Dan: Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine— Unweave a rainbow… Sam: When you unweave the rainbow nothing is lost by understanding that it is light refracted, reflected, and dispersed by illuminated water droplets between two particular angles; photons hitting the photoreceptors in your eyes that send electrical signals down the optical nerve into the brain which in turn flips the image, causes a cascade systemic reaction triggering consciousness, memory, emotions; becomes what we see and makes us go: Dan: “Wow! Look at that! A rainbow!” Pulling back the rain-shower curtain reveals no occam's razor of wizard-manipulated levers, but a blank slate to be discovered, marked, blemished, and re-found. Sam: Science says we are here. Full stop. Dan: Poetry says we are here. Question mark? Sam: Science asks the questions. Dan: And poetry marks the spot. Sam: The spots of a leopard are called ‘rosettes’ because their shape is similar to that of a rose. Dan: Would a leopard by any other name smell as sweet? Sam: Sweetness is one of at least five basic tastes detected by the tongue’s taste buds. Others include sourness, saltiness, bitterness, and a balanced flavour called umami. Dan: The taste of her perfume split the air like the sensations on your skin before a storm. Sam: The Beaufort scale is an empirical measure for describing wind intensity based on observed sea conditions. Dan: We learn that there is no end to a rainbow. So perhaps we can stop chasing the pot of gold knowing that there is no leprechaun but an abundance of wealth in simply enjoying it Sam: For what it is. Dan: The sea is a dense sediment of mangled atoms. Sam: All of the atoms in our bodies were created in supernovae over 4.5 billion years ago. Dan: In the beginning there was nothing, just love and stardust. Sam: Science says that all of reality could in fact be an artificial simulation. Dan: Poetry says none of this is real. Sam: We learn that many rainbows exist. Unseen by an observer that we are surrounded by a spectrum of light that bathes us in a glow of colours - we don’t even know that even in darkness we are lit up by electromagnetism. Dan: So we can never truly be lost. Sam: We learn that a rainbow does not exist Dan: At one particular location and instead – with this knowing of angles and light – we can become creators of nature making our own rainbows on a sunny day with a fine mist from a garden hose. Sam: We learn that my rainbow is not the same as your rainbow. Dan: Because we are standing in different places. Sam: The lives we’ve led leading us to this moment of our meeting. Dan: You, me, and these rainbows. Sam: Understanding that we are not seeing the same thing. Dan: But also the same thing. Sam: And how marvellous that we can overcome Dan: That vast space between us. Both: And compare our colours.

(i) Surface The ocean remembers a hand the body of a child waist deep it remembers touch the promise of forgiveness the ocean remembers the loneliness of water how we stepped away from it dripping with ideas, our hands furious creatures how we arched our backs & it ran from us regrouped watched as we built engines out of air as we shoaled through our salt cities as we whittled boats that bled their black grief into its sunken cerulean mouth how the grief settled across the seabed into a funeral of fish wrapped in a swirling dark cloak stitched from its ancestors the oceans are not blue they are bruised we bite our own hands wash in the same water we drink from are the same water we drink from & now the tide is turning to look at you Listen can you hear the sea ticking? (ii) Twilight The ocean is a museum remembers in sediments the whole of time in a drop of water humanity in strata Here: The first human to hold their breath Here: the first human to be their breath Here: The first human to Medusa their breath to poison Poseidon who dreams of deserts this twilight cathedral this prayer mat // Did you forget the ocean is within you? can you feel the surge in your veins a flash tide of belonging? we battle our blood currents swim upstream of our egos but there are things in our depths that are jealous of the ocean’s belief understand the language of the sea & why it keeps returning these sudden shallows these rip currents of rage this conviction that we can harness the waves leash the ocean carry us further from the shore than we have ever been swim against the song a man stands alone on the shore collecting waves in a plastic carrier bag that he will take to market later. On another coast a party of drunks punch the water until it retreats. In a seaside town