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Tuesday, November 04, 2025

The misuses of biology: a critique of the idea of invasive species

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It has been well documented how transphobes use biology (incorrectly, by the way) to account for there only being two sexes. There are actually many more than two chromosomal variants of sex. In order to attack the idea that you can be born in the wrong body (which they may view as a slight against the putative omnipotence of their god), they erase the practice of doctors literally choosing to assign a sex (happens frequently), and the existence of intersex people. Although this is an egregious thing in itself, there are many eloquent people writing and speaking on this. However, one of the ideological uses of biology has emerged in the discourse of ecology, and this is something I rarely hear discussed or critiqued. The idea of "invasive species" has emerged in the last half century to describe species that move beyond their range and "take over." Such plants as kudzu, purple loosestrife, and animals such as zebra mussels, asian carp, and burmese pythons have all been demonized as ecologically destructive, or disrupting existing ecological relationships. 

There is no basis in biological theory, however, for the idea of invasive species. The overarching theory in biology, analogous to plate tectonics for geology, is evolution. It maintains that species pass down inherited adaptations to their environment. Sometimes, adapting to a current environment includes moving away from it, whether purposely or not. Coconuts float, and they are known to colonize islands long beyond their original range. If the idea of invasive species cannot be found anywhere in the overarching theory of biology, then it is not a biological idea. It's a political idea, and the political idea it is most clearly related to is fascism. Biology should take no stands on what belongs where because that is not what concerns it. Species have always moved in various ways, looking for new opportunities to survive and thrive. Homo sapiens sapiens is no exception. 

While it is true that a species can do so well in a new environment, it makes survival harder for other organisms already in that ecosystem, most species can and do adapt to the new situation. It's been happening for billions of years. Ecology developed as a branch of biology, however, in its recent concern about invasive species, it has become much more useful for the political ideology of fascism than to biology. Part of fascism's modus operandi is the identification and demonization of external and internal enemies of the nation. Its aggression towards ethnic minorities as "not belonging" to the nation is well-known. It identifies scapegoats, people that are easy to blame economic troubles on (fascism tends to arise during periods of economic downturn) because they are different. Gay people, not like "us." Jews: not like "us." You get the picture. By saying a species does not belong somewhere, people are making a non-scientific judgment. There is nothing scientific about the idea of invasive species. It does not describe reality in an objective, neutral way. It makes a moral judgment.  

Let's take a recent example of an invasive species moral panic: burmese pythons in Florida. A young man named Garrett got famous on Instagram for his handling of species feared such as venomous snakes, spiders, etc. He decided his mission was to "yoink" (his colorful word for capturing) a 20 foot burmese python in Florida. All the specimens he collects (of burmese pythons at least), I assume he kills, seeing as he seems to buy into this idea of invasive species. All the people worried about "invasive species" talk about how the populations of native wildlife decline because the population of burmese pythons has grown so fast. They even cite studies sometimes, although the studies they cite often don't even support their own points or arguments. I read one of the studies they cited, and it showed that burmese pythons do indeed impact the populations of animals like skunks, raccoons, and rabbits. Any person in North America could tell you that these populations are plentiful and for the most part healthy. If their populations decline a little in a small corner of their range, what's the big deal? Burmese pythons are cold-blooded. They don't need to eat often. In fact, they can survive for almost a year without eating if they have a big meal such as a white-tailed deer. That kind of predation is hardly a concern for local animal populations. What, then is behind this policy-supported mission to get rid of burmese pythons in Florida, when it can clearly support a population of them there without too much harm? 

It's a moral idea. People don't like snakes. They are afraid of them. They are a symbol of evil in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the dominant religions of the area. I would argue on the other hand that in these days of ecological crisis, snakes should be considered role models of ecological citizenship, rather than demonized. They consume so little compared to birds or mammals. The idea of "invasive species" dovetails too nicely with the idea of immigrants. The moral panics over invasive species have been a not-so-benign wellspring of the resurgence of popularity of fascist ideology. 

