THE GARDEN & THE BOTANIST

excerpt

FIRST CYCLE:
BE ONE TO MAKE ONE


CUT TO: GARDEN, EXT. EARLY EVENING

In the frame we see a variety of greens bathed in a soft turquoise light. The frame is broken by an irregular presence of familiar sounds. We are in a rundown garden that seized to exist as a garden and ran into wilderness until a Lord cut his trees about thirty years ago and the plot was once again considered to be worthy of being a garden, or seen as something that had the right to be cultivated. The garden is partly overgrown with bushes and trees whose branches and twigs lay low and embrace each other in the spaces in between, with intuitive arms whose leaves make crisp sounds as cassette tape in the hands of a con artist. Their veins squeezes and frowns as the larvae makes its final move and cuts into the leaf with slimy, guttural sounds. It silently wishes it could eat louder, as to finally warn off the gardens ever circling predators once and for all.

THE BOTANIST

”You had to account for every move, arrival or exit. In the world there was a conspiracy against improvisation. It was only permitted in jazz.”

THE GARDEN

You already knew this but I guess the conspiracy became visible when you crossed it and images became the currency. You long to stay inside. You long for that breeze; that experience, that love. I am a voyage, I have seized to exist as a place, I exist as your desire and dream, your faith and death. I love you too but you are not my god. I think it’s honest.