September 21st, 2008



The trees here do not bear the usual fruit.

Some of them make you remember obscure minutiae when you eat them. Others, perhaps more traditionally, make you forget. One tastes like your favorite flavor of ice cream, and another like your least favorite -- and in my case, that's still pretty good. One makes you see robots everywhere. One makes you a better driver but a worse dance. Another makes you obsessed with dental hygeine.

The big, ripe red fruit, the one that looks like breadfruit, is still a mystery to me. As far as I can tell, its only effect is that the more you eat it, the more you're curious about its effects.

This garden troubles me. I've got the feeling I should stop exploring here -- but that may be the flavor of the warning-mangoes speaking.

(EDIT: Edited to avoid an unintentional reference to Strange Fruit, a Billie Holiday song about lynching. Thanks to sinboy for pointing out my troubling mistake. Also, it's a beautiful, very sad song.)