Garden Felicitations

Miss Olivia Ladgrise confers with a close acquaintance, the Madam Jessica Souperkoup, concerning the subject of a favorite employee and his esteemed qualities in the garden and kitchen:

I love how he manhandles my watermelons and delicately plucks my strawberries. The cherries he drops into my hand, so succulent! Cucumbers, corn, carrots, celery, and eggplants! Many small mushrooms of all kinds and some quite large ones with a sweet flavor and a salty tang.

Red tomatoes, pressed together until they explode pulp to be simmered. He strokes the basil with tenderness as he brings it close to savor the scent. What magic he does with my oreganos, you would like to know! But it’s our secret. Oh. He clutches at my pomegranates with a thirst in his eyes. My avocados soften in the heat forged by his skilled hands.

Rhubarb! Oh, his rhubarb pie makes me melt with candied delight.

In and Out

He made a memo and slipped into the empty common lounge, tacked it to the bulletin board. BTB (Bring Television Back) Revolutionaries in flimsy bond emblazoned the legend above the corkwood. Especially inane in a world against electricity. A french press steamed hot coffee on a counter next to a darkened candy bar dispenser. He slipped out to wait, blissfully awash in the tunes of ‘Secret Agent Man’ that filtered out a high apartment window.

They ran into the night streets, firing guns over their head, and still had the time to express indignation when the roof of the world fell onto their heads in large fiery chunks. Snug in a doorway, Aiolos Kozlowski, back against rough stone, took a deep drag of his cannabis cigar. He sniggered as the fallen zeppelin burned the streets. The scent of roasting revolutionary flesh mingled quite nicely with the tang of dope.

Something rubbed riotously against his pantsleg. A black cat, its shiny globes writhing with the burning red skies. Rolling a strand of his long straight locks in his fingers, he smiled down indulgently and blew a smoke ring. The cat rumbled.

“My luck’s looking up.”

Diluted Secrets & Mysteries

The functions of the human body unknown attained a mystical nature, especially that of women, with blood rivuleting the cut between her legs. Sudden awe and fear of such a torrent lasting days on end imbued that particular bodily mechanism with mystery that bordered on the sacred. Rituals were made from dirt and clay and action to make honor for such dimly understood events.

Into the modern age, the mystery of physiology faded as the rigors of reason attempted to beat out superstitions and assumptions from the human psyche. Puberty is transformed from a proud rite of passage to a shameful, brief hell in which the pubescent is condemned to exist within the unmerciful halls of public education where the natural event of becoming physically adult paints him a target of ridicule and derision. A paradigm shift of the perspective of growth: from honored elevation of childhood to adulthood, to demonizing puberty as an evil assaulting the bodily processes. Current social opinion of such a time in a child’s life derides the positive strengths and confidence as such that should be afforded such an transition our proud and elemental past understood and respected.

Without ritual respecting self and others in our inexorable progress to the grave, the world becomes a trinket, a giant toy disposable and expendable. Without self respect and understanding, how can we respect and appreciate the flurrying clockwork mechanism of Life, of which we are a cog? Without the ancient sentiments and reverence, we are lost in a technological stampede of Reason unreasonable in its drive towards the future as if it were a physical destination to be reached. The future is in the past, in our reckoning of the world passed on to our children, and it is our duty not to smear the human condition with irreverence and indifference.