Dog Vomit Utopia

Slimehattan is attacked by Roachzilla

See that? That's a slime mold. This particular specimen, lovely though it is, is aptly named Dog Vomit. A slime mold is a collection of individual cells that function together (sound familiar? We'll get there...). Each cell is assigned a specific task; some help move the mold, some are farmers (what? be patient...) and a lucky few sacrifice themselves in the glorious name of sex.


But the amazing thing about these little cities is that many species are almost entirely self sufficient. They grow their own food, harvest their own sunlight, move by themselves, and look convincingly like something you wouldn't like on your shoe (but it will invariably get there if you live on the Olympic Peninsula) all by their little selves. They are socialist utopias on a microbiological scale.


This is just another example of the interconnectedness of architecture and nature. If our cities were as efficient and perfect as these molds, we would live in a far more peaceful world. Everyone is assigned a job, which they do with stunning efficiency. Everything is mobile, nothing is concrete. They are socialist utopias on a microbiological scale.

This blog was supposed to be about architecture!

And that's where architecture comes in (finally). Like beehives, ant hills, and corals, these molds provide a concrete example of how structure can be both derived from and enable function. Unlike in our societies, the food source is not seperated from the consumer; instead they are integrated into the structure of the "city" itself.


This brings me to the subject of urban farming, which I will discuss in excruciating detail tomorrow. Unless you are reading this in the future, in which case check the archives and enjoy your APPLE THAT WAS GROWN ON THE SIDE OF THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING. Hold on to your pants, people.