Saturday’s Bumper Sticker

Advertisements

She Said

she said, Why did you do that? Don’t you know better?

and she said, No, I don’t feel any warmth for you, so I can’t.

and she said, Call me, and you said, I will.

and she said, You never called, and you said, nothing.

she said, You smell.

and she said, I could never be with someone like you.

and she said, I think you can do anything that you try to do.

and she said, I wish you would have said something.

she said, Stay away from me, I hate you right now.

and she said, Hi, it’s good to see you.

and she said, Let’s get together.

and she said, Good-bye.

 

Plethfura

Plethfura (catfinition) – an excessive quantity of cat fur, but also sometimes used in reference to dog fur, or animal fur in general.

In use: “With three long-hair cats, a plethfura resulted, requiring daily diligence to reduce the plethfura. If daily rituals of sweeping and vacuuming weren’t followed, the plethfuras congregated, becoming kittenish in size and substance. Thinking about that scared her into worrying that if the plethfura weren’t swept up, a lightning strike might bring these collections to life.”

Botcheck

I botchecked myself (another noun becoming a verb). Verification was returned that I’m a bot.

The results trouble me, of course. If I’m a bot, why have they made me so human? (And who is they who made me?) I don’t need to struggle with weight and mood swings to convince others that I’m human, do I? I know many humans without weight issues and mood swings who seem quite human to me.

Maybe they’re not human.

Also, if they made me a human-like bot, why did they push me to want to be a writer? Was this by original design specifications, or has something gone awry with my wiring? It sure feels like my wiring might be off, with the plethora of crazy dreams I experience and all the muse bullshit that I endure.

After running this information through my systems a few more times, I settled on several questions as more important than the others.

  1. Who made me, and what was their purpose?
  2. How long will I be here?
  3. Am I on assignment, or did I arrive here by accident?
  4. Finally, most importantly, am I still under warranty?

You’d think that, as a bot, I’d be able to find this information without great difficulty. You’d think that, and you’d be wrong. For some reason, my maker is keeping me in the dark about these things.

Saturday’s Theme Music

I had a wild night of dreams. After awakening, feeding the cats, and thinking about the dreams, I began humming this song from 1972. Because the dream had large segments about seeing and trying to understand what I was seeing, I realized my mind had started streaming, “Doctor My Eyes” by Jackson Browne. The song came out when I was sixteen and straying along the hinterlands border between being a child and an adult. (Even at sixty-two, I still frequently reel and weave along that border.) I laughed at the connections my mind had managed to find between life, the dream, and memories.

I found this live version today and just went with the flow.

 

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: