Today’s Theme Music

This song hit the scene in nineteen eighty-four.

Remember that year, with portends of George Orwell’s prescient novel hanging over us, fueling worries about privacy and government spying? “There are laws against that,” people say, smirking. “It could never happen to us. We’re America. We’re a democracy. It’s the Soviet Union and those totalitarian states like it that should worry.” The U.S.S.R.’s collapse a few years later seemed to vindicate our innate American superiority. We’d won; the communists had lost. Yes, we were so silly to be worried.

Into this era came a German group with a hard-rocking message: “Here I am, rock you like a hurricane.” I didn’t know much about the Scorpions before “Rock You Like A Hurricane.” I knew of them, but little more.

I thought of them today because of my stormy dream. The dream rocked me like a hurricane with its unceasing gloominess and desperation until its climax. I didn’t awaken afraid, but thoughtful. Thinking of the dream, I remembered this song, and its use in Dave Eggers’ novel. Odd, how the mind works, with everything connected and nothing terminated, but spreading and sprawling into new connections.

But with that, I think about the weather again. One difficulty in modeling weather is the planet’s complexity and dynamics. Everything is connected, but tracing the source back to the wings that began the storm can be tricky.

So it is with thinking.

July 11, 2017 5

Dual Storms Dream

Howling winds hurled gray sheets of rain across the landscape. Thinking of the dream, I remember endless, gloomy gray. No lights were ever seen. The wind shrieked and howled. There were waves and waterspouts, and there was rain.

We’d been striving to prepare for the heavy, increasing storms, but their cycles sped up, and the storms were more sudden and violent. Many people and places were surprised by the storms’ viciousness and frequency. Others tried taking them in, because, what else could they do?

But a strange disease began sweeping the settlements. Virulent, contagious and deadly, symptoms appeared with little warning. The population quivered with anxiety. Civil cooperation vanished. An era of selfish fighting for survival erupted.

I came into the dream seeing others and racing from them, ensuring I avoided others because I didn’t want to die from the disease. I’d already lost friends and family. My desperation to avoid others drove me to leap off cliffs into crashing waves. Constantly on guard, continually traveling, hoarding food, I felt exhausted.

Then, during a relatively calmer, quiet period, one man called across to me. He was a hundred yards away. I didn’t want him to get closer. I believe he said, “They have a cure.”

Although dubious, I was interested. I didn’t know who they were. The storms lessened. During a period of trudging between buildings in search of food, I saw posters. The posters claimed there was a cure, and gave directions.

I was leery of a trap but made my way in a general manner toward the location of the cure. I saw others. We kept our distance from one another but called across, sharing information, trying to address, who can vet this, and how can it be vetted? More people closed in on the center where they supposedly had a cure. Suspicions kept me back.

The storms finally abated more. Weak sunshine washed the wet land. More people were encouraged to go for the cure.

And I, tired of solitary fight to survive, joined them.

July 11, 2017 0

Infloofence

Infloofence (Catfinition): A cat with unduly sway over a household or person’s routines.

In Use: “Brenda wanted to stay up and watch a documentary, but Lady exerted her infloofence, insisting it was time to go to bed, so that’s what happened.”

July 11, 2017 0

Inspirational Quote # 695

Yeah, you’re on a leash, being pulled along, trying to tell everyone, “Get out of my way,” but the demon doesn’t allow that voice; it must all be written.

Today, You Will Write

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July 11, 2017 0

Today’s Bumper Sticker

“You can’t make everyone happy.

You’re not a bottle of wine.”

It’s from a tee-shirt, but it should be a bumper sticker.

July 11, 2017 0

Case A and B

A few friends have passed away. I’ve been thinking about two of them.

Cancer killed each, but they took different routes before dying. Both were married men, but lived in different states. One was five years older than me, and the other was almost thirty years older, when they died.

In Case A, the man was given the diagnosis and his chances. Living in Oregon, he took advantage of our right-to-death laws and protocols. He talked it over with friends and family, explaining why he was killing himself. Most were understanding. A few wanted him to hang on and fight it. They were learning more every day, and miracles happen.

With Case B, he was fighting against his chances of dying. He talked it over with friends and family, and refused to accept his imminent destiny. As his wife downsized to save money, he spent money on the latest medical technology, procedures and medicines. He refused to rid himself of anything, from his obscure sports and gun collection, to his motorcycle and cars. He was no longer allowed to drive or ride, and was too weak to stand on his own, requiring assistance for everything, but he was not giving up, and surrendering anything would be tantamount to waving a white flag.

I admired Case A’s approach. After talking it over, he made arrangements, confirmed his will and estate were up to date, and downsized to make it easier on his wife and family after he was gone. After choosing his date, he gathered his friends to himself, and administered the morphine that would kill him.

Case B went down without doing anything. He finally suddenly died, after trying everything possible. By then, his wife had sold their home, and moved them into a smaller place that she was renting. There wasn’t space for all of his goods, so she rented two storage units, for four hundred dollars a month. She was emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted by the time of his death.

I don’t know which I would be, Case A, or B. I don’t know how hard I would want to live, and what measures I’d invoke to stay alive.

I know many people whose lives are endured in rooms. They watch television, unable to do much else, while people attend them. They pay thousands of dollars per month to stay alive, pouring their life savings into the effort. I don’t envy them.

I don’t think I will be like them. I don’t understand the need to hang onto life, and I’m not afraid of dying. I don’t know if they’re afraid of dying, but they’re certainly hanging on. But I ask myself, is something missing from me that I am willing to let myself die, quote, so easily?

