Tunnel Thoughts

Mutterings of a harsh and mean nature whipped around him. All of it wasn’t about him, although that omniscient and omnipotent unseen ‘they’ kept forking him more than anything else.

Although he’d been going straight, a tunnel had swerved over him. Light became dark, up became down, and all became meaningless, a perfect mood, if you’re in an abused porta-potty — which he wasn’t, although, “in his mind,” quote, unquote, everything that he touched was shit, as was, in fact, everything that he’d ever done or had tried to do, and the world was hastening down the sluice, so, Good God, what’s the fucking use?

The obvious remained a quicksilver truth until he saw, damn, this is where I’m at. Make no sudden moves and keep your words to yourself. Be wary of the tunnel animals. They’re real and they’re not, but their teeth and claws are sharp. Keep going as straight as you can. The tunnel will swerve again.

It did, pouring him into sunshine on a smoked-filled day, letting him breath again, even though the air was polluted with particulates. Just been that time again, when he was going through a tunnel.


Floofvalanche (catfinition) – a mass of furry house pets rapidly piling onto something or someone, frequently referenced as a catvalanche when it involves felines.

In use: “A kinder of kittens descended upon him, followed by Mama Cat, but it was the husky, trying to be part of the game, that turned the cuddle-puddle into a floofvalanche.”

Saturday’s Theme Music

I’m streaming Captain & Tennille as part of my hello to the past week. Their music wasn’t my style, but it was ubiquitous, par for American pop-culture, where the love is big until it’s not. There was much made of their backstory and his nickname, and songs like “Muskrat Love” and “Shop Around”. A television show followed, and then society moved on to other performers. It is the American Way.

Here they are with their cover of Neil Sedaka’s offering, “Love Will Keep Us Together,” which came out during our era of relative bliss (if you discount the wars, air and water pollution, the energy crises, the threat of nuclear annihilation, and Tricky Dick) that we index as 1973 A.D.


Emphysema, they told him. Eyes twinkling, he chuckled with charming nonchalance (gasping for air when he did), because that was his style, and because he already knew. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said after the chuckle, although the panic in his gut said, “This is no joke.”

They put him on all that shit, and gave him oxygen to suck on, and advised him of the things that he must give up. He gave up the shit and kept the rest. Yeah, there was unbearable pain every day and hour, but it was the loneliness and regrets who were the killers.

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