beetle kill

idk if y’all americans and that know this, but in Australia instead of snow at christmas we get these lil shiny bugs everywhere and they’re attracted to the christmas lights and we call them christmas beetles

and despite being australian they don’t bite or anything they just crawl around on your hand and it’s such a good and pure feeling and yeah

I was rewatching Onion Gang since Gem Harvest didn’t air and idk if anyone’s noticed or said this already, but when Onion and his friends pulled the fake death scene, something came to my mind. Garbanzo, the one playing dead, wore mostly pink. Soup was mostly blue (plus shone what shaggy bangs) Pinto was yellow and Onion was in mostly white. Remind you of anything? Maybe, the diamond authority?

I feel like Onion Gang had a lot of hidden secrets we have yet to see. Onion Gang (or as I’ve began to call it: Foreshadowing, the episode) just seemed very important later, like the killing the beetle or the faked death part

4

I went into my hive today and OH MY GOD. They have produced so much honey, I took one frame out and it would not stop dripping. They seem to be doing well, besides building in a few “wrong places,” aka on top of the board, outside some?? So I moved it back and tried my best to correct everything and my oh my I’m in love with bee keeping once again.

night-blind

2: 40 dripped a universal language by code; rain
cry or hiss of a fox housing on forests edge
his eyes are wilderness
are emeralds peering out
the suture of night,
sage growing exiled
rasp-
berries, 
traversing laments;
is to untie irony and chew on its endings -

indelible all is edible 
so i hunt a cry that is this
lemma
lying next to my head almost touching my temples [i pretend to read his mind]
progress is heavy
gunfire fire [pause here]    fire
short in those checkered pyjamas
only worn in patchouli impregnated
nights radiating off a brittanica
clutching a map of summer and the flight routes of wasps  

will be there
to assemble:
a wheel, a compass, book - talisman of change, repetition of melissa citron
to the subject of libertine that lives between the gaps of a cow like shaped cloud
the ego is vanilla pudding growing an exotic but constringent mold

still awake at 3:41 i note:
aligned orchards
full nihilists
mouth in nazis and beer and the ticking clock
spit out an idealist on a horse riding into a postcard
scenario
squinting eyes to decipher the imprint
- saudade -
i kill a beetle that is as small as the fingernail of a newborn
and breathe in the smell of karma
and the kerosine lamp
and mint bush
braiding a trail through sweaty childrens-hair

i am searching cupboards for the codeword of composition
to only grasp universals
where the nominative is an unhinged door.

July 2016    Shaver Lake, California.  The bark beetle is killing a lot of trees here because of the ongoing drought conditions in California. The bark beetle infestations have ravaged its stressed trees particularly Ponderosa pines. Because the trees are close together the beetles can easily jump to different trees. The trees use to be able to fight off the beetle but with the drought they don’t produce as much sap which use to help fight off the beetle. These beetles are as tiny as a flea and multiplying so fast. It is so sad to see what is happening to many of our forest areas here in California.

Creepypasta #619: I Tried To Love My Son

Story length: Medium

I tried.

I tried to convince myself there was nothing wrong with him. When he was six he got in trouble at school for killing beetles. “Boys will be boys,” I laughed, but I didn’t believe it.

I tried to convince myself that he was normal. When he was eight I saw him playing with a decapitated bird. “It was already dead,” I assured myself, and I pretended the scissors I found later were just covered in paint, but I didn’t believe it.

I tried to convince myself that he was a good person. When he was ten I found his drawings, graphic and disturbing, and full of hatred. “It’s just a phase,” I told myself, but I didn’t believe it.

I tried to convince myself that he would never hurt anyone. “It was an accident,” I told the nurses at A&E, when they pulled the fork out of my hand, but I didn’t believe it.

I tried to convince myself that he wasn’t dangerous. “She slipped and fell,” I said in my statement to the police, as they took the poor dead teen away, but I didn’t believe it.

I tried to convince myself that it was out of his system, that he wouldn’t hurt anyone else, that everything would be alright.

I didn’t believe it.

“I tried to love you,” I whispered through tears as I trained the gun at his head.

“I know,” he replied, and I pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked, empty, and my son smiled. “I tried to love you, too.”

I didn’t believe it.

Credits to: Mostly-Harmlessish