Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofdolent (catfinition) – a fragrance that gives away the presence of a cat.
In use: “The lovely home was floofdolent with the essence of well-used kitty litter and aging cat food. No cats were in evidence, but a place so floofdolent had to be home to several clowders.”
I traveled one of those mornings where I felt like I was walking the valley of the despised. Well known self-descriptions about being inadequate and passive, smart enough to know I’m not too smart, talented enough to appreciate that I lack real talent, bright enough to recognize I’m really not that bright, rushed through me with the power of a swollen spring river. Following that period, some self-flagellation was indulged: it’s all a show of mute head-noddings and quick smiles to show I’m in on it, too, when it all flashes past with a hurrying hummingbird’s speed.
That done, I shower and engage in a transformation. Looking in the mirror, I see no changes, but I feel them inside. I know what I went through, just a ninety minute tour of the personal hell I sometimes send myself to (tell me, do you have one, too?), but emerged, almost alright, close enough to that mark to get it done, at least. Then I scrambled to go on with anything and everything, just to ensure I was going on.
Time to write like fucking crazy, at least one more time.
Got my special space
at the special place
checking out the people
thinking what a waste
but for God and grace
there I go
Been lucky again
just like I always been
living life like it’s a mortal sin
I’ve always had an in
because of love and kin
and here I am
here I am
on the top
of the bottom
there I go
thinking I have problems
here I am
working the middle
there I go
again and again
you say
he’s such a waste
no style or grace
what’s the matter with him?
but that’s not the truth
you don’t know what he’s been through
thinking that he’s just like you
there you are
on the top
of the bottom
there you go
thinking you have no problems
here you are
working the middle
there you go
again and again
The usual nut cluster of dreams swept me last night, providing a sea of material to think about. When the dreams ended, I began streaming an eclectic selection of songs. “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” (G. Thorogood) “Gloria” (by Laura Brannigan), “Wild Horses” (the Rolling Stones), “Will It Go Round In Circles”, Billy Preston, and “Kyrie” by Mr. Mister. But the last song was Bryan Adams, “Summer of ’69”.
Summer of ’69 was a good year for me, a thirteen-year-old white boy living in a middle-class suburban housing plan in Penn Hills, outside of Pittsburgh, Pa. I had a good cotorie of friends, and was playing sports, enjoying school, and meeting girls. Likewise, when the song was released in 1985, I was with a unit I enjoyed. Although I was traveling a lot, the song fit my mood. Released in June, it was a big hit by the time I returned from the field to America a few months later.
The song becomes a unique bridge then, between my early teen years, my early thirties, and now, my early sixties. Let’s rock.
Don’t you hate it when you suddenly sneeze and it ends up all over your computer screen? I could really use tear-aways protective covers on my screen like racing drivers use on their windshields (NASCAR) and visors (Formula 1).
You ever put something on Facebook or other social media late at night, and have a friend immediately respond to it? Then you think, what are they doing on the Internet so late at night? As a sidebar, do you also sometimes wish you and that person were actually sitting beside each other so you can have an actual conversation?
There are some who remain your friends regardless of how long it was since you last saw them, and the distance between your homes. Good to know such people are out there.
Want to introduce me to a few?
Michael Seidel, writer 