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There’s an old joke about sausages. If a sausage is just meat stuffed into an intestine, what do you call the man stuffing his face? When you eat a sausage, you become the sausage. You’re just putting it right back into a different intestine. It’s one big recursive intestine, going back to the dawn of life.
Intestines and anuses are the plumbing of life, which we don’t plumb too deeply, beyond laughing at the sounds they make. The intestinal ecosystem is, in fact, a world unto itself. If you truly spilled your guts, you’d find enough surface area to play a racquet sport; some sources say a full tennis lawn, others half a badminton court. There is, indeed, a flurry of activity in your intestines, trillions of beings dwell inside. We truly do contain multitudes, not just voices in our heads but gurgling microbes in our midsections.
The human body preserves an aquatic and anaerobic ecosystem like the ancient oceans, before photosynths caused runaway climate change the first time. Every human avatar reproduces an atavistic ‘safe space’ for ancient gods, as you could reasonably call…
