I Find

The first two parts of Entangled States, ten chapters, are like reaching a coast. The direction doesn’t matter. You hit the stretch where the land and sea meet. It’s turbulent, with crashing waves and hissing, seething waters. Taking it all must be done in pieces. There is the sea and the land, and there’s also the sky. Each exercises its own elements, colors, and behaviors. Once you pass this borderland, you’re released from the complications inherent to progressing from sea to land and freer to relax and take more in.

Now into part three of the book, it settles down again. I remember writing all of this, and recall thinking about the parts, and the placement of these chapters and scenes, and how they’ll interact. At that point, it was like being too close to a pointillism piece of art. Distance is needed for the colors to blend and become something more than blobs.

Wild, to think, while writing it, I saw these blobs and strokes, and applied them, and now I need to step back to comprehend the whole. I was realizing the whole on one level while I already saw and comprehended it on another level. Then, not so wild, as I write to help clarify and understand what I think.

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Jumpin’

Jumpin’ from the fire into the pan

Burns the balls off this man

Changes the way he thinks and plan

Maybe he should go get a cat scan

 

Jumpin’ from the roof on the car

Knowing like this he wouldn’t go far

Still hoping maybe he’ll be a star

But probably should’ve learned to play guitar

 

Jumpin’ on the bed with her

Buying her clothes, jewels, and fur

Wishing she wouldn’t act like a cur

Feeling the cold, I shiver, brrr.

 

Jumpin’ on the paths

falling on my ass

gettin’ back up

smiling, wassup?

It’s old, it’s new, it’s jumpin’.

Imfloofceptible

Imfloofceptible (floofinition) – an animal not perceptible by a sense or by the mind

In use: “Imfloofceptible, her cat was probably in the house, but remained hidden after she came home each day until she either went into the bathroom or opened something to eat. Then, suddenly, amazingly, the cat was at her feet, meowing, “Hello. Good to see you.””

The Hot New Show

I received an email from Acorn online today. They were touting a hot new show, something called “Mannix”.

After a double-take and then a reread, I pondered, is this a joke? No, so maybe “Mannix” had been rebooted, the latest marketing term for when an old show is made new again.

To duckduckgo I went. I couldn’t find anything on a “Mannix” reboot (although I did think about who could replace Mike Connors, and since we’re re-booting it, wouldn’t it be fun to have a middle-aged black woman as the tough, smart P.I., and then thought, I would love to see Simone Missick in that role) so I went back to the email for more information.

I learned it was the original “Mannix” that’s the hot new show. All of this was a bit depressing because the old is being made new again. Even if you’re basing it on an old series, why not come up with something new and call it something new?

I know, these are sour old man thoughts. The masses who haven’t seen “Mannix”, can’t remember it, or are comfortable with remakes and reboots are shrugging at me and urging me to return to under the rock or get back on my meds. This is our life and how we live, baby, by taking old things and making them new and pretending that we have progress.

 

 

A Twofer Dream

In the first dream, I was somewhere taking a test with others. We’d been together taking classes for a few days, so they were familiar, but they’re not anyone I know from life. All were male, but of various ages, physical builds, and races. Cluttered but comfortable, the classroom seemed like something from a form follows function design school. It had desks, windows, pale green walls, grey tile floors, and fluorescent lights.

The mood struck me as relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t feel any pressure or tension. Mustached and wearing glasses, the teacher was a short, white, overweight bald man in a white shirt and black suit with a black tie. He was a bit jocular.

For some reason, I began the test, was distracted, and came back to discover it was almost over. Although not distraught, I didn’t want to fail, but it seemed my fate was inexorable. Then I learned from watching another student that the test could be modified and administered orally. Hearing that, I pressed to have that done. I was confident in my knowledge and knew I could pass.

The administrator, a tall, white woman with blond hair in a bun, came in. She and the teacher discussed the option. It was agreed that would work for me. The oral test, of three questions, was given, and I passed in time to leave with the others.

The rest were in another room. They cheered me when I entered. Some joking followed, along with travel-plan conversations. They’d already eaten, but when they realized that I hadn’t, several got together to find me some food. I was telling them, “No, I don’t have time, I need to leave,” as I was putting up my coat. They brought me bags of food. I realized it was from McDonald’s. That amused me because it’s been over a decade since I’ve eaten at a McDonald’s.

They were excited to be leaving and eager to be home soon. One asked when I’d get home. I told them that I had to fly across the country, and that I’d be traveling for twelve to fourteen hours. Even as I answered, I reconsidered my response because I knew that weather delays were lurking.

The dream ended, and the next one began.

I was at a swimming pool. A few others were there. Again, these weren’t familiars from my life but people that I’d just met. I decided to use the diving board. After climbing up, I dove in. It was a decent dive but I felt dissatisfied, thinking, I can do better. So I went up again.

I began to dive, and then tried to reconsider, but it was too late. My last minute indecision affected my form. It was off as I dove this time. I didn’t have time to bring my arms together, and my body was falling over as I hit the water.

I knew it hadn’t been a good dive. What amazed me though, was how deep I’d gone. I couldn’t see because of bubbles surrounding me, but when I swam toward the surface, it took so long that I wondered if I’d ever reach it.

Breaking the surface, I looked around. The others were still swimming about. I waited for someone to say something about my horrible dive, but no one said anything. I waited for someone to mention how long I’d been under, but nobody said anything. Nobody had seemed to notice anything, or maybe there wasn’t anything to notice.

With those thoughts, and with me paddling around the pool toward the side to get out, the dream ended.

 

Thursday’s Theme Music

4:30 A.M.

A cat’s activities brought me awake. As I tended him and then used the restroom, this song was streaming through my thoughts:

“Gypsies, tramps, and thieves, we’d hear it from the people of the town, they’d call us, gypsies, tramps, and thieves, but every night, the men would come around, and lay their money down.”

I don’t know why I was streaming Cher’s 1971 hit, “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves”. I was dreaming, and I remember the dreams. There wasn’t a sound track, just conversations.

Was it something that the cat did? Don’t know. It sure doesn’t seem like dream music.

 

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