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June 17th  2011    Tim Candler

    "Primordial ooze"  is amongst one of my more favorite expressions.  It's up there with "catatonic state,"  "fulsome wench" and "Crocodile".   And while these words turn the mind,  there is nothing quite as satisfying as the confluence of thought that emerges from the understandings of others.

    As example, Mimosa Pudica, and when I can find it, there is a nervous gathering of them on the slope to the north of here.  'Pudica' is Latin for shrinking and bashful.   In the Buganda language  it is called "the little plant that dies of shame."  Myself, being old and increasingly retarded, I find it easier to call it a Sensitive Plant.  But until  I ventured into the world of others, I never would have applied an idea of shame, or bashful to its peculiar capacity.  And I would have carried on teasing the shy little creature in that horrid boy way.

     More recently The Artist referenced a "puddle of leaves."  I thought it belonged to a preoccupation with the creative world, and sometimes that world is too loosely constructed for the elderly and increasingly retarded.  But I did the right thing, I gave her the blank stare. And she replied, "Fawns."

    I'm not a great one for wandering around out there at this time of year.  There are tics, there are things that sting, there is a considerable amount of slithering through the long grass, and if it is larger than a grasshopper I am generally nervous of it.  But apparently if you pick up a baby Deer to help it cross a fence line, the moment you put it down, it falls like a puddle of leaves into the grass and there it stays, still as it possible can.

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