Infinite Ear Imagine the world trying to get inside this plant. Knocking on it as one would on a sealed chamber. The spines snarl angrily like dogs chained to a doorpost. The meat resists the hand or the knife, and when you finally enter you're already lost in infinity. In tasture or text, I mean texture or taste, in pulchre - it speaks back at you hollowly as if it were its own sound. Already a magical potion: maguey, ocotillo, cardenche mezcal, sotol - the infinite ear. * by Norbert Ruebsaat