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Progress On Next Book

The bigger man builds, the louder Mother Nature laughs. It seems to be a near universal theme. Ruin of the mill, if you like. Take the Biblical account of all our languages, for example. Man resolves to reach the heavens, building a tall tower. The Boss says: No. Man says: Watch me. Man proceeds to build, something beautiful, impressive, and huge. The Boss, furious, hurls down from the heavens His wrath and ire: “There! French conjugations for you, you little bastards!”
There, consequently, something hauntingly beautiful and humblingly instructive about observing ruins. Roman roads still cross landscapes, partly because they were well built for their time, and partly because they are never used. Ancient monasteries and cathedrals become little terrariums on which insects build their kingdoms.
All that exists is born or created; then grows; then decays; then dies. This cycle is true for flesh or stone.
Ruins are also portals for time travelling. You stand on a patch of grass where a grand cathedral used to be – before His Majesty Henry had it burned to a crisp or the Huns bombed it to smithereens in Big Two. And for just a moment there is a spark touching your skin… like you could transport yourself all the way back there, and feel life as it was back then. A little moment of connection to people you never knew in a place that is no longer the same from times you never lived. Man plans, God laughs. Man builds, Nature retakes.