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Alex The Plant Thinks

Plants
I just listened to a program on NPR about plants. Apparently plants think. This is arrived at by observing plants learning; that is, new behavior being repeatable. Not just that, but plants defending themselves when it seems they will be harmed, based on a new negative action they were originally receptive to. In other words, Alexander the plant allows a pin prick to be delivered by a pin. The next time a pin appears, Alex closes his leaves. This is in the plant type that Alex is, one capable of closing its leaves.

This is only a slight exaggeration, I’m sure there are many more limitations other than capability. Or at least I would think so.

But this leads to further observations within the thinking-plant continuum.  For instance, this does not mean that plants are conscious. Though they may well be and articles have been written on such. The point is—thinking alone is not proof of consciousness. Alex the plant may well think, but he may not be aware he is thinking. Another step is involved with this—Alex may be aware he is thinking, but not be aware that he is Alex. Or Alex doing the thinking. Awareness of agency, awareness of self.

The mind jumps to humorous applications of this knowledge, or at least mine does. There are singing ants. Just because Joey the ant can sing, it does not necessarily mean he can learn new notes. Even if Joey can learn new notes, I doubt very seriously that Joey will be writing any new songs. At least he won’t be writing and printing the “New Songbook For Ants” anytime soon.

A photo of Alex the plant in bloom

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When Blue

In my heart there is a blue bird that 
He wants to go

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection Post by Federica De Santi

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection
Post by Federica De Santi

But with him I’m inflexible,
I tell him: stay inside, I don’t
Nobody sees you.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But the verse whiskey and inhale
The smoke of cigarettes
And the whores and bartenders
And the grocer’s clerks
They don’t know that there is him.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But I am inflexible with him,
I tell him: stay down, you want to
Freaking out?
Do you want to air all my work?
Do you want to blow my books sales in Europe?

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
Only at night sometime
When everyone sleeps.
I tell him: I know you’re there,
Don’t be sad
Then I put it back in place

But he in there a little sings,
I didn’t really make him die,
We sleep together like
With our secret pact
And she’s so cute to cry
A man, but I don’t cry,
And you?

~Charles Bukowski

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Other Worlds

Ravenous Butterflies

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power.
Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget… another world is not only possible, she is on her way.
On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”
Arundhati Roy

Zeigfeld Girl, Marjorie Leet.

ravenous

 

 

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Beyond Dystopia—unedited flurry

I wonder how we got here. I’m not talking about the primordial ooze out of which our consciousness was spit to eventually become the seed in some body, random, chosen, placed (choose your religious belief) and then awakened in the brain or body or both—slowly for the most part because who could stand the sudden shock of it all at once—into this something we call our self.

Truth Theory

According to some experts in the field, we are just a decade away from this type of technology reaching the public.

Scientists Say Babies Will Grow In Artificial Wombs Within Ten Years
I stuck my head out to find this. This. This is where we are today. In addition there was an article about human brain cells being placed in pig embryos. It left me with a momentary shudder.  I controlled  my reaction, thinking this could not possibly be used for any true purpose. In what fashion? Why? Why on earth would we have this need? I still don’t know, but I’m not sure that it matters.
My conclusion: We deserve to be destroyed by the planet.
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And So…

I got married on this date once. It was a long time ago. So was the divorce.

In honor of the lack-of festivities, I like to make a festival of sorts. Here is a list of other things what puzzle me.

  • The crazies or crazy-making within a TV show or movie.
sofi

no credit given

When people throw-up because they Never brush their teeth or even rinse their mouth afterward. And they usually kiss someone soon after. *Yuck*

And the vomiting is usually for a pathetic reason. Some truth revealed about the not-father previously unknown—vomit. Look at some photos—vomit. Someone dies—vomit. Someone gets sick—vomit. Someone runs over someone—vomit. Someone gets bad news—vomit. And it goes on—ad nauseam.

Then there is the case of the open-car-door. More accurately—the car door left open. Guy stops at a house to kill another guy—leave it open. Girl goes in to see a dying relative—leave it open. Someone is just excited—leave it open. AND they never return to a previously-open car door. Someone has closed it while we were watching something else. Or I wait for several scenes to see if anyone will close the car door, or brush their teeth. They don’t.

Then there are less frequent crimes of incongruity but annoying nonetheless. There is the meal. The meal preparation is interrupted and everyone has to leave. They leave and no one puts anything away. Nothing. I wait and watch for someone to go back in the house and at least cover the mayonnaise, but no…

There is the opened can that is left on the counter right next to the pot it was going in before the gunshot interrupted our hero. This usually takes place in a cabin up north and it’s frequently snowing. I wait for the whole of the rest of the film to see what happens to that can of beans.

All this meal-time stuff and no one ever eats. The table gets set, but nothing makes it to the plates. Sometimes it gets there and they push the food around, but rarely does a fork make it to the mouth. (If it does, I have to count the times.) Especially the very thin women—they are not going to eat. You will not see it. Maybe a strawberry now and again so we don’t encourage the kids to be anorexic.

TaozEnn

Tao and Zen

  • The Kentucky Derby. I don’t get it but I get it. I don’t actually want to talk about that either.