This past week I came across a book in my library about improving one's psychic powers. Normally I wouldn't bother with such topics, but I figured, what the hell. The book was "Another Door Opens," about dealing with the death of loved ones, finding your true path, and dealing with frustration and stress. The book had an ameliorative effect on my chronic depression, which had lately been stoked by America's descent into fascism, and I felt better after reading it. I decided that maybe such topics weren't as worthless as heretofore believed.
Later in the week, I found myself in Barnes & Nobles Bookstore in Gilroy, California, a lovely, well stocked store that one rarely sees anymore, with the advent of Amazon. I got to browse and handle real paper and ink books, and bought a couple more on psychic subjects. One book was on how to develop one's psychic powers. After reading it I intend to use my psychokinetic powers to plant a Confederate battleflag between the butt cheeks of every Yankee politician from here to Hoboken and turn Bernie Sanders into a horned toad.
Another life-affirming project has been the planting of pumpkins in my backyard. I think I waited too long to plant the seeds -- they should be in the ground by the first of June, and I waited until the middle of July. Nevertheless, I decided to press on and see if the Great Pumpkin really will rise from my pumpkin patch on Halloween and bring toys to all the good little girls and boys. If not, maybe I'll have a pumpkin or two for Thanksgiving, and learn how to be a better farmer next year.
So far the only thing my pumpkin plants have produced are fragile yellow flowers.
What are they going to do, invade?
1 hour ago