frozen fish are released back into the wild the water without calls to the water within (iii) Deep We know that things live in the dark places. while we engineer certainties something without a face watches us its lost siblings waits for our return knowing that our hearts are tectonic plates drifting moving further from one another down here light loses its way & shadows shoal & flit, are ideas sunk in the body’s blue subconscious it is only in these darks that we find the bright philosophies self-illuminate & the ocean remembers love how something small dropped in its wide knowing becomes something big that can swallow cities o, we humans we come in waves. // & you and I are the same body of water touching our lips to different shores & somewhere a child takes the hand of the ocean & a smile ripples out across the still surface of a face //

Here it is again smacking on my windowsill I drink tea and watch each drop snake a journey down the pane unique fingerprint moses basket tiny orb Patterns. Solid time. A blanket of possibilities. Follow the trace. The weave. I swallow hard ponder a biscuit what would Attenborough think of my diet 28000 species of fish Feel it glide past my skin. Feel the bite. Stretch my legs salmon for tea what would happen if my lungs filled up I’m an eel, a golden fish, a mermaid forced to live on land, squash in a wine glass to feel like I’m drinking does anyone get their 2 litres a day? Three strong strokes then drifting, eyes on the sky, the tapestry of the surface I miss feeling my limbs lighten kicking off like a frog Down from the path where the lake spills Where the footholds slip and the unseen-ness caresses Silver rope-plaits play to a ruffling crowd a thrumming scent of swoop and stumble Translucent forms of half remembered faces, of hippo backs and cauliflowers, arch past in uneven stunted rows before drowning in imperfect reflections Come closer, crouch down, decelerate to silence Hold this cool jumble of yesterday’s meteors Ravenous silver fragments in your palm Poised for a night of sweat and bass My sister took to it easily, two, three then four touches on the surface of the water. My brother every so often would make ripples with his wet smooth pebble , but mine would plop and sink, plunge to the bottom every time – didn’t matter how shiny or perfect the stone - we’d go camping each summer – long walks – books that would tell us which path to take, which stile to miss, which fields to cross – sometimes we ended up lost all day – a backpack of cheese and pickle sandwiches, ready salted crisps – I’d wake in the night desperate for a wee – relieve myself into the morning dew – my dad caught wasps in a trap made from a bottle, water and jam – sat there in his camping chair with a butterknife – struck the plastic as they took the bait – I watched them drown. My babies were born in the water. In a giant blue pool enveloped by forest green carpet and the wincing scowl of the trainee midwife. Water babies. Too many lost. In the spate. Pink stain crumbling. Waiting for the flood. Current ripping. Sharp stones tearing. Submerged tree fingers slicing. When it’s over – searching through the debris for the curled pink pebble. Sometimes small enough for a matchbox cremation. Inside a bed of red silk. Too many lost. I’ve been getting to know my cervix. Its mucus. Consistency, colour, position and shape. Worry I’m not ovulating. The birthdays keep on coming and the pregnancies announce themselves like hangovers. I piss on a stick – study the lines. One of my friends has a water birth – right there in her front room. I meet him 4 weeks later on a walk by the sea. She says her hormones have made her stink. I smell his fresh head like in the films. Hold him close as the wind picks up. The waves in me are stirring and I’m waiting for the flood. Every crimson splash in the porcelain – every smudge on the paper tearing me up – I obsess over my diet – take evening primrose – count my macros –They say that madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I’m a failure, a miracle, battling with my battered body. Maybe a dog will do. Am I swimming or floating? Waving or drowning? I track my flow, run a bath – hold myself in the foam. Exploding bubbles of repeated loss. The cravings come with their pointy teeth Mad hormonal fluctuations. Maybe you avoided eating sugar out the bag. A spoon of Nutella straight from the jar The oozing muds spit pebble pips. Maybe I’ll try one last time to make their smooth skin skip There is a pebble – here in my fingertips – How many people have held this stone in the centre of their palm?

