TFTC: The Purple Lemonade Cult

COMING SOON! Find out the epic conclusion to this story I five minutes when we upload the smoke review. For an actual smoke review, look at the seed review... or skip to the end of the story and read the notes. See you soon ganja growmies.

The final chapter Welcome cultivating community, welcome to my corner of this dark spun Web, we hope you are looking forward to the final chapter of our presentation "Tales from the Closet: The Purple Lemonade Cult", presented to you in partnership with Mars Hydro, who without their help, we would never have made it on this interstellar journey. Last week was a cliffhanger: what will happen to poor Bondage Barbara, what happened to the plant? Where is this revolution going? So without further preamble, on with the show and let the games begin. I stood there watching the smoldering wreck, I'm alive, but the car isn't. The entire thing shook me, someone just tried to kill me as this wasn't a malfunction, the fade of the man, on my screen was etched into my mind, haunting me. It felt like this was the end the plant had been trying to warn me of, he very feeling of being chased by an unknown entity filled my veins while terror gripped my mind, "I must get back to the plant" was my only thought breaking through the din of noise fear fills you with, the plant was where I needed to go. With purpose I made my way back to the club, the purple buildings of the city of New New Old Amsterdam surrounded me, they in turn were surrounded by security personnel. The closer I came to the club the more I saw the governments luckiest loitering around what was nearly desolate streets, it felt like the aftermath of the apocalypse: there was blood on many streets, and the last remnants of rioters were broken people looking forlorn in prostrated positions everywhere. It was a warm day, the hot sun blazing down oppressed us in the streets, the brown hills sticking up on the horizon looking like the brown leaves of the plant, poking up past the purple buildings looking like her buds. It was a nice day after a long night, the perfect type of weather she liked. Already in my mind I knew what I would find, I could feel it everywhere. The last corner loomed before me, past this would be the street where my club stood, I could already see a mass of people crowing the street, most of them wore clothing and tattoos to identify themselves as cult members, they were all standing in a mass looking towards where the club would be, as I walked round the corner I was witness with all the cult members to a horrible sight: there was a circle of police around the club, outside on the pavement were employees and cult members face down and in handcuffs, as my eyes tracked up I saw it, an imae to harrow the soul and in your memory leave a black hole, a place you never want to remember. In the window were branches dangling in the dim of the club, the plant had been taken apart branch by branch and hung in the window like some trophy, a trophy treated with tardy contempt, spraying it with lemon and bicarbonate of soda to remove any dirt, polishing for a death display. We all stood there in reverent silence, the soul of the movement had been killed, it was hanging out to dry for all to see and mock. For the establishment this was to be an ending to any further rebellion, they had decided to rip the heart of the beast, with it they also ripped the heart out of every cult member, the promise the plant had whispered to the hearts and minds of each person the plant reached now felt a lie, there felt like a hollowness in a collective heart and mind, the death of something so precious, so loved, so worshiped. Was this the end the plant had warned of? Yet, in the darkness of despair came a feeling of expectation, it was soft in the distance, like gentle music getting louder and louder. The music continued as days passed, yet the branches still hung there in the dark, with the air conditioning on for no one but a dead plant, many of us kept vigil over the dead plant, watched the hung green branches wash of colour, the purple buds deepened as its life faded to nothing and all of its fluids evaporated out into the atmosphere. I Saw many faces known throughout this ordeal, many people with the same sunken eyes of grief, yet, in each and every one I also say that light that was felt within my heart and mind, that this was not quite over, that even though things were broken and hurt, like the plant which had many breaks and cutting through its life, we too will grow back stronger than ever. It was a practice held longer than records began, the idea of the cleansing fire, the idea that one can remove sin or imperfection or any form of wrongness by simply lightning it with fire and watching chaos incarnate devour, devour and destroy with impunity the things you see as wrong or evil. Over the years civilization has burned the majestic, the crazy, the creative, the beautiful the smart, the everything and the anything that it considered wrong, that it felt did not fit into its bubble of mass consensus, the safety net of commonality. So they decided after two weeks to hold a mass bonfire and as an effigy of any counter culture, they decided to burn the plant and with it destroy the revolution. It felt like everyone from the City had gathered, all the inhabitants of New New Old Amsterdam were gathered to the main plaza where a ring of police surrounded the fire and the plaza itself. There on a big stage and broadcast on to many screens, was that face, the man who tried to Kill me. His name was Bill, he was surrounded by Clergy of a new Martian religion preaching of how we had wandered from the true course, many cheered his words, many had a fanatical face warped by lies and absurdities. After the sermon happened, they burned the plant, the entire Plaza fell silent. The smoke spread, everyone was surrounded by it, filled with it, everyone's eyes turned red, everyone started to dance to an invisible tune, to no music but what was being given to us through the plant, it was the song of our belief. People's minds opened, soon everyone in the square had turned on the police, they were as paper to the torrent of an unstoppable tide, and the man who tried to kill me, Bill, well Bill and his clergy suffered the fate they had in store for the plant. What started with a plant, with a simple idea, with an interest or a hope, ended up changing everything, the next day the people of New New Old Amsterdam declared its independence from the clutches of its central government, declared independence of thought, of belief or corporate dogma. What had started as a seed, was now something more than a plant or a person, it was hope, hope for the dreams we hid as children to become reality, this search of true happiness, is worth fighting for, worth living for. Final Notes: The plant was cut and hung in a compartment a mate and myself made in the tent, not ideal I know, but hey, the plant was really just there to take up a bit of space. She was beautiful with purple buds. I used a wet towel to try and keep relative location humidity even, did not want it to dry out too fast. Although all this was done, after a couple weeks it was readyish to be trimmed, I prefer a dry trim in an attempt to slow dry the plant and make sure as much of the Chlorophyll gets leached out. My friend and I watched a movie called the Greasy Strangler while trimming, well we watched half, it was shit! Then we watched something else, we had had edibles and were really baked. Now the buds are super purple but fluffy, hoping a few weeks in the jars will help them close up. Look at the strain review for the smoke, I'm lazy, edibles are kicking in. 3oz from 10 weeks, not too bad! Really pretty plant but any failure will be attributed to my carelessness.