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Archive for the month “November, 2012”

Pornographic Pregnant Garden

Did you know that some weeds you keep pulling out are actually good for you? Don’t be so quick to judge the dandelion as a weed.

You can pluck the leaves  and eat them just as they are.

Some of my favourite flowers are weeds,

those with names we never learn, but succulent weeds

hiding in abandoned industrial estates.

My garden once had an orchestra all dressed up in wigs and costumes like something from

‘Dancers at The end of Time’, and a maze of roses that bloomed in the spring. Yes they were painted red. And in the middle of the

maze was a glass house, with red velvet chairs, the most comfortable possible, cats everywhere, and books. I sometimes fell asleep

in the glasshouse in the afternoon, the sun dropping behind the high hedges.  I also had a big cool fountain filled with fat gold fish

swimming in delight amongst purple lillies.

And at night I had parties, orgiastic nonsensical parties, people in frills and fru-fru,

feathers, coming as they are. The garden also had an arbor where the smell of apple blossom mixed with the smell of rain coming.

I had steps of stone, perfectly positioned leading up to my Yurt. A yurt more like a circus tent, where I lived, with a trapeze and

a net trampoline that I would sleep in. That’s how I’d get to sleep, just swing myself on the trampoline and in mid-air disrobe

and land in the comfort of my fine net trampoline.

I also had a whole set of hot air balloons, for friends to use at their leisure. They were in the shapes of titties and cat faces and fun

things like that. We especially like to go hot air ballooning in the early morning and land in a field of green where a long table is

spread with breakfast and billowing sails of red and blue. After breakfast we put on our riding gear and ride horses home, stopping

to eat dandelions and drink from clear running rivers. The garden of my house is so big that you can get lost in it, occasionally

friends have gone missing for months, years, and despite disorientation and a lack of human company they seem none the worse

for wear. I say I had the garden, because for a while it had gone missing. I woke up a while ago and couldn’t find it no matter how I

tried to retrace my steps. I remembered the way the bees fucked the flowers and the flowers in turn fucked the bees, I remember

wind rustling the leaves of the oaks, a little foreplay before noon. I remember the sticky pollen and the milky sap of weeds. I tried

to recall the way the grass would let me sink into it, the smell of crushed lemon, chocolate, clay, nettles.

I would wake in a panic and look upon a barren plain of red sails billowing in the distance.  Only recently have I found my way

back to my garden of delights.

I literally stumbled

fell

plummeted down my own rabbit hole, down  with no end in sight

And I awoke in my dreams one night and knew I was dreaming and said, ‘Well how peculiar, when it is hard enough

to know when you are just dreaming in the waking life, and here I am awake in the dreaming’

My cat Babooshka danced on the end of my bed with a top hat and cane to Eartha Kit’s ‘ Old Fashioned Girl’ and my other cat

Medbh’s head was floating above me with the curious look of all curious cats.

And with that I woke up and found that I was pregnant with nettles and dandelions, and the maze of roses, the orchestra, like

clockwork automatons that just needed winding up, the bees heavy with pollen, flowers that were giving up their scents, giving up

their secrets.

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