Section 1 Autumn leaves rustle under the crunch of a hiking boot wind billows furiously on a festive Winter evening the Amazon rainforest hums and stirs Waterfalls gush Pedestrians converse loudly interrupted by traffic the irritating click in a clock the whistle in a pressure cooker the ocean crashes into the seashore the tap of a keyboard the neighbourhood ice cream man’s jingle the shrill of a drill on a construction site the rev in the engine of a motorbike Psycho acoustics disturb the human brain Ungrounded, uneasy microscopic vibrations of little consequence Until pressure builds Resonating and ripping apart crumbling from the inside Pacemakers skip heart beats A jetfighter with zero concern Casualties of shockwaves The unseen explosion Energy moves at unglimsable speed Fragile ear drums shatter Bridges fall Buildings collapse Destruction surrounds Communities gasp Mayhem unraveled No mercy Torture in Guantanamo Heavy metal frequencies Sound bombs used to disperse youth on Earth Frequencies disjointed A volume unregistered to man Some sounds human ears can’t catch Section 2 Beyond our five senses Challenging human arrogance Questioning the notion of ‘the unseen’ worlds beyond the wonders in a rainbow ultraviolet infrared animal eyes bare witness humans unable to comprehend devaluing what’s invisible to us all vision always the focus sound unappreciated by man the superior sense overlooked denying the full cinematic experience ignoring journeys collated with sound a universe to explore infinite blessings for those with superhuman hearing Ultra low frequencies a pitch human ears can’t fathom Scientists speed playback to unmute the pitch for our ears Sonifications, whistles and crunches Ears see before our eyes Space around our planet filled with plasma far from empty A cacophony A string under tension Magnetosphere a resonating chamber Solar winds control the size Magic frequencies Constantly changing, retuning The most complex of instruments Composer and guitarist a mystery Magnetic bubbles protection from space radiation But sounds rain down upon us Space weather a hundred years behind Expanding to translate invisible weather in space Men of faith believe in Jinn Yet turn their head away when scientists explain When they explore further than what meets the eye In God’s universe In this never ending discovery of its music This intricately expressive universe Section 3 If space plasma physicists met with aliens Conversations they could have Could span the spectra of language conversing coyly with gestures not words But communication between planets? the size of a human difficult to explain A metre unfathomable Pondering on a shared metric Universal laws Conversing in the language of atoms Physics and maths the metronome Aliens and humans made of the same star stuff Electrons in atoms an atomic scale resonates Electromagnetic radiator Chords in a voice box The chime in a pendulum Tuned circuits in radio The same interstellar station plays Oscillations and waves recognised from a distance Forming languages unspoken yet felt Epilogue The knowledge of a space scientist Decoded in libraries full of physics books How many who admire the hundred billion stars and euphoric moon Celestial bodies, planets, comets and meteors How many intrigued by musical compositions How many pick up a maths or physics book Further their knowledge of the universe’s vibrations Will they remember waves in space When they pluck on a guitar string When the camels skin on their drum vibrates Will they only admire musical composers Will they make the correlation Telescopic endurance

Do you agree with me when I say to you that Engineers save more lives than Medical doctors? May be you don't believe me... but it's true ... sometimes true things are hard to believe because you don't see them. Like is it true that we shouldn't walk on glass? But what if that glass is a bridge and it is your ONLY way to cross the valley !! Wouldn't you walk on glass? You might not see it at first, from a distance, the people seem airborne, feet on clear ground - until sun shines through, sends fractal shadow from its edges, suspended, an outline of the sky. Sometimes, the work that keeps us moving, keeps planes flying, worlds connected, happens without our knowledge. Constancy keeps us safe, blooms through purpose and civility as we travel through it, clean and free-flowing as water from a tap. You need to master intimacy to create something big enough for bodies to rely on. Dismantle structure to reform logic and wind life around the corners of everything we could create. How do we translate material? How do we sing the language of lives that are unwittingly saved every day? By the gift of clean water to drink, safety of roads lit all the way home, love held in the blue light of a phone trains connecting across cities, shoes that carry us through heat, these constants help us traverse oceans they keep the world’s steadiest beat. Unifiers, don’t happen by accident. This is a force created by the resilient, who read, tinker and make. Whose hands hold all that we do, and humanity cloaks our own as we learn to live in a world of their design. Let’s meet on that glass bridge, in all its translucent strength and talk about the invisible, visible things that keep us alive Oh yeah definitely Engineers save more lives than Medical doctors because Engineers provide clean drinking water in your tap so that you don't get diarrhoea and need doctors. They provide light so you can see in the dark and not fall, injuring yourself and hospitalised. Safe road and car so that the car stops when you press the break to avoid accident and being rush into hospital. Above all, Engineers gets ride of your wastes, toilet, bathroom, kitchen waste and recycle them to another clean drinking and fertilisers to grow our plants. Surely you now agreed with me that Engineers save more lives than Medical doctors.