 

Wednesday, October 08, 2025

Running Out of Words: a book of poetry by Trevor Cunnington

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Apologies for the lack of posts last month. I've been working three different jobs trying to cobble together a livelihood. I will try to be better and I will probably increase my posting as I work on this project to give early audiences "insider insights" regarding my process. I just received a Toronto Arts Council Grant for a book of poetry. I am having it professionally edited. I'm very excited to embark on this new chapter in my writing life! Here is the description of the project I submitted to the Coun

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This project is an engagement with several traditions of avant garde poetry, especially concrete poetry, Oulipo, and L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E. It is also heavily influenced by the postmodern novels of Thomas Pynchon and William Gaddis, who in their novels Gravity's Rainbow and The Recognitions, used motif as the structuring principle of their works, rather than plot. As many of the writers in these traditions have not experienced commercial success, I think this is the kind of work that Arts agencies should support. My engagement with concrete poetry and Oulipo (both strongly represented in Toronto by writers such as bpNichol, Christian Bok, and others) is critical. I think most concrete poetry does not lend itself to re-reading, because once you "get" it, there remains no reason to read it. In this way, they are more like puzzles than poems. My favourite poems are the ones that shift with your own consciousness as you read them, the ones that reward you for re-reading them over and over again. However, I think concrete poetry's central insight that language has a material dimension is very important, so I wanted to incorporate that insight into this collection of poems. Oulipo tends to produce work that has very little emotional resonance. However, free composition, while it has its place, often fails to create works of lasting value. Adding constraints to your writing practice is a good way to improve your discipline.

"Running out of Words" often features poems with formatting that have some kind of pictorial aspect. Since I am a published artist and photographer as well, I am incorporating some of my drawings and photographs into the manuscript to enliven it and to reflect its themes and motifs. The first poem, a prologue, is about poetry itself, asking the question "what shape is a poem?" All of the subsequent poems will use all the words and ideas of the prologue as a springboard for new poems, growing out of it as if it is a collection of seeds in soil. This is the constraint, consonant with Oulipo. The last poem, the epilogue, uses all of the same words as the prologue, with some slight changes to make it make more sense. Towards the end of the collection, the poems move from fairly transparent to dense L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E inflected poems where wordplay is the modus operandi of composition. The themes I deal with are the human relationship with nature (nature as God), documenting personal experiences, finding one's place in the world as an autistic person, and the difficult legacies of colonialism and patriarchy. I use strong motifs of fences, fire, philosophy of death and time, and human-nature relationships. While incorporating aspects of the aforementioned avant-garde traditions, I write poems with maximal re-reading value and emotional resonance. I envision this collection to be 100 pages, and so far I have written 25 pages. 

Wednesday, July 16, 2025

Writers and Artists! Submit to KayTell Ink. Call for Submissions.

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Hello! I'm the poetry editor over at the webzine KayTell Ink. They have a forum and everything, so you should totally visit the website at KayTell Ink Publishing | Baltimore Literary Magazine. While we have been publishing mostly short fiction and poetry, we are looking to expand our horizons. 

If you’re able to share or repost in some way this call for submissions it would mean a lot. We’re especially trying to bring in more submissions in the following areas:

  • Nonfiction

  • Essays

  • Artwork

  • Misc. Articles – This includes book reviews, food reviews (especially Baltimore/local), or any other standalone piece

    We look forward to reading your work, or looking at your art!!!!  

