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Tag: sublimation


More flagrant than ever before, the garden this spring has been one raucous and debauched carnival of lawless bacchanalian flower sex. Someone asked me how the yard was doing a couple of weeks ago, and the only adjective I could think of to describe it was pay-per-view.

That the bees are back doesn’t hurt: there are more wanton workers barnstorming the sepals, looting the pistils and bracing the stamens than I’ve seen in years. I blush yet at the thought of the countless bodies¬† clumsily adjusting their undergarments, stumbling out of the garden dizzy with the perfume of sex, telltale pollen smeared on their collars.

Of course, that’s nature’s nature every spring. I’m just tuned in to it more acutely this year than any other in memory. I’ve been sublimating pretty hard in 2010, thanks to an especially lusty curiosity and cunning, and an abundance of free time, botanical variety, and midday mead. It all came to a climax today when I realized just how oh-so very badly I want to lay down with this one:

Can that be so bad? Can this particularly innocent instance of polymorphous perversion really have a price? Will Courtney be jealous?

Persnaps, but let this be her consolation: my botanical tryst is short-lived. Alas, this beauty is exceedingly ephemeral: try as I might, I can not preserve these petals. Vivid colors fade, perfect posture wilts, ardor will languish.

And yet!

For whiners like me, there’s always Autumn. The fruit borne this fall will be just another form of the same biological ecstasy, though more visceral and less hysterical, more nourishing and more sustaining, and far more enduring.

Thank you, pesto, for making winter worth living through.

Vegetable Porn

There’s something especial about the turn my sublimation has taken this late summer, something especially dramatically vegetable. It’s no surprise that tomatoes have got me breathing heavy thanks to my falling down the heirloom rabbit hole last late summer. But now it’s spreading.

Tigger melons I bought last week just because I heard their siren’s call, their stripes radiant sunsets and me all photosensitive. And another watermelon because it’s skin got me nostalgic about the brain coral I had brought home from St. Croix a month ago. But it turns out all watermelon have skin that complicated, I’ve just never noticed it before (though the darker ones are far more seductive, there is no no doubt).


We just got home and the neighbor we split our share from the CSA with brought over a ten-pound at least bag of corn and squash and tomatoes and basil and an eggplant and watermelon and the eggplant is bone-white


and the watermelon has me sweating just looking at it. It may take a good bit of creativity to find ways to eat these things, but I can look at them all day long.

Then the first few heirloom tomatoes came in at the market, and I spent twenty bucks on love apples before I had blinked. Chocolate stripes and black ethiopians and green pineapples. I’m in deeper already than I was last summer and it’s still only mid-August. I’ve got more photos than pounds of tomatoes and I’m just not okay putting you through that here so I’ve started a new site just for tomatoes.¬† If you’ve got a yen for heirloom tomatoes and a super-specialized and slightly weird and lustily vegetable libido then check it out. But if this:


kinda thing doesn’t do it for you, i.e. if you’re at all even in the head then don’t bother. check out illegal dojo instead. For it is there that yuks abound.