Reclaiming The Garden

If I landscaped something this beautiful, I’d demand to be buried in it.
Image courtesy of Stockvault.

I’ve been making progress in my attempts to grow things, though I’ve had a few setbacks. It’s been raining most days the past few weeks. I thought I could wait for dry weather to do weeding.

I was wrong.

On the plus side, the fertilizer I put down is doing great. I’ve got some jalapeños coming in, along with some Mexican Chili peppers and some white habañeros. There are more tomatoes growing than I know what to do with.

Most of my work has been excavating the tall weeds that have been growing next to these plants. With the fencing around to protect from rabbits and other creatures, I can’t just mow next to the plot. These are relevant details that I didn’t consider at first. It’s been a learning experience for me.

Growing stuff is hard work, but it’s been rewarding at least.

The Cult of Dog-Sothoth

Image credit: Mystakaphoros
Image from Imgur.

Author’s Note: This story does feature spray-painted male genitals and some coarse language. For those who do not care to partake of such boorish and cheap humor, I offer this adorable meme above. He’s the cutest nightmare anyone will ever have.

For the fifth time in as many weeks, Detective Lawrence Timmons was staring at a giant penis spray-painted in hot pink. It was in the frozen food section of HappyPets, a pet store with locations nationwide. The whole thing was about fifteen feet long from ball sack to glistening tip. Along the shaft, the artist wrote, “HappyPets hates animals! Free our four-leged[sic] brethrin[also sic]!”

His partner, Detective Jane Markowitz, came up and handed him some coffee in a paper cup. She squinted at the drawing and nodded. “Been posing again, Larry?” she asked. Her voice was deep, like she had a frog in her throat and couldn’t get it out again.

“If it was that big, I’d pass out every time I had an erection,” said Lawrence.

“We can test that in my car,” said Jane.

Lawrence sighed. His sexual harassment suit must have been dropped. Again. “How about we work the case?”

“Offer still stands,” said Jane, snapping on some plastic gloves. She looked over the artwork from end to end, twice. “It’s got to be the same person doing this. Lines are the same with the other phalluses. Or is that phallees? Eh, dicks. But our artist appears to include the same heart-shaped-”

Lawrence had stopped listening when he saw something poking out between packets of organically raised no-cruelty tuna fish. It was a rolled sheet of paper with a dirty rubber band around it. The detective rolled off the band and opened the sheet. At the top, the title read in big bold comic sans font, “The Manifesto of the ORDER of the GOLDEN PAW.”

“Terrorists,” said Lawrence. “You gotta fucking be kidding me.” He fished in his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He took one out with his teeth and lit it with a cheap gas-station lighter.

“I don’t know if I’d call them terrorists,” said Jane. “It’s probably just a bunch of kids who get high and go around town with their spray paint.”

“Jane,” said Lawrence, the cigarette in his mouth bobbing up and down as he spoke, “this isn’t a bunch of kids. I’ve heard of this group before. If I’m right, this is just the beginning.” He took the paper and shoved it into Jane’s hands.

Behind him, Jane opened up the paper and said, “Aw Christ on a pogo stick, comic sans? Really?”

Blurred Time

Image courtesy of Stockvault.

The past couple of weeks have been hectic and a nuisance to my writing. Last week was the 4th of July (happy belated Independence Day to everyone in the States). On July 3d, I had to get the house ready for family to come over. It involved lots of work outside. In lieu of sleep, I listened to the fireworks everyone else had until well into the morning of the 4th.

When I get sleep starved, the time – and my mind – tends to get blurry.

There’s been a bunch for me to do it seems. All of it is outdoors or in town. I live far enough in the country that going to town is a decent drive (about half an hour). The neighboring wilderness feels like it wants to fight me to reclaim lost territory. It’s a primeval sort of whimsy that I wish would feed a decent horror story.

Speaking of which, I did finish the latest season of Stranger Things. It did not disappoint me. I can only hope that the next season will not take so long to come out.

I can say it feels good to sit in front of the computer and type out my thoughts. Some of the blurriness drifts away. What’s left are the few meandering notions that I want to etch in permanent electric ink.