Catulation (noun): 1. all the feline inhabitants of a particular house, building or structure; 2. cat population
Example of use: Our house catulation is four, with one more visiting on a neighbor visa.
Hairy Now
It became a little hairy with my thinking today as I coped with chi-particles and now while writing the novel, ‘Long Summer’.
I was dealing with the side-effect suffered by intelligent, organic creatures when a now is forced into existence. I simply wanted to vet and standardize for myself what that side-effect meant. That vector of thought shot me back toward the chi-particle structure, earlier rudimentary chi-particle thinking about how it evolves and devolves, and the relationships established with Hawking’s three arrows of time.
So, weirdly, the chi-particle has imaginary mass and energy and gains real mass and energy as it slows down. Dropping to the speed of light, the chi-particles gain mass and energy and releases other wave/particles/energies that develop into the chemical elements of the known universes, but also deliver time and gravity, time occurring to create a now associated with a wave function collapse. When the collapse happens, then reality is formed through an intersection of the box with the three arrows of time – psychological, thermodynamic, and cosmological.
But – this is where it becomes hairy – I recognized that the chi-particle not only exists in a state of imaginary mass and energy, but also imaginary time. It seems like an ‘of course’sort of concept, but I struggle to keep it pinned in place in conjunction with the novel being written.
I’ve been trying to further understanding of how the chi-particle interacts with the known theories of relativity and matter. I’ve always (ha – I came up with this about nine months ago) theorized in this imaginary existence of this imaginary particle that travels faster than light that isotopes and variants exist. Chi-particles exist in everything in the a half state. Once they’ve achieved real mass and energy, they continue decaying. As they decay, they shift from real properties to negative imaginary properties. I haven’t evolved any theories about what this would mean to the box of now created during the wave function collapse at the intersection with the arrows of time.
But further, for there to be an awareness of now when the wave function collapses at the intersection with the arrows of time, a sufficient aggregation of chi-particles for a particle species – such as Humans, for example – must exist for them to have an awareness and knowledge of their own existence. It’s at that point, when the ‘Human’ chi-particles aggregate, that Humans can reach the point of, “I think, therefore, I am.” Yet, it’s fleeting. Humans can’t understand beyond these moments of time (with the associated arrows) because once the chi-particles decay to the point of negative imaginary mass, energy and time, Humans cease to be.
Meanwhile, playing with the periodical table of elements to establish how this all fits together, I realized that the table becomes a multi-dimensional matrix in order to accommodate the chi-particles.
I needed to write all this out to think it out, stabilize it and make it ‘real’ to me. I’ll tell you, I’ll be happy when I finish writing this novel. I look forward to returning to simpler thoughts and plots.
Now I’m done writing like crazy for today. It sure was crazy.
Today’s Agenda
Between making oatmeal for breakfast and turning on the shower water, I asked the writer, “What are you going to write today?”
The editor joined us. The writer recapped where we were as I washed my hair. The editor reminded him that we need to go back to further revise and add to some previously created chapters because of other events later introduced.
“Yes, I remember that,” the writer answered with affable equanimity. “I will, don’t worry. There needs to be three of these chapters where we’re at now.”
That was the first I was hearing of it. Before I could say that, the writer continued, “That first chapter of this trio is titled ‘Miasma’.”
“It is?” I said. “That’s the first I — ”
“Yes. I don’t know what the other two are named yet. It’ll come to me.”
“Okay, but what’s to happen now? Forus Ker — ”
“The Englis and Exnila.”
“What about them?”
“Do you remember them?”
“Yes, of course, but — ”
“They’re going to show up.”
“They are?”
“Yes, yes.”
“How? And why?”
“Because remember, all the nows.”
“Umm….”
“We’ve only focused on some of the nows. Other nows are happening. We’re going to inroduce them. Oh, yeah. That’s the name of the second chapter. ‘In Other Nows.'”
“Isn’t that a little too cute?”
“No, it’s perfect. Trust me.”
I turned off the water and stood there dripping. “Okay, I’ll trust you. But how do the Englis and Exnila arrive? I don’t see it.”
“I do. It’s coming. It’s developing. You’ll see. Trust me.”
The writer says trust me often. “Okay.” I don’t see that I have another choice than to trust him. If I don’t trust him, we get nothing done. I began drying off.
“Hurry up,” he said. “It’s time to go write like crazy.”
I nodded. “At least one more time.”
