Weeding Out the Inner Garden
Art by anton alekseev
It starts in your chest. A swelling desire to create something with your hands. This desire blooms into a compulsion to create. A garden of all things. You see so much potential in this plot of land, this section of dirt known as yourself. Some people see the potential while others overlook it. You pay them no mind and do the proper research, studying the ins and outs of gardening.
You travel far and gather fertilizer, a variety of seeds, pure water, and food for the rich fertile earth in front of you. You look up at the sun beaming down from above and wipe the sweat from your brow. You get to work, dirt coating your hands like the touch of an old lover.
A few weeks pass and you notice green stalks beginning to sprout from the earth. Your hard work is paying off. You’re pleased. The green leaves eventually grow into flamingo flowers, birds of paradise, celosia, night blooming jasmine, mystery gardena, roses, and Dutch amaryllis. Your stomach rumbles as you notice vibrant bell peppers, cucumbers, garlic, potatoes, zucchini, and figs.
You check on the plants once a day, knowing they must be tended to and loved. You whisper words of affirmation to the plants, caressing the leaves while playing French jazz.
A weed pops up. It looks like a thick clump of grass. It doesn’t seem to be bothering the other plants so you let it be. Time passes and other weeds appear (similar in shape and volume). They begin strangling your vegetables, suffocating the roots. Plants begin dying and some of your favorite flowers are withering.
You consult with elder gardeners and they tell you to get rid of the weeds. You pull them out by the root, making sure none remain. The damage isn’t too bad, but you had to toss out more flowers and veggies than you would have liked to.
Taking a deep breath, you fix the soil and plant new seeds. After some time, your garden seems to be flourishing again and you breathe easy
What type of flower is that, a friend asks, pointing to a pretty white flower.
I think it’s a morning glory, you say unsure, ignoring the way your stomach clenches up.
It spreads across the garden and a few more white flowers pop up. The rest of your plants don’t seem to be doing well. Your stomach groans and your heart aches. You put so much time and effort into your garden.
Still something about the flower doesn’t seem so bad. When you talk to the other flowers, it calls out to you. It says things to you in a language of condensation, scents, and movements. This prompts you to move in new directions outside of the garden, moves you’re not too sure about, but you trust the flower.
A young hungry gardener similar in age comes over and her jaw drops as she observes your garden.
What the fuck, she says.
What, you ask. Heart beating fast.
“You have bindweeds in your garden. You have to get rid of them before they destroy everything. They’re hella noxious.”
You grab your tools and get to work, digging them out. Roots 10 feet deep hang out of your bare hands.
This is worst than I thought, you say.
Your friend helps you clean up your garden and you cry once you notice the sheer damage. You can’t believe how long you let these plants thrive hurting the rest of precious flowers and vegetables.
It’s gonna be okay, your friends says, embracing you in a tight hug.
You don’t care about the dirt smeared across the back of your shirt. You sink deeper into the moment, relishing in the comfort and care, thinking back to the decisions you made outside the garden. The decisions that hurt you.
You’re slow to plant seeds again, tired of starting the processing again and again, but you’re committed to your garden. You made a promise to yourself long ago and you intend to keep it.
The garden comes back full force, but this time, it’s doing even better. You no longer listen to the flowers, instead you trust yourself and your heart beams with joy. You invite your friend back over and you share a plate of fresh veggies together with a bottle of red wine.
Life is good…
The Boys Season 4 Premiere
I’m a fan of Garth Ennis’ The Boys comic book series and I’ve enjoyed the vast majority of the TV adaptation as well. Of course, I was excited to tune into the season premiere of Season 4 and I was disappointed.
At some point, I stopped caring, maybe about halfway through. It lost my attention, but I think it’s missing heart, and focused on zeroing into mirroring America’s political landscape. It worked well at times and elevated the series, but it’s taking away from the storytelling. It already feels like the show is trying too hard and this isn’t a good sign of things to come.
I’ll probably try the next couple of episodes, but I might jump ship if it continues down this path…
Writing Updates
I’ve been in a sort of creative limbo lately, but I pinpointed the issue. I had someone in my circle I had to weed out a la the intro to this newsletter. So we’re back to business and I feel locked in. With that being said, Project Bunny Bloodbath is a go again.
Motorpapi Chronicles 2 is moving forward slowly but surely. There’s another cool project in motion, but I haven’t come up with a codename for it quite yet. Just know, I feel excited to do what I do best…
Currently Watching: Love, Death & Robots Season 3 & Blue Eye Samurai & Breaking Bad & The Boys Season 4
Currently Reading: Cosmic Horror Monthly #3 & Less Than Zero by Brett Easton Ellis and Bedlam by Charlene Elsby & Bad Foundations by Brian Allen Carr & Writing Screenplays that Sell by Michael Hauge & Dying World by J. David Osborne (reread)
Listening: The Danny Brown Podcast, Back from the Borderline, The Higherside Chats, Agitator, Mutual Aberration Society, Victory Light, and Lost Xplorers
“The Drake where I come from don’t sing rnb…”
Don Trip comes through with the somber “War of the Worlds” comparing he parallels between street wars with service members who fight overseas. Dark yet clear storytelling delivered with a heavy heart. The last couple of bars are chilling.
Something about Action Bronson dropping new singles is refreshing. Maybe it’s the colorful lyrics, slam dunking on midgets, watching boxing, dragon hentai, etc. Either way, “Nourish a Thug” has my wheels spinning and I feel pumped to write something new.
Killa Cam seems to be semi-retired from rapping, but every so often drop a new freestyle on his sports talk show with Mase. His bars are still sharp and witty and the storytelling skills put the young bucks to shame.
Lupe Fiasco has always had the juice, but sometimes his lyricism takes away from his musicality. “Cake” is the first time in a long time that I’ve heard Lupe return to his soulful roots. Almost brings me back to the Food & Liquor era and gives me hope that this new album will be fire.
Until next time…
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Really like that soulful garden analogy. Truth, man.
❤️