Prospero Dae



  1. A gorgeous, sparkling gem, Prospero. Am I mistaken in seeing a pattern emerge in the multiflora as you weave your tapestry of little fictions? I am savoring this one for the sheer beautiful writing, and will be over there to comment, later.


    • I think I know what’s happening. It’s a manifestation of my sincerest hope to reinvent the flower. Of course nature does a fairly good job at dazzling us, on occasion, but I find the show somewhat gaudy at times–yes, there’s some drama, some nice splashes of color, the odd scent that can be described as not unpleasant, but on the whole there is something missing, an opera diva without a voice, if you will.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. at first i thought this was a gladiolus, and marveled at the subtle hint that he had killed his parents with a sword (after a stiletto, here comes the sword! is that not a saying or something? out of macbeth’s times? 🙂

    (botanical ignorance gets one into trouble, sooner or later – hermeneutical trouble, if one is a reader of this blog, auctorial trouble, if one tries one’s hand at writing about tuberoses and such)


    • To luxuriate in the satiny sheen of auctorial obscurity is to enjoy life to the fullest, without the need of resorting to hermeneutics. Unfortunately, I personally do not aspire to comfort. A bed of nails and a washbasin is all I need, next to a voluptuous and voluminous series of books on the most secret gardens in the northern hemisphere. Herein I determine which flower best represents which shard of fiction.

      You will be surprised, dearest, to learn that your gladiola (little sword, a clever though speculative modus operandi in this parricidal horror) is a canna lily–again (different picture, same presdigitation). As you know, the lily signifies death. However (and things are never simple from the perspective of someone who slumbers lazily on a bed of coppery nails), the canna lily is not a true lily. These sorts of complications are demanded by the logic of fiction, and one must feed the beast. Still, there is a simple pleasure in utilizing false lilies to speak of false things (fiction in this case, though many things are false). Of course tuberoses also signify death and are best used in actual funereal settings–if you follow the thematic argument.

      Of course if I had read your comment, let’s say three minutes earlier, you would have gotten an equally astonishing answer–probably something to do about how painting the lily (with photographic charlatanism) is akin to gilding refined gold.


      • ah, those shady/shaky botanists/narrators 🙂


  3. A lovely flower and a truly beautiful colour – perfect for your piece of writing today.

    Liked by 1 person

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