     

Friday, May 09, 2025

Snake and Octopus: drawing by Trevor Cunnington

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From my sketchbook. I like a balance between abstraction and figurativity. I'm not a fan of Abstract Expressionism at all because of its extreme arbitrariness. I do like geometric-based abstraction that veers towards OpArt. In most arts, when we talk about value, I think there are two general poles of evaluation: vision and technical skill. Movements like hyperrealism value the latter over the former. I tend to value the former over the latter. For instance, Henri Rousseau was often considered a "naive" artist because his technical skill was somewhat underdeveloped. However, the quality of his vision was very powerful and remains impactful. I tend to be somewhat critical of the popularity of hyperrealism because of its overdependence on technical skill. However, some of its representatives, such as the work of Richard Estes, combines a powerful vision with advanced technical skill, culminating in masterpieces. My technical skill is low, but I think I have better-than-average artistic vision.

Saturday, January 25, 2025

Survival

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Raffled, these ruffled feathers

of a trumpeter swan, not the mute leathery

texture of a turtle, taken in a touch

written by a referee, only a dry basin

short barks followed by a full minute

of observation; what does she see?

Castle, up on the promontory flowers bloom

in the desert, apricots, smaller fruits, dates, olives

Who knows when of the earth's powers soon

in-un-depleted, in hope what? Water, water. . .

nowhere, but drops to drink in the form of fog

that moistens the lips during the arduous hunts

Margarine taunts, migraine haunts, desert rat

barbecue we haven't been hardened to anything

but surviving as a primary aim. . .

it was just the future in an image

if fie! you build it, otherwise cometh

an uncertain lineage, as if liberation

was in that image repeated in an otherwise

identitarian crisis.

Thursday, December 12, 2024

Our Respite in Mouths.

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From here to there is not so far a distance
lines short of breadth, easier to read instants
coming one upon the other, as in a capillary
My mother upon the ocean, where is the distillery?
 
A long line or a short, a harpoon and some water
that weary hath the coastline travelled, with father
After another, it is disaster averted
to an amoeba with lines fishing, ship refurbished
on the distant shore, a choir started to sing
and called forth from the air, a munificent ring
of sub-tones, timbres spare and pure, tear
ducts were primed, stuck writing and not throwing spears

A long last line, that’s the ticket; it will sell
partially from a wicket, perhaps at a game of cricket
dancing down the lane until all hell breaks out
tell-no-one because of its inarticulateness

Ring the Death Knell, or a heart, smartly quelled
to hand a rivet, in all proportion, heart swelled
Can you think of nowhere to stick it?

The Heart it smarts, how lapidary is that?
Rocks charted in their promontories, exact
Tit for tat now, medical kits stowed in the apse
of the boat’s prow, sedulous pap for the penny press

If you’ve got vertigo, I’ll go down with impetigo
lord have mercy, where do we go, sit down
collect sequoia dust, reel in the nets, sea gulls
have their impresarios, their petty thefts, but deftly
done in the summer-wet air, a torso with heft
ok, that was a bit of a stretch, go big, sea gulls to eagles

Don Juan leans the other way
like a pasta drenched in sauce bearnaise.
Rocks, citronella candled,
jazz cradled in my lap, nice place for a vaycay.

Jonah in the belly,
oysters on the counter,
water’s rising, Jelly
sperm whale lantern.

Stars to guide. The Gill Guild.
A rickety chair at the end
of the journey. A sturdy
chair for the boat. A dusty
anchor on the rust-top
boat seats.

Fire. It all ends in fire.

Thursday, November 07, 2024

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I've been having fun photographing drawings, and them digital manipulating them to make interesting patterns. Here are a couple I made recently. 



 

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

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I'd just like to thank the wonderful folks @openartsforum, especially Raymond Huffman, for supporting my poetry by publishing it on their site. Currently, I have one poem that was featured on the main page, and soon I will have another. I've included a link below. They also feature some stellar visual artists. They have a bunch of themed forums, so if you're a writer, you can workshop pieces in the workshop section. Currently, it's slow, but the more people visit, the more active it will become. 

I've added a link in the sidebar to their site. 

