February 24, 2012
I wrote this short dialogue in response to the activity on page 115. It asked to create a conversation between inanimate objects and the relationship between a flower and her lesser components, pot and soil, must be an antagonized group.
It is the middle of the night, and the full moon is shining through the paned window of a modern kitchen. It illuminates a lone basil plant on the sill. She is trying to sleep to make time pass quickly till morning, but the soil and the pot, who never sleep, are keeping her awake.
Pot: (grumpy) It's not my fault there are holes in my bottom. That's how I was made!
Soil: (retorts) But I lose part of myself every time the water comes! It's not a pleasurable experience to lose part of oneself!
Pot: I should think not. Why, I remember my cousin who had a chip in his skull. A chip! Can you imagine? Poor fellow never recovered completely.
Basil: (sweetly) Could you boys settle down? I need my rest before morning.
Soil: Bah! I hate morning. Your idiotic Sun burns me and I feel so lifeless till the water comes.
Pot: (contemplatively) But I thought you hated the water? Thought you didn't like losing part of yourself?
Basil: Oh I just adore the Sun! (ignores them for a moment) His sweet smile and warm caresses just fill me with the need to reach up and touch him!
Soil: (scowls at Basil) That bastard. He scorches me to near death and I must lose part of myself to feel alive again! Where's the justice in that?
Pot: I think he's nice enough. A little narcissistic but is that really such a bad thing?
Basil: I don't care about that. He treats me special. I know he gives me the most attention.
Soil: Doesn't anyone care about my dilemma?
Pot: There's not much you can do about it. She needs ample sunlight to live so we are stuck because of her. Unless she get's a sex change...(chuckles at the thought)
Basil: (gasps) Of course not! I love me! Everyone is envious over my broad supple leaves, tall stature and gorgeous flowers. And let's face it, I smell divine!
Soil: (Contemplates his existence in silence)
Pot: That's all very well and grand but means little to me. Let's talk about something else.
Basil: (outraged) There's nothing else to talk about except me! The fiery sun worships me, the earth must obey, the air loves carrying my scent, and the water and my roots are intimately intertwined.
Pot and Soil are silent.
Basil: (dreamily) Ah...I can't wait till morning...