Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Today’s song popped out of nowhere into my stream, nowhere being an easy reference to the interior realms of the space where my little gray brain cells huddle for warmth. But overhearing the women across the coffee shop talking (powerful stage voices), the song is appropriate.
“Changes” by David Bowie (1972) was already nestled in my cerebellum when I sat down but I wasn’t sure if it was today’s music. Then I heard the women talking.
First, they mentioned streaming services. They were comparing Netflix and Amazon Prime (or Prime Video), and how they share and release shows and movies on their sights. Talking about Amazon Prime prompted one to mention the free two-day shipping on many items, and the associated guarantees. A joke about getting stuff faster so you would order more faster emerged. Memories about ordering stuff in the old days and getting it six to eight weeks followed. It usually came by mail, too. UPS and Fed Ex trucks weren’t rushing around every where in those days.
Then they talked about catalogs. Spiegel’s. Sears. Montgomery Wards. Ah, yes, they’d ordered from all of them, and had fond memories of ordering from the Spiegel’s calendar. (I’ve ordered from them all, too, especially when I lived outside of the U.S. in the 1970s.) The women then recollected tales of the outhouse where the Sears catalog sometimes ended up, as those thin pages worked well to clean up after your business.
Last, they recalled S&H Green Stamps and using a sponge to paste pages at a time.
Yep, “Changes” is appropriate for today, from the weather and the seasons, to the music and the times, and how long it takes for your order to arrive.
I decided to use this Youtube offering of “Changes” because of Bowie’s photo. Look at the lad. Ah, changes.
Yeah, here we go, a first-world rant.
I’m in ‘my’ coffee shop this morning. It’s about fifty degrees and sunny outside. In here, they have the air-conditioning running. Whaaat? But worse, they’re playing Christmas lullabies. You know what I mean. A Christmas lullaby is one of those old chestnuts being played at a slooow, mellooow speeed, so slow that the singer sounds like they’re on the verge of going to sleep themselves.
I think, the madness, technology, calendar, holidays, and expectations clashing. Oh, the horror, the horror.
Remember, only two million years till Christmas. Make it count.
The muse had warned me, “Set aside expectations.”
Of course. Muses are always telling me that. I readily agreed. She was the muse. Lead on. That’s how it works.
“I’m serious.”
I didn’t doubt that.
“You need to discard preconceived notions. Drop them like they’re too much clothing on a hot, sunny day.”
Um…okay.
“Can you give me some clues about we’re where going, what’s going on, and all of that?” I asked. I tried not to sound miffed; I don’t want to irritate the muse. I know my place, but… “I am the writer, you know. It’s supposed to be my work.”
“You’ll know when you need to know.”
She was pretty damn haughty.
She was right, though. I’ve always enjoyed writing my novels. I’ve had a lot of fun writing them. They entertain me. The muses do usually lead in unexpected directions.
This one, though, has been wildly different. The writing and story-telling pace are much, much faster than usual. And as she warned, the scenes, characters, and ideas introduced are constant shocks, little that I expected.
It’s a storm of scenes keeping up with her. Write, write, write, faster, faster. Then, after writing, update the bible to ensure everything’s been captured as far as details so I’m not slowed down by searching for some detail later.
It’s tense, exhausting, and exhilarating, leaving me on a natural high that life just can’t match. It’s a shame, then, to stop. But stopping is required, to go on to do other things and deal with the mundane of existence as a married white American male in 2019.
Once again, it’s been a great day of writing like crazy. I highly recommend it.
Firmafloof (floofinition) – The areas that hold animals’ attention, particularly housepets.
In use: “The dog never seemed to look up at the sky on their walks, keeping his nose to the ground, which was his firmafloof. That was one eighty to the cats back home, whose firmafloof was the sky filled with sparrows and wrens, butterflies and hummingbirds.”
Today’s song came about into the stream as I was waiting for someone else.
Hello, I’ve waited here for you
Everlong
Tonight, I throw myself into
And out of the red
Out of her head, she sang
Of course, only the first line had a remote connection to what was going on. I was waiting, they came, we said a few things, and went on with our business. That’s a bit unlike the Foo Fighters’ song, “Everlong” (1997) about being happy in a relationship and realizing it was ending, and if anything will ever be as wonderful as that.
Yeah, been there, more than once. Once there’s a fracture in the relationship, it doesn’t seem like anything is ever the same again. From the break comes loss, confusion, and distrust. You put it behind you, but it nags like an ulcer on your lip.
Have a nice day!
I had another car dream last night. The cars in my dreams are usually silver. They’re often sports cars, and frequently Porsches.
Last night’s dream was a little different.
I was in a boxy little car. Silver, it reminded of a Cube or Element, but it was neither of these. It had four wheel drive, flared fenders, and a powerful motor.
I was going down a hill to pick up my in-laws. They were waiting for me, along with their families. These were only living folks, and not the in-laws who’ve passed on.
The gang loaded into my car. Seatbelts were applied. Doors were closed. The car was started and a gear selected. One of my sisters-in-law said, “Thanks for picking us up. I really didn’t want to walk up this hill, but are you sure you’re going to be able to get back up that hill?”
I considered the hill. Covered with green grass, it was slick with rain, with mud visible in many places. Steep, as well, a ravine with a rushing stream cut through the middle. I agreed, it was gonna be a challenge.
But I was amazingly upbeat. With little thought, I threw the little car into a turn and went down the hill, developing a plan as I went. As said, “What are you doing,” I replied, “Trust me.” My plan was to go down lower to where it was flatter so that I could get a running start up the hill. My plan had a problem: it was much wetter and muddier down there.
I was undeterred.
Hitting the bottom of the hill, I threw the car into a wide curve. As it slewed around, I straightened it out, downshifted, and pushed the accelerator. Slipping and sliding with its engine revving against the tach’s red line, the car churned up the hill. Reaching the top, I slammed on the brakes with a grin.
Then the back doors, which were double, opened and I fell out. Landing on my ass, I looked around in surprise. An old friend (deceased) was standing there. He had a manual in his hand. He said, “I think this is what you’re looking for.”
I agreed with another grin. “Thanks.” The manual told me how to close and lock the doors so they wouldn’t fly open, and how to select a special gear to take me forward.
The dream ended.
Floofment (floofinition) – Window sill, ledge, location, or casement where animals like to rest and watch the world.
In use: “Each new resident animal discovered the delights of settling on the back of Evan’s sofa in front of the living room bay window. It was the perfect floofment to watch squirrels, birds, people, and other animals going by.”
Michael Seidel, writer 