Globes of creativity. Globs of creation. When you make something, think of it as an orb. Stay with me. I'm going to talk about networks, insects with infinite legs, cogs with infinite teeth.

No, the globe is better. That which is spherical and fluid is better.

Think of a sphere, that's what you've made, but it exists in a space where everything everyone else has ever made also exists - infinite spheres - and small strands of light come from them, tendrils like the red gases and solar flares rippling out from the sun, solar cigar smoke. Spheres become linked to spheres through these lines, an inferno of connection. Some globes appear to swallow entire galaxies, others are like grains of sand, almost entirely isolated, unpublished poems thrown in recycling bins and never read by anyone but their maker, left to decompose, or becoming milk cartons, packing boxes, whatever old recycled paper becomes, new paper with all the old lines erased. Think of all the things people have made and remade. Think of all those spheres with their connecting lines. Scholars focus on small sections of this network, trying to figure out how things link up, how Marlowe might relate to Cuban folk music, or how violence in the 20th century might relate to Wagnerian bellows or Indian ragas or newts, Nigerian pottery to a contemporary dance show with two intervals you saw at the Southbank one evening whilst too hungover to care, light installations in Southern Massachusetts and the first drum ever made from a poisonous frog. There are some things we'll simply never know.