Hey y'all, All of these plants should be great in Zone 7 (I'm in TN), and they're all either out of my garden or part of a bulk order I made from a reputable nursery. I'll be throwing in a 'freebie' of some old sesame sprout seed (unsure if viable), and anything else I can scrounge and label. I have a lot of seed, so don't be discouraged if you see someone got something you wanted - I probably have enough for 5 people for each plant type! Happy swapping, everyone!
I really like this songs. It sort of reminds of Across the universe by the Beatles. It has a sort of psychedelic feeling to it. But anyway do any of you know songs like Crimson and Clover?
Clover Station high above a red crimson paradise planet. My first orbital build, all done in VR (only fell off once). Contains command bridge, front desk, promenade deck lounge and pilot area, cabin deck with 8 luxury suites and 5 inboard rooms, gate room, sickbay, Dining room, cafeteria, massage parlor with bubble spa, crews quarters, flight deck and lower observation lounge. (Can never have enough lounges and bars!)
I should probably use a throwaway if I'm gonna spill out all my OCD exacerbated loneliness like this, but fuck, I just don't even care about that right now. My only thought is God, not this again. I am too old for this. I have broken 30. And yet I am asking for playlists, asking to trade music like some love-struck twenty-something again.
Took her a while, but she sent me one with Joan Jett's rendition of Crimson and Clover (plus a bunch of other very gay things). I'm reminding myself she slapped that shit together in a panic because she had anxiety about leaving me on "read" for a couple weeks. This is not a message. This is just a playlist. Just the facts, ma'am.
Fact is, it keeps playing (fact is, I keep playing it). I'm not reading into it. Nope. Definitely not. Especially not suddenly and several weeks after we actually did this trade. Nope. Nope nope nope. Just FRAAAAAAAANDSS.
She is still in her early 20s. She is too young for me. We even talked about this once. We have both had age gap relationships before, and it was a big nope for the both of us. Bad idea. Very not good. She's nice. We have weirdly a lot in common. I wanna have a friend who gets that kinda stuff for a change. I do not want to think about this.
This is OCD, and nothing means anything. Or I'm lying to the both of us. I haven't decided. Either way, I am just a sexually frustrated pancake someone dropped in the dirt on the way to the table. I will lie flat on the ground until the ants and the birds and the squirrels carry my syrup soaked body away in a million little pieces to their hidey-holes.
By which I mean I will do nothing. I will let this pass. This has to pass.
Today, I am the big oof and a sigh. This concludes my vent-post.
Im almost 100% sure it’s a movie I’m looking for, but could be a TV series!
There’s a scene where the first few lines from Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the shondells in it. It’s literally just the beginning bit with the lyrics “Ah, now I don't hardly know her But I think I could love her” then it just cuts off. I think the scene might be a slow mo woman coming into the camera scene, or something! I think it cuts off because the main character like snaps out of something! I really haven’t got a clue, I just know it’s used in the scene I’m thinking of! I’ve check IMDB but it’s not listed on there under the artist!
Please, someone help me!
So many things I wish I could say to you. About how I feel...and how it hasn’t changed. So many hopes I have for your happiness. So much worry I have for your health and heart.
Part of me feels you’d like to hear it too...but maybe it just makes it worse knowing it won’t change the direction we chose?
I don’t think you know this place. Maybe it’s best. Maybe you’d end up like me reading them when thoughts of you are loud in my head and wishing I could know if it’s because you were thinking of me too. Just knowing that connection still exists would be a comfort to my soul.
I could always love you, even for the night. All sweaty enzymes and broken down proteins, wrapped in a flesh pretzel. Glycolisis and coitus, venom, salt and opiods, phenylethalamine and quivering parts.
We can implode and expand again, far beyond our Chandersakaar limits, sucking in each other's light. We are binary, spread and surrounded, clustered about each other, all of me, all of you, pulsating and stealing momentary chances and ethereal wisps of half-hearted promises.
And you can be my favorite sack of mess. Tiny little covalent bonds stacked high, a heap of atoms with an ass.
We could melt it down, bare essentials, the building blocks. A simple cascade of molecular ins and outs, a brief pump of demon juice, dancing through those synapses, because you are the one that makes all the littleness inside me cease its randomness. I'm all synchrony and purpose when you batter me.
You should leave behind you a bubbling puddle, polysacharides and amino acids, screaming out for you to scramble them for another day or two. I want to know what sort of chaos you can make of me.
I want to feel you ooze, all evolutionary ultimate causes and forgotten concerns about naturalistic fallacies and higher spiritual needs. We're meat.
It's bacteria that orbits your inner sun, where I seek darkness and warmth, and I want to be your favorite germ, that little swath of filth and infection you can't do without.