The panicked scream of human beings emerging from the water at the very beginning of terrestrial life must mean something. Why do we cry so desperately at the precise moment of transition from an aquatic environment to a gaseous one; when we take our first breath of air into our empty lungs?
Air, as a diffuse form of matter, is so light and soft it’s enough to simply inhale, to take in, to directly exchange whole molecules with our bloody and wet interior: oxygen, carbon dioxide, and water. That unbearable lightness of air causes a number of land-dwelling lifeforms real problems through a phenomenon, one might call magical, although in fact—excusez le mot—is quite physical