June 19th, 2007

writing softcore nerdporn _ heres_luck

a rose is a rose is a rose

AFAIK, there is no rose named Gertrude Stein. This seems to me a great oversight.

However, there are a lot of other roses, and I hiked up to the Elizabeth Park rose garden and saw some today.

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I didn't get a picture of one of my favorites, carefree delight, a sprawling pink shrub rose with tons of scent and tiny wild-rose style single blossoms.

But of course no serious rose garden could be complete without this plant, which I was lucky to catch at all: it was almost over, only a few blooms left on an eight-foot climber.

Sweet, ancient eglantine....




I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.

A Midsummer Night's Dream  II.i

bear by san

the cold was science fiction, and the chairs were shambling

2460 words today in two sessions. Cahey's lack of vocabulary often thwarts me.

Also, somehow he appears to have wandered into a Neil Gaiman story:

Several dark-red auto-adapting chairs perked up when he entered the room, and the closest scampered toward him hopefully. Cathoair sidestepped it at first, but realized after a few moments that there were too many exits, and he had not the slightest clue which of them he was meant to be using. He glanced around, wondering if there were a servant or guard somewhere to aid him, but the only sound in the great empty chamber was his breathing and the click of the chair's disk-shaped metal feet.

After he had spent a few moments in staring, straining his ears for a sound or any sign of habitation, the chair caught up. Insistently, it nudged his thighs.  

"Oh, all
right," he said, and sat down, drawing his feet up so he could hug his knees, hunching his ears between his shoulders to wait.