bloody hell, man! how was i unaware that my herbs had a suicide pact?
they went from looking fine to like this overnight. how absolutely unnecessary.
at the attractive end of the death spectrum, i've been fixated on the flooded grave, a bitchin' photomontage we saw at moma's jeff wall exhibition on saturday (the whole thing - gigantic, mostly staged photos in mounted lightboxes - was pretty engaging; if you're in town, check it out). it reminded me of ariel's song from the tempest:
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
hear that, cilantro and dill? i expect you to have turned into a lavender cheesecake by the time i get home tonight.
5 comments:
this looks oddly familiar...
that's what always happens when i've tried to grow herbs indoors, too. something about not wanting to exist in captivity i guess.
Odd thing. My mom bought me a potted office plant for my birthday last month, and I have actually succeeded in not killing it. In fact, it has actually began to bloom. (I believe they are peace lilies, with spiky pollen sticks.)
And so, suddenly, I am Mr. Botany (Righter of Wrongs, Weeder of, um, Weeds).
hail, mr. botany!
my mum, she of the ultra-green thumb, says i should have thinned them, which is true - i was planning to, but i thought it wasn't time yet. she also speculated that exposure killed 'em, which (since there really isn't much direct sun in that window yet) seems questionable.
it could just be that the chia herb garden should, as The Man with 42 Blue Coats would say, eat a bowl of birthday dicks.
birthday DIGS, i tell you, birthday DIGS!
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