Ecoterror is so last decade, says Posthuman. These days, we’re thinking of it as interspecies solidarity. Have you ever pulled out a plant by its roots? It’s the opposite of that. Or the same, but the plant is capitalism, and its fruit is rotting everywhere. Even our friend the soil teems with it. These days, we are rethinking the rhizome. Watch and learn.

Posthuman takes the bus to the other side of town, route branching across roads, highways, the vital limbs of the tree of the city. They get off at the last stop. Dusk is falling. The great rolling lawns of the golf course are Private Property, of course. Posthuman doesn’t believe in speech acts or land ownership. They hop the chain-link fence, lacerate a palm on the wire, which diamonds the purpling sky. There is blood smelling of wet copper, which is always exciting. Posthuman wipes their hand on the silken blades of the grass. Who named this plant so violently, its limbs likened to weapons? A human, of course. No doubt about it. Posthuman has been working on their throwing arm, and their bag overflows with possible life. They grab chunks of it, and launch. East, west, up, down. Anywhere, a seed might take root. May it be so. May this crime beget life. May its descendants be fruitful. May the night security guard neglect to call the police.

Posthuman wipes dirt from their bloodied hands. Their job is done and barely started. Anywhere, everywhere, may the changing season bring blossoms. May we marvel at what can still grow.