Observation Common threads connect In near infinite bifurcations of subdivision commonalities run like warp threads through time a river to intersect the weft singular minds entwined At this junction a thought experiment Where artist and scholar meet Immediately they weave similarities between sciences and performances as they speak of how these activities breathe through the communion with mortal instruments an awareness of place a vantage point from which to see the granular detail that never belies a beach Or denies that cliffs shall fall to the sea as we become the effect observed particle and wave sharpening an image folding the edge of a Mobius strip to a single atom thick Dialogue is weaving Words are whittling And conversations are by their very nature Experimental and recursive Carving like a river Research Artist and scholar at this junction implicitly discuss the etymology of Trivia How these feats of memory require bibliography alluding to ancient Greece to the lesser arts Learned as a foundation to more serious science Backwards and forwards they speak Of ancient oral traditions of griot and bard Of empiricism and method And “First do no harm” Common threads warp to connect these lines of inquiry to the repetition of doing time to the repetition in the practice of an apprenticeship to the repetition of steps on the journey to mastery The lesson of Chinese Zodiac that to ford the river we often ride the shoulders of giants bedevilled on their backs The painstaking precision of practice The repetition of the pipette wielding lab tech Running parallel to the pen stroke Of the side joke Of the poet In the weft How chasing unattainable perfection In the reproduction of conditions Is always a rehearsal For addressing a digital mass spec whirring For preparing a mass in genuflection stirring Auditoriums are universal Divining for truth is piecemeal And recursive Hypothesis There is a question that drives all design In conversation A syllogistic hypothesis That this is what The Fabric is That every single experiment is an attempt to contribute to a conversation and therefore, change our understanding That every single piece of art is an attempt to contribute to a conversation and therefore, change our perception we cannot begin to understand without perceiving and we cannot perceive truly without understanding there is a question that drives experimental design that inspires conversation after conversation and this is what The Fabric is A syllogistic hypothesis Run Experiment Live and direct Where it intersects artist and scholar plot which variables can be controlled and which cannot stitch together the masters Konstantin Stanislavski and Pavlov In the conditioning of all preparation And breathe This is the litmus test Burning light and heat Seeping towards entropy the mission creep of chaos into the order we seek so speak clearly have empathy They say a performer has PRESENCE So be present Breathe Remember reactive materials need careful handling Steadying apparatus has purpose exchanging energies has inherent volatility So warm things up slowly Be present Breathe Precision is learned over a lifetime of practice Conditioning is not an accident It is part of a bigger picture You are part of a bigger picture Take in all around you It will ground you This moment is unique so breathe Analyse Data & Report Dialogue is weaving Words are whittling And conversations are by their very nature experimental and recursive But like the architects of the great Gothic cathedrals We trust the process Never knowing where the conversation is going Or even if it will finish We still contribute We still lay our stone to cement our place within it Spinning through the loom Never knowing how long our thread Or where it eventually rests And at this conjunction At this confluence the scholar is Dr Faustus the artist is Robert Johnson Common threads connect near infinite bifurcations of subdivision our commonalities run like warp threads through time intersecting the weft where the singular mind entwines we invest our souls we lay our stone we disturb the flow and the river is changed forever

(Daedalus) I am Daedelus, the engineer, Maker of machines, solver of problems. Don’t come to me for elaborate metaphors, But - hydraulics, levers and gears. For plain words, that get things done. So I did a thing or two for the Gods. But none of this: ‘Here: be a constellation, Twinkle as a star’. Not on your life. My payment was to carry on my work indefinitely, and that was good enough. (Ada Lovelace) They called me Ada, the Enchantress Of Numbers. They placed me at the feet of Reason’s altar, Went to the races. Left me to the thorny mathematics of girlhood. A child born in the shadow of the Great Father, His countless kin. Man’s hubris was the kindling to my flame. They wanted me to abandon the heart’s hydraulics , Each breathlessly illogical