This post covers
1) Monadeniums (fleetingly: only a picture)
2) Toasters (with a plug for my new book)
3) Somnambulist (to keep readers from getting bored)
Two more micros stories. And what propitious timing on the first one–just when I was putting the finishing touches on my brand new book about household appliances and their ontological significance in a post agrarian society. The chapter on electric can-openers is one of the best. It’s a fascinating look at how motorized appliances have occulted hand operated models. The crassitude of wind-up, hand-cranked implements for recreational and kitchen use is given full expression.
Next, there’s a charming story, suggested to me by Dr. Libellule, about a somnambulist.
I have no idea what this story is about, hence the question mark. It doesn’t seem particularly lyrical. It’s rather prosaic (except for the bit about Betty’s eyes–and should that be lyric or lyrical?).
And so, my pseudolithos (pseudo-false, lithos-rock–so clever these botanists) is also rather prosaic. Certainly not as lyrical as, let’s say, a rose. Still, I love my ugly-duckling rock.
They say (and ‘they’ are probably nightclub types–to which one should pay little attention) that watering a pseudolithos is very tricky. One error and you have a mound of mush. My solution is not to water it for nine months of the year, and then, in July, August, and September, dab its bald head with a damp cloth.
This short post is a segue to a recent cosmological discourse with Rob: from the ethereality of space to the sublimity nestled within our green pastures, I submit this earthy F major chord ( for Ted in particular–and it’s actually a I-V7sus4 change–but these are, I suppose, the exigencies of the sublime).
And Cynthia, this is, quite incidentally, where I learned my grammar and syntax.
Who would grow a tree known to possess evil powers? Only a sorcerer, whose research would confirm that one is specifically interdicted to make fire with the wood, and that the fanatical malediction is in reference to one’s cattle only bearing male offspring. I have surveyed Ariel’s garden and surrounding Eden and can safely say that there is no cattle around. There’s the odd skink and one particularly ugly toad, but no bison or yaks–I would have noticed.
In Africa Vangueria infausta is known as ‘wilde mispel’ (please don’t misspell it). The fruit is said to be similar to the apple (Eden again!). For those of you with a hankering for apple sauce (or male cattle), you may go to the garden section of your nearest Home Depot and purchase the seeds, which germinate freely when sprinkled with powder of algaroth and suspended over a cauldron of boiling ambergris.