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The Biomass of History

Somewhere I read that in terms of biomass the tiny ant is by far the dominant species of the planet. That thing that steals the name of History is only a fine thread, strung and restrung, through the signifying event beads of a single species. The biomass of history, its unseen and forgotten weight, consists of that nearly but emphatically not infinite ocean of beads that are the private memorials, the ringing flashes and gleams, long deserts and minute features, relative significances, incoherences. That false, and too exclusively human, thing that steals the name of History is a distorted order.