Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofbot (floofinition) – a machine that waits on pets, completing menial tasks necessary for their care.
In use: “As she gave the dog another treat and prepared to take him for a walk, she said, “Sometimes I think you think I’m your floofbot.” The dog sat down and gave her a hurt look. She rushed to him and hugged his big neck, kissing his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Standing, the dog thumped his tale.”
Hummingfloof (floofinition) – a small housepet that flits around at amazing speeds, often making a humming sound as it goes by.
In use: “Bruni excelled at going from the living room sofa to the front window and back, but the little brown hummingfloof was faster than sound when the refrigerator was opened or a package was opened.”
Inflooftrate (floofinition) – an animals’ gradual, surreptitious access or entrance to gain trust or to take over a household or person.
In use: “He had no pets but he’d left a window open and a young cat had inflooftrated his house, sleeping in his favorite chair. When the cat saw him, he stood, stretched, jumped off the chair and ran over like he was greeting an old friend.”
Today’s choice arrived in the stream because of a chance encounter with a friend.
I’m retired military, 1974 – 1995. He was in the Army for almost five years. Most of that time was in Vietnam. May, 1969, was his one year anniversary of being in country. It was a bloody year for him. He lost many friends. He was also nineteen.
We guessed that it was just a juxtaposition of insights that brought about the darkness dragging him down this weekend. This is twenty nineteen, which kicked off the memory of being nineteen, when he was in Vietnam fifty years ago. It’s probably because of Memorial Day, and the many men walking around with Vietnam Vet hats on their heads, and the television shows talking about different military campaigns. It could be his sense of mortality. He’s getting older, as he reminded me.
He never cried when he spoke but he did a lot of sniffing, some quick eye wipes, and sometimes coped with a trembling voice with some deep breaths. Vietnam offered some hairy days, and he was grateful to have survived without too much damage, get home, go to college under the GI Bill, marry, and have a family.
After we shook hands and went our separate ways, and I was walking under the lush green trees, past beautiful beds of colorful flowers as cars rolled by and people pursued their celebrations of Memorial Day, I started streaming an old favorite song.
Here, from nineteen seventy-four, is William DeVaughn with “Be Thankful for What You Got”.
“Rim of the World.” She’d spoken without preamble. They’d been quiet for about ten minutes.
Breakfast plates were spread around the table in front of her, along with a cup on a saucer and a silver teapot. Appearing about sixty, she was looking at an iPad.
A man, about her age, sat to her right reading a newspaper. He said, “That’s a Netflix show.”
“It’s on Netflix,” she said.
“I just said that. It’s science fiction.”
“It’s about some kids.”
“I know. I took a look at a trailer and added it to my list. I’ve been thinking about watching it.”
“It’s science fiction.”
“I know. I just said that.”
“Maybe we ought to watch it. It sounds like something we’d like.”
He flipped his paper and turned the page. “I’ll check it out.”
Wild eyes and tame eyes
watching from under bushes
unseen by others
My dreams were were story dreams, basically telling of times when I seemed to live in other times and places. Some were futuristic, which were more interesting. I remember looking thinking in one dream, is this a dream, or knowledge of another life? It was fun and thrilling.
All that, on waking, took me on a walk through my characters’ happenings as I’m finishing April Showers 1921 (first draft). I’m tying final plot and action strings together. Some of it’s a little knotty.
From those musings popped the Neil Diamond 1966 song, “Solitary Man”. That song amused me because those characters don’t know that song and would never think of it, or apply it to their lives and situations.
Then, though, I sat down to drink my coffee and read the news. One story was about an alligator in Florida attacking a woman. Into my mental music stream jumped old song lyrics, “Gator got your granny. Chomp. Chomp, chomp.”
I had several things wrong with that song. I thought Jim Stafford performed it, but no, it was Tony Joe White. I thought the song’s title was “Folk Salad Annie” but it was “Polk Salad Annie”.
Geez. At least I had the year right, 1969. I decided that “Polk Salad Annie” was my choice for Sunday’s theme music.
Sorry, Neil.
Just did a walk-about writing break, and thought about one of last night’s dreams.
I was helping a man build a path. We each had a length of nylon rope. What I thought of as his rope was yellow and mine was white. The white rope was in my left hand, and the yellow rope was in my right. It was reversed for him. We were using the ropes to lay out the path. It was a long path, and were squatting down to do this.
So, weird, the path already existed in my mind, because he was laying the rope on a long and straight stretch of black cement. On either end was a platform that people were to use to arrive and depart.
Others were watching from grassy areas on either side of me. The man would shift the ropes one way and then the other as I followed his lead. I didn’t understand why he was doing this. “How’s it going?” an onlooker asked me.
“Slow,” I said. “I don’t understand what he’s doing. One, the path already exists. Why does he need another one? Two, why was he trying different paths? I don’t see what the difference he makes? Why doesn’t he make a decision? As part of that, I don’t understand why the path that’s already there doesn’t satisfy him. Three, shouldn’t the path, if you were going to make it, connect the platforms that people were expected to use?”
The onlooker said, “I don’t know.”
That dream ended.
Of course, thinking about it during my walk, I realized that I’m the other man. I have the path establish but doubt keeps me looking for another path. Why, I keep asking myself, just as I do in the dream? Clearly, it’s because I doubt the path, even though it’s already established.
Michael Seidel, writer 