Here's Where All The Flowers Went
Flowers are purdy.

(Autocorrect says purty then tries to correct that to purity and I'm lost in a funhouse mirror room of corrections. I'm chipper, though, because the Tylenol 3s haven't quite left me since the last post, even though in my peripheral vision the funhouse mirrors show a paper taped to my back, and the paper says "Algernon" or "Charly" or whatever the name was of DeNiro's character in Awakenings. I can't look that up right now because there will be plenty of time for forlorn, exaggerated comparisons once the codeine strings stop squeaking.)

(From the top.)

Flowers are purdy. For a mere seven bucks and change, I have three discounted bouquets in the same room as me, plus the lavender and lemon tree are blooming again outside. Do all or most human cultures instinctively appreciate flowers as objects of beauty regardless of any other function? Why? We aren't bees. And yet.

Oh, did someone mention bees?


19 December 2013 |

Previously: Potted
Next: Egged Noggin






Carnival Elation (2009)
Carnival Splendor (2009)
Carnival Spirit (2010)
Carnival Spirit (2011)
Carnival Splendor (2011)
Norwegian Pearl to Alaska (2012)