Lyrical?

Pseudolithos

http://www.101words.org/lyrical/

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.

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5 Comments

  1. Pareidolia is having a field day in this very tiny potted field. She sees an adorable Gwampf with buttercup eyes (a third one at the back of his head) looking quite consternated for having taken an unmanageably large bite of his morning muesli. Perhaps he needs a little something to wash it down. If any of this were remotely real, she would really be interested in coming to his rescue.

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  2. To me, your little plant looks rather adorable – like some tiny, coy creature having a snack. ‘False rock’ and ‘ugly duckling’ he may well be, but how cute can a rocky duckling be? Be careful when watering him, dear Prospero. I don’t want to hear of his demise.
    As for the story … I could only relat to ‘lyrical’ in that line about Betty’s eyes.

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  3. Yes, I itch to dab its little bald head – and would certainly carry out a ritual gentle budha morning rub (taking care with its buttercup eyes and muesli breakfast of course). One does have a feeling it would talk back with gruff undertones and grunts in a highly lyrical manner.
    Bette’s eyes may produce a lyric or two, although the urban dictionary has a definition for a lyric girl – “Amazingly beautiful…and defiantly worth it” – the ‘it’ left to the imagination – most probably the lyric!

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    • The blob, vegetal mound by day and songwriter by night ( penning lyric lyrics, songs to quench the thirst of parched flora) is in fine fettle right now. Notice the dainty aggregation of black flowers, which emit the delicate scent of rotting flesh to attract the occasional though discerning pollinator.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Seems like quite the odd creature growing out of the pot – with a green little head, begging for your stingy droplets of water. As for Betty’s eye’s . . . another story entirely.

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