/

[allthenewzworld]

Scientists in Kenya discovered that lesser mealworm larvae can break down polystyrene, a commonly used plastic, with the help of gut bacteria.

These larvae consume plastic more effectively when supplemented with a nutrient-rich diet, highlighting potential for plastic waste management.

Researchers aim to harness the bacteria and enzymes from the larvae's gut for large-scale recycling applications, rather than releasing the insects directly into the environment.

Read more at link in our bio. 

#news #viral #allthenewz

[jkl-fff]

Dipper: *has an existential crisis about not being the Smart One(TM)*

Mabel: *has six chess pieces in her digestive tract, but also has synthesized gut bacteria capable of breaking down plastic as a defense mechanism against her unsettlingly plastic heavy diet*

This has probably been done loads of times but I wanted to contribute.