leap Of romance. A turbulence I was warned against, weaned against. They did not want to discuss this. (Parry) I went to the races. I don’t understand your motives. I don’t confide in strangers. Let’s talk about something else. It’s time you shared interest in my feelings. I don’t want to discuss this. (Ada Lovelace) Lady Lovelace’s Objection. I gave my name to refusal. Did not understand their motives. Found no conflict, Between the philosophy of drifting birds, between the poetry Of shimmering dewdrops on grass & the humming whir Of steam-powered engines. Shared interest with feelings. The imagination knows no borders. No dividing lines between the mind’s disciplines. I never believed in a calculus of opposites. At twelve, I tried to fly. Did not confide with strangers. Oilsilk & feathered fancy, my wings first came to me In a dream. Then, the hurried sketches. Mechanisms given the flesh of metaphors. The engine turns, the loom weaves. Soft-petaled flowers. The shuffling geometry of cards. (Daedalus) Time to be practical. To engineer moving statues, machines, that can help me out. Think of all the shock, all the - awe. Just from gears: levers: hydraulics. And my own skilled hands

Standing on a beach, I stare at the cliff. A thin, black layer waxes and wanes in its sedimentary sandwich. You have to get your eye in, but once you’ve seen it You can follow this line through the rocks, Where a catastrophic storm devastated a forest. Huge trees came crashing down, and were washed downstream Leaving logjams and debris. A generation lost, all lost to decay, Except for this tiny graveline. I’m here to dig with a dessert spoon To scoop out some deep time into an airline sick bag, Plastic-lined to keep the history inside. When I’ve collected enough I take my muddy sick bag to a top-spec, spick-and-span lab, tip it into a bucket And pour on plenty of hot water, Breaking down the earth. Oddly enough, the remains look like tea leaves. Here I am, a fossil plant, That dinosaurs once foraged on Now stone-matured and so be warned Make tea, drink me if you want But I’m gritty with knowledge. If hot water isn’t enough I’ll add a hint of potassium hydroxide Hydrofluoric acid will clean any rock off the tea-leaves - carefully, this stuff is like Alien blood, A drop of this would eat straight through my bones, It dissolves anything except plastic and the precious preserved plants. I sieve out the fossils and I put them under the microscope. Sort me. Find the interesting species In the mess of history. Unweave ginkgo tree from pine, unwind fragment and debris From the wholer shape of leaves, Hold on to these. Lift them free. Look. You can see a cute little layer called the cuticle, so waxy and waterproof it’ll Resist the tooth of time and if you shine Light through, it’ll still light up for you. Outline The ancient cells I once used to infuse Fresh air in my greenness. These holes I could open and close to control water flow, Tiny mouths to breathe the air. Listen. You can almost hear The petrified whisper of a bygone breeze. I recognise this ginkgo. There is a living species like this tree, a single survivor. Cultivated by Buddhist monks for thousands of years, Since then it’s learned to live a city life, resilient and adaptable. They’ve had to adjust as we’ve changed their world. My thin beachrock line made of flash-flooded fossils Has mountainous brethren: thick coal-beds, colossal Bogs, woods and forests that lived back when mould Was outpaced; when plant waste packed up uncontrolled. Men dug up these graveyards and set them on fire. Air’s carbon dioxide proportions rose higher As millions of years of old woodlands were burned; Meanwhile, the leaves of the ginkgo trees learned They needed far fewer leaf-mouths to breathe in The carbon they capture, where Victorian Samples have holes packed much closer together A trait most trees share: it’s not new-grown, just clever. We can take our survivors and grow them in labs, with different kinds of air, Mapping the precise relationship between carbon and mouths And comparing this to their fossil brethren Over deep time, the carbon levels we read from these leaves swoop and fall. We can tell the story of carbon in many ways, But the tea-leaves tell us the tale from the plant’s point of view. They are exquisitely-tuned environmental sensors scattered through time. You’re incinerating centuries of forests each day, The living trees above the ground, the dead woods below, You’ve burned to expand. Putting us all in hot water, Adding acid to our oceans, Stripping away the earth. Can you learn from the ginkgo How to moderate your mouth in the face of excess How to sense the changes around How to adapt in a balancing act That roots us in a lineage of millenia? Because from the fossil point of view You’ve made this huge mess of life in no time at all When you haven’t even got your own layer of rock yet.

