Tag Archives: sunflowers

Trilobites in the mulch

IMG_20190605_204154.jpgI have a small garden, a place in the sky five floors up that keeps me sane even though Margaret Atwood said something to the effect that gardening is an irrational act. I suppose she’s right when so many frugal apartment dwellers have shamed me with eye-rolls about the need for a garden. Those of us who go through the hardships of losing plants and hauling compost in the concrete jungle know that it is a need. Plants, soil, bees and even earthworms seem to be replacements for chemicals missing from apartment brain, an undiagnosed condition that too many of us suffer in silence.

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Selfie as simulacrum

Selfies. If it wasn’t so profoundly absurd, it could be funny. Preening for preening’s sake, harmless innocuousness, carefree self-indulgence, or is there something more to this unquestioning self-as-centre mass delusion, which has consumed the connected world?
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The in-betweeners

Something strange happens to me. I go to this place, the closet in my head, where I can’t read or write or even watch television the most passive of things to do. I feel restless and uninterested and skim over blogs in freshly-pressed desperate to feel a prick of the old interest I have felt before. The only time I am happy is in my little garden where in a deep well of Indian summer heat, sunflowers are blooming a hot, glad yellow. When I look over at them from the living room, I feel a prick of interest, of life, perhaps even passion. That warm yellow is life itself and this colour that bees adore leaks into the dark closet where I have gone, it stops me from deadening away inside. Life is if anything feeling interested in things, not this hiding away and curling up in corners far from a world in which you feel alien. image
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