Today’s Theme Music
Today’s music arrived with the sun. ‘When Doves Cry’ by Prince is pretty well known so I’ll eschewed any mention about what I was doing and where I was at when it came out. This is especially so with Prince’s sudden death last year. Instead, I’ll mention that it’s one of my cat songs.
Now for the embarrassing aspect. Ahem. A cat song is one I sing to my cats. I typically change the words to reflect that it’s for or about cats. In this instance, some of the words are revised to be, “This is what it sounds like, when a cat purrs.”
And the song arrived with the sun because that’s when a cat arrived with an introductory purr, pretending to be friendly, when he was really inquiring about breakfast.
Here it is, ‘When Doves Cry’, 1984, by the amazing, amazing Prince. Feel free to sing it to your animals.
Catitioning
Catitioning takes place when people change or modify behavior or actions, or won’t take action, because of the cat’s routines, or to avoid upsetting the cat.
Example of use: Meep was sleeping on the chair so Michael decided he’d wait and vacuum later. He’d been classically catitioned.
Last Meal
For my last meal, I went all out. Prime rib with horseradish sauce, roasted new potatoes, roasted asparagus with a small spring salad. A blackberry cobbler with real vanilla ice cream. A nice pinot noir to drink with the meal was requested for the meal, with a Praeger tawny port to drink while smoking cigars after my meal. Although I’ve made friends and re-established three friendships with others who died and are here, I’m dining alone. I like being alone. The Caretakers weren’t surprised. About half the people request solitude for their last meal. The other half like being part of a big party.
As I understand it, and they made it clear in orientation, I’ve already died, killed in a car crash in my new Ferrari. I can’t believe my timing. I was just making it big. Now I’m dead.
At least I don’t need to worry about my heart and cancer any longer. Or my hair. I can’t gain weight or do anything to this body. I won’t have it tomorrow morning. I’ll die and be reborn, starting over.
Doing the stroll, I say good-byes to the world. Bright orange poppies proliferate in a sandy field. Birds wheel, collect and land. A comforting sea breeze chops up the ocean. Waves splash with sunshine. This place, Aition, is temporary. It reminds me of the central California coast, just south of Half Moon Bay, where I lived my life. Born and raised, a California native. I stayed there, except for Vietnam, marrying twice and divorcing the same, with five children resulting from these unions. Richard, one of my boys, had preceded me in death. He was the oldest and the brightest. I tried finding him here but he’d already left, they said. I would have like to see him again. His death in a plane crash gutted me.
These thoughts carry me to the Solarium. I sought a final glimpse of my new sun and planet. Looking at them, I still can’t accept the truth of what I’m being told. The sun is the size of an orange. My planet is like a blue, green and white pea.It’s already populated with eight billion humans. I’ll join them tomorrow.
I kept asking, “Is this a model?”
No; that’s the planet. Those are all planets and suns.
“How many?” I wonder aloud.
“Billions and billions,” they reply.
Expanding my scope of seeing, I look up, down and across from the overhang where I stand. It looks like billions and billions.
I’ve compared my new Earth to the Earth that I left. It’s several suns over. They look pretty much the same.
We never cease, they told me. We just leave one place and go to another. This stop is a sop to us because we’re always wondering what happens when we die. It’s not a good sop. It opens up as many questions as it answers, and then, I’ll die here, be reborn elsewhere, and have most of my knowledge gone.
“How do I get a job here?” I asked a couple of the Caretakers. They’re all beautiful, perfect people and seem serene and happy. Why not? They’re living the perfect life. “Who do I see?”
“You can’t do anything to get here,” they all answer. “You’re born to here,” Juarez said. “Just like you’re born to other worlds.”
It seems capricious, arbitrary and unfair, just like the world I just left.
Time to eat. See you all later.
I suppose.
Hey, Writers – Ten Ways of Getting the Writing Groove Back
Find yourself not able to write or otherwise blocked, de-motivated or listless? Here are five healthy tips for getting the creative juices going.
- Have sex. Sex is one of the few matters humans tend to focus on while they’re doing it. If you’re thinking about sex because you’re doing it, you’ll free your mind from thinking about how you’re not writing because you’re not doing it.
- Eat some chocolate. I hear chocolate is good for everything. I like dark chocolate, myself, about seventy-two percent.
- Likewise, light up a doobie. If you’re fortunate, you live in a state where recreational marijuana is available. The fabulous state of Oregon where I reside is one of them. If you don’t want to light up, have an edible or a tea.