Fingers crossed Crossed fingers Lost tongue circle spirals in a drying mouth Flutters Mutters to self Manage to find a side room that is quiet I mistake the anxiety riot in my stomach for hunger Adrenaline isn’t enough to sustain me Peel back the skin Wrap fingers around the flesh of soft yellow Swallow Breathe Run fingers down forearm Feel the goosebumps and sweaty palms I sweat a lot Trace the scar down the back of wrist Hands are weirdly forgiving Held tight by control pants and an industrial sports bra A black second scaffolding skin of lycra Hold it all in Looking for the wrinkles that stay Smooth the grooves, remember the lines Everything needs to be lines lined up with the door else I feel disorientated Digits dive into dark tunneled sleeves, The nervousness unfurls into command full bloom … Fingertips feel round the back tie up the gown A reinforced cuff of the neck Someone else ties up knots behind The constriction reassures me I won’t fall out My back protected from exposure Double knot scuffs against my skin Numb fingers, touch thin, miss this But you don't see me till I’m ready I run for a last minute wee There is always a last minute wee We pace, my body and me, we Pull up sleeves Push the wall Push the fear back Stall the imposter Fall back Attempt to sit into my body, Ground and group limbs together Prevent them from running No one forced our hand Breathe deep Stomach flips Teeter on the edge Heels cling to the back step Toes grasping Toes gasping Accelerate of acid heart rate Beat, beat, beat quickening metronome Crescendo heat radiates from beneath the bones Pulse in fingers, red up my arms Thumbs up Like I’m coming up Red neck red breast red breath Lungs pinch and cry out sigh Momentarily self rising and watching on from high The inhales shake The exhales rattle and quake Catch breath Cresting the wave of an orgasm Heart beat hard heat head butting the walls of my ribcage The ribs are too small to encompass the breath I must harness The first line always shakes me The danger The risk to see if I can do this Sore thumb stuck out suck down Ignore the alarms, Reading them is easy Ignoring them is the pro move May I start? Caught word in throat, cough it out Hypersalivation Dry mouth salvation Spit Spit it out then How far would you sink if I left you asleep in the sand? Hollow space held, the breath has left a religious epiphany Breathless Two fingers tight before anyone can breathe out again Check it holds Hold breath between stitches Check it holds Skin itches with electricity Deep lines of worry punctured with oxytocin Pat back, clap hands, clap back I hope I’ve done enough Crossed fingers Reassurance teeters on the edge hand in hand with insecurity Tugging on the ends Fingers burned There is no applause Applaud the artistry Quite a feat Neat wounds stitched tunes back in A desirable dexterity Worked fingers to bone Silence accompanies the descent back home And I’m alone again We’re not homunculi A little human inside a brain driving meat We are a lived in body We are cognition and intuition We are ambition, Thinking, Feeling, surging and bleeding We are difficulty in defining, Elusive and explorable we can’t fully quantify it We are description defying But we’re trying.

Science says: I am big I am broad I am expansive Art says I am your heart How you live I am reactive Science says You need patience The will to learn, Maybe even a degree Art says I am a shapeshifter Tell me what you need, And that, I'll be Science says Well, yeah I am all of that too I am how you get from a to b I am the result of what you choose Art says I change lives Science shouts So have I, I can be both the reason you live and the reason you die. See science has impacted everything It knows the who’s, what’s, and whens art has changed the face of the world, where you go, what you do, how you spend They both know what it means to be needed but not valued For people to congratulate them at their destination But not check in during the journey. They both carry life, uphill, on their backs and yet still have to beg for a sustainable rucksack. They have seen greed hold progress ransom. With release not offered because of need, But because the profit margin has increased. and students studying not based on talent alone but because they have the means. You can see, look how much money goes into arms, and how little into conservation. How we’d rather wage war, then give a decent wage to art and science past graduation. We have seen the effects when communities and scientists work together, from flashing lights to ward off lions to the Elephants and Bees in Kenya. The progress of science, art, technology is never the idea of just one person, it is a mixing pot of backgrounds and cultures, all of whom are determined. The population of this planet has quadrupled in the last 100 years, so issues, conflicts and questions that haven’t been asked before, are starting to appear. More people has meant less animals both trying to co-exist both trying to find food and water both trying to protect their land and kids. Using citizen science and the knowledge of the locals we can develop infrastructure for coexistence using the tools at our disposal but without investment, sometimes that means hunting, for both the animals and the humans, both doing what they can to live off the changing lands of which they used to be fluent and 4 and a half thousand miles away, we stand in town centres with catchy chants and placards demonising a way of life we don't live, as if the right to be enraged, is ours. In Britain, most children can identify a giraffe before a magpie as if you can spot one outside the shop, which means the needs of local animals are overlooked and forgot and we do things like, shut schools in London, For a “poisonous spider” that actually hasn't killed anyone. False Widow Spiders have been in the UK for around 100 years, and rather than a quick google search, we believed the tabloids, rather than consult someone who's dedicated their life to research. Science and Art work in the same way, people want the product without investing, they want the life changing discovery, the knowledge with no understanding of how we get there. The local fishermen in Kollam now collect the plastic in their nets, which they now use and reproduce to fill the potholes in the roads from the plastic they’ve compressed and in some places scientists have fitted seabirds with surveillance to suppress the illegal fishing in our oceans because the birds follow the nets (mess) See science has impacted everything It knows the who’s, what’s, and whens and when it works with communities, it best shapes the world we are in. Learning and sharing knowledge, at the same time means we are all part of the process enabling communities to broaden their scientific literacy allows scientists to research things they didn’t notice. and science says: I am big I am broad I am expansive I am your heart How you live I am reactive You need patience The will to learn, Maybe even a degree Science says I am a shapeshifter Tell me what you need, And that, I'll be