Open Arts Forum | Underwaterworld This is the latest poem they've published of mine. There are other wonderful poets associated with the site. Have a look!

www.openartsforum.com

 

Thursday, September 12, 2024


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This is a drawing by Cecile Carriere, an artist from Paris, who I collaborated with in 2007. I wrote poems in response to her drawings, mostly in English, but I tried a few clumsy ones in French that she gracefully edited as well. I showed someone in the arts scene here in Toronto her drawings, and they dismissed her as an Egon Schiele wannabe. That hurt my feelings on her behalf, to be honest. Her drawings really speak to me. Perhaps it's because she has a knack for fluid lines, whereas in my drawings, lines are either straight or rounded. I often admire what is beyond my reach as an artist the most. 

This particular drawing never ceases to astonish me. At first glance, all you see is a strange figure in different phases of movement simultaneously. But as you glance at it, there emerge four distinct postures, that seem static in themselves, but when combined give a pleasing sense of movement, almost of dance. You see a person jumping, with knees slightly bent; you see a person standing on one foot (although no ground is indicated), and leaning slightly backward, as if they are losing their balance and about to fall. The combination of implied clumsiness of this figure, and the graceful dance aspect create a wonderful sense of tension and contrast that impels you to fasten your eyes on it for longer. Also, you see a person in the upper left quadrant kneeling and crouched over, and looking curiously at . . . the figures that are jumping, or leaning backward. This suggests the bare bones of narrative. Finally, if you focus on the upper right quadrant, the jumping figure becomes a kneeling figure, but unbent over, again suggesting a different set of movements than the lower half of the drawing, from kneeling crouched over to kneeling and upright. This figure has their arm bent over their head, as if they are scratching their back. The decision to leave out a "ground" creates this ambiguity that lends itself to different movements, and ultimately to narrative. A wonderful complexity emerges from the deceptive simplicity of this drawing that demands more than a glance. Bravo Cecile!!!!

 

Monday, June 24, 2024

An ill-omened book

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 An ill-omened book

The deckled edges of the book  

from whence you had just taken a look 

a grimoire of antiquity 

painstaking iniquity  

emblazoned on every page,  

a most dishonoured book 

settling into someone’s neurons 

and the delicate propinquity 

of the possibility of oppositional 

readings of the chef of horrors who cooks 

insurance claims, books,

and the sickled-sins-of-the-father;

a storehouse of horrors 

hiding in the larder, beside the bother- 

some kidney beans, pressing against the can 

of peas and corn, granola bars; a vial of sand 

beside the basil oil, resting all over the land 

beyond the back wall stove stand 

tall and firm among the cloven hooves in quicksand 

 

Down in the silo 

the grains jostle, and a rat snake  

seeks the mice therein  

attracted by the sandy wheat 

piled many times the height of a tall man 

out the stray grains to sweep 

and use all the fruitilities of the hand 

back home on crazy street, the heat-lamps 

warm hot dogs and sausage, 

the smell of meat assaults the sand-wich 

a wasp of a witch, a which way to go situation 

the cross-roads of the hostile takeover of creation 

the ointment rubbed on the broomstick 

An unguent of the ages 

A tool of the sages, absorbed through  

a mucus membrane

hallucinations forthwith, henbane 

belladonna, a full moon on all hallows eve, 

hemlock potluck, liberty cap mushrooms,  

the sensation of shape-shifting  

at the time of the lunar eclipse, drifting 

on a wave of doom as soon 

as the gloom lifted, a mist swiftly 

enveloped the clearing,  

feeling like you’re flying above your body,  

then an electricity-like transmission 

of the self through time-space 

wearing the black cap of the were-cat 

graymalkin, jumpinjehosephat  

appear capped in the cemetary  

that doubles as an arboretum, carry 

the alms in a blanket made of elk-skin 

parchment with skeltonics, burnt around the edges 

sedges under siege from the flames 

miles away the earth shakes mildly, 

as powerful spirits are conjured, wildly 

dancing in a circle with shadows running long 

from the campfire, rehearsed well and singing songs 

listening to the profundities  

of a different era read aloud