Forms of life: these fungi live off the slow decay of a tree trunk chopped in sections to divide one neighbor’s lawn from another. Do we know what we are or where we are? Gnosticism, I wrote this morning, is nothing more than a revolt against the wrong sort of love, and the wrong sort of love is nothing more than Alfred North Whitehead’s Blakean definition of evil: creativity at the wrong time. Is that Joan Armatrading thrown up at the deep end of the playlist? It sure is: I am not in love / But I’m open to persuasion. Sing.