In case you’re interested, and if it makes a difference, Case A was the older one. Maybe that’s the answer; Case A had lived into his mid-eighties before cancer struck him. Perhaps he was willing to accept that his time had come because he’d lived a long and fruitful life, while Case B, in his mid-sixties, felt it unfair. Perhaps, it’s deeper in their nature, down in the same veins of love and hate, beyond logic’s reach. Perhaps, it’s deeper in our genes, and we will not know until the moment arrives. For all I know, Case A was always ready to fight to stay alive, while Case B was always ready to die. Maybe it’s all buried in their education and their life experiences and the brew that we become.

July 10, 2017 4

The Starship

Vaughn was killing me. He kept saying, “Where’s my starship?”

Sometimes, I answered him, trying to get him to understand, “This is your starship. The Beagle is the only starship here.” I tried every tone that could be used, and exhausted every level of patience in me. He was enervating me. I pinged the medical systems for an update about his problem. Then I noticed the silence.

Vaughn wasn’t there.

“Vaughn?” Walking around, I scanned for him. “Uncle Vaughn? Where are you?” Then, venting anger, I added more softly, “Answer me, you crazy shit.”

Pangs of guilt swept me. He couldn’t help who he’d become. I owed him a lot, like, being on the Beagle. “Vaughn.” I scanned again. “Where the heck are you?”

Null.

I felt sick.

It was impossible. He had to be on the Beagle, but he wasn’t showing up. I walked my memories for a logical explanation, ran diagnostics on everything, and hunted again for Vaughn.

Null.

It was impossible.

After repeating my actions about seven times, I sucked air and called security.

A veep showed up after almost five seconds. I didn’t know him. Hito, his name ping said. “About time,” I said. “I was ready to call you again.”

“Sorry.” Hito didn’t look or sound it. “What’s the problem?”

“My uncle is missing.”

“Missing from where?”

“The Beagle, where else?”

“Your uncle is missing from the Beagle.”

“That’s what I said,” I replied, as my system said, “You’re being scanned.” Yes, of course the cop was scanning me. Looking to see if something’s adulterating my senses.

The cop veep sighed. “Who is your Uncle/”

“Vaughn Parks.” That should get their attention. The cop might not know me, but I think everyone on the ship knew Vaughn Parks.

“Vaughn Parks?”

The hitch in Hito’s voice pleased me. “Yes. Vaughn Parks.”

“He’s your uncle?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” The veep shifted his stance. “Missing can mean a lot of things, different things to different people. What do you mean when you say, your uncle is missing?”

“I mean that I can’t find him.”

Bored skepticism crept into Hito’s expression. “Have you scanned the ship?”

“Of course, I scanned the ship. That’s the first thing I did. I scanned it several times.”

“Your system’s probably having issues.” Hito almost chortled. I swear, if he had, I was ready to attack him, if he did. “Let me check,” he said.

I waited. I hoped he was right, that my system was fucking up, but I was doubtful. I’d done diagnostics. But I was hopeful. Diagnostics could be flawed, too. I believed, like Hito, that Uncle Vaughn had to be on the ship. Nothing else made sense.

It was taking longer than I expected. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Did you find him?” I admit, I was a little mocking.

The veep cleared his throat. “Not yet. Excuse me.” He went into private mode.

I fumed. While I fumed, I checked for Vaughn on my systems again.

Then alarms went off. As I jumped from the interruption, the ship’s security systems informed me that a lockdown was in progress. Movement was restricted. Sections were being closed. Everyone was to shelter in place.

It had to have something to do with my missing uncle.

“Excuse me, I have to attend this alarm,” the veep said.

I was dubious. “They’re recalling you?” He was answering, “I’m afraid so,” as I was protesting, “But why? You’re a virtual presence. Why the fuck do they need to recall you?”

I guess he didn’t like my tone or question. If his eyes were energy guns, I’d been vaporized. “Yes, sir. We’ve gone to LERTCON Alpha, so we need to consolidate and conserve energy. Someone will get back to you when they can.”

He was gone but I still shouted, “But what about my uncle? What kind of security alert is it? Maybe it has something to do with my missing uncle.”

But he was gone, and there wasn’t any answer.

Assholes.

July 10, 2017 2

How To Outline By the Seat of Your Pants

This is such an organized approach. I just wing that mutha, myself.

We all need to find and develop what works. As Stephanie O’Brien wrote, “The creative process is a very personal, subjective thing. What works for one person won’t necessarily work for everyone.” I’ve always considered it as personal and unique as enjoying sex.

July 10, 2017 0

Today’s Theme Music

Before there was Starship, there was Jefferson Starship. Before that group, there was Jefferson Airplane. They made some great songs.

This is not one of them.

This song came out in nineteen eighty-five. I didn’t like the song, but it frequently streamed into my head and found an infinite play loop. I didn’t know anyone who claimed to like this song, but it found a lot of airplay, and was proclaimed the number one hit for a period. Since then, it reached number one on several lists of worst songs. I felt better that I was not alone in not liking it.

The song, by Starship, is “We Built This City.” The rest of that line goes, “We built this city on rock and roll.” I used to sing, “We built this city while we were stoned.” I have nothing against Jefferson Airplane and the groups that came after them, nor against people being stoned, in general, or San Francisco. I enjoy San Francisco.

I just dislike this song.

Why, then, is it today’s theme music? Well, I awoke from a weird dream, and there it was, playing in my head. Damn, I gotta get it out.

By the way, today was the first time that I’ve seen the video. Consider it my gift to you.