A Dialogue* On Moss

*soon to be a dialogue


A friend bemoaned the dearth of meaningful and interesting conversation today.  I've had a couple friends who have complained about the nature of common conversation and expressed a preference for deeper banter rich with meaning.   To be sure, in daily life I've felt that the abundance of casual, friendly communication sometimes a little shallow, and have missed having friends around with whom I could explore any topic at any time and really share myself (with the exception of this past week and a few occasions with the odd new friend :D).  However, we make do.  (The preceding reads a little pretentiously, mwahaha, but just wait!)  So, this:

My friend: 

I have been having the same 10 safe discussions about the same 10 controversial but sad things for over 10 years now and I am so sick and tired of them.  I would rather have a frank conversation about what someone else thinks about moss than to talk about God or politics again.

Me:  

I like reading beatnik literature sometimes because it rambles and dwells deeply on otherwise mundane things. I'm not sure why people don't discuss moss more. It does mean a lot to me. It's a favourite life form of mine but I don't Google Image search it much. It's obviously comfortable and adds a rich visual complexity to rocks. I suppose I'd kind of like to have moss in my house, but then there's the concern of ants or other bugs. I wouldn't like fake moss because of the modern revolt against tacky indoor synthetic nature replicas. Having living homes would be a delight, but it's easy for me to say that without specifying how to make maintenance sufficiently light so I'd still have time and energy to pursue irrelevant matters like school.  Instead, I just dream about it and Better Worlds without worrying about their feasibility.
    But back to the ants, it's a bit weird that if we're just animals, we've gone to such great lengths to isolate ourselves from other animals. It's nice. It simplifies and enables other things. Living in homes where nature has been excluded or controlled (in plant potters and with mouse traps in our cupboards). Should I just grow moss and not worry about it? Have a stream trickle through my living room and let squirrels naw on my clementines? It would bring another meaning to the lyric in the Beatle's song "I am the Walrus" "sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun to shine." Perhaps fake moss that was suitably stylised (like clearly two-dimensional paper cut out and pencil coloured green and then layered on the wall for fake depth) would be amenable to me.
    Do you like moss? Would you mind if it was done away with, or would you like it promoted in more public places? (Grown on buildings in downtown Toronto say.)

I suppose that might be trite to you, assuming you're a moss expert, tired of hearing the same thoughts on moss all the time, wondering whether any of the 7 billion people near you have a remotely novel or irregular insight to squeal.  And yes, there are more words on moss that I could share, but they're a bit personal, and a trust has to develop before I can really comfortable reveal my innermost mossy feelings to another.  But at least I didn't go "Derp."  I miss having random and meandering conversations on silly topics.  (Side note: I love the relationship between depth and meaning and mundanity of topics; some of the best conversation I've held have been on the matter of crates of mandarins and the eating thereof.)

(Oh, and the questions at the end are open to all.)