- Drink wine, beer, coffee. These work for me.
More seriously, trying to write when you feel blocked is exasperating and frustrating, a feeling like popcorn caught between your teeth or your toe stuck in a hole that’s developed since you put the sock on – and you just bought the damn things. Really, the quality of goods sound these days…grumble, grumble.
I’m usually over-thinking it, over-analyzing where I’ve been and where I want to go. Fortunately, I’ve evolved my writing practices. I’m rarely afflicted to the point I can’t write these days. Hope to hell I didn’t just jinx myself.
Part of that is that I don’t write linearly. I let spray the words and write like crazy. I don’t worry about anything of punctuation, grammar, spelling or story details. All that can and will be cleaned up. Just write like crazy, damn it.
The second part is that I learned it was my inner reader daunting me, mocking my efforts by comparing me to Pulitzer Prize, Nobel Prize and other winners in literature. I learned how to tell that damn piker to take a hike. They’ll have their time later, after the first draft is finished.
Finally, I learned that I’m writing to entertain myself. That really freed my thinking. I’m a simple fellow with low standards; surely I can write something silly to make myself smile, a horror scene to make myself shudder, or describe a person with such loathing that I grimace with disgust.
But back when I struggled, I had several work-arounds that stimulated my flow. (Now it sounds like I might be lactating.)
- Type a favorite passage from someone else’s novel or short story.
- Go for a walk or do tedious chores like yardwork or the dishes. These activities don’t require much thinking, freeing the mind up to wander. Hopefully it’ll wander in a writing direction. Besides chores and walking, consider activities like fishing or bowling. They seem pretty mindless, too.
- Edit and revise what you’ve already written of the piece you’re working on. That always stimulates my writing energies.
- Brainstorm about what you’re writing and where you’re stuck. What does Penelope do now? Brainstorm it. What else is happening in the story? Brainstorm it. How did the murder weapon come to hand? Brainstorm it. Remember, brainstorming is about generating ideas. Don’t self-censor; put it all down.
- Draw about the story or character. Instead of working in words, visualize on paper where you’re going or even where you’ve been. Let the details flow. If the murder takes place in town, walk around. If you’re in a starship, look around and see that starship. Describe it to yourself. Make it real. Look at the battle scene; hear it; smell it; see it.
If you’re read this far, you probably realize this is’t a list of ten. Sorry; I just put that in the title because I read somewhere that numbered blog posts are more often read. Actually, I believe I made that up just now.
It’s just part of writing.
Today’s Theme Music
We listened to a lot of music while I was stationed on Okinawa in the early 1980s. Drank a lot of beer, too. Smoked a lot of cigars, played a lot of Risk and worked a lot. We also went to college.
Anyway, back to the music thing. The Internet wasn’t around. CD players and Compact Discs were just emerging. For reference, the hot new computer was the TRS 80.
So we played a lot of vinyl, recording it onto more portable, user friendly formats. One album that came out then was Foreigner 4, by Foreigner. Several hits were on that album, including this song, ‘Juke Box Hero’. Later generations and listeners might be familiar with the song through its commercial use.
Stream it in your head as you’re walking around dreaming of heroes and villians.
Catological
Catological (adjective) Being like a cat in every possible way.
In use: In complete catological behavior, Barb will get on her hands and knees and pretend to wash her face with her hand (as though it was a paw), purr and meow to generate reactions from her cats.
Pieces
In last night’s other part of featured dreams, I found pieces of blue, red, yellow and white. Large but lightweight, they seemed to be plastic. As I collected them, I noticed some fit together.
I next encountered a plaza. After some exploration, I noticed it was a huge board and realized the pieces I’d found could fit on the board. I began organizing, sorting and testing pieces in the way of puzzles, but building structures as tall as myself. Each was either red, yellow, blue, green, et cetera; the colors weren’t mixed in the structures.
Stepping back to gain a greater view of my work, I saw that the pieces I put together had formed people. I realized the pieces were from people and that I could use them, put them together and fix the people.
The epiphany sent me into grinning delight. I began noticing others walking around and saw I was in a busy city on a sunny day. The people walking around were strangers of all races and classes of life. I could tell which pieces belonged to which person. So I began calling to them, “I can fix you. I know how. I have the pieces that can fix you.”
Then it was on to the other dream, where it took a weird turn.
Perhaps the weirdest turn is that I suspect I’ve dreamed these dreams before.
Michael Seidel, writer 