Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofsecond (floofinition) – A span of time involving animals that seems beyond measure but is amazingly fast and probably involves quantum entanglements.
In use: “The dog seemed old, ambling about the house like a lost shadow, but when a can was opened, he showed up at her feet in a floofsecond, eyes bright and tail wagging.”
I watched Once Upon A Time in Hollywood. Tarentino always makes it interesting and watching it for memories of that era was a delight for us Boomers.
Circling around an actor and his stunt double and friend (Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt) and Charlie Manson’s family, the movie offered some fond side trips down pop culture lane. Our American television diet was prominent, because this film’s story was about TV and movie stars.
But pop music was in there, too. And in the background of one scene was an old Vanilla Fudge favorite from 1967, “You Keep Me Hangin’ On”. Loved the song by the Supremes, but the VF’s more psychedelic version spoke to this eleven-year-old lad. My older sister had an older guy interested in her. To win her over, he tried winning me over by loaning me his Vanilla Fudge album, so I played it enough that the notes and I were familiars.
The movie entertained me with its what-if premise. I always enjoy what-if, but the attention to details really impressed. Even period piece can openers were used.
Our favorite character? Brandy.
There’s so little of this dream, but the image weighs on me.
I’m in a dark, small club, dancing in with a group of strangers. Strobe lights and spotlights sometimes illuminate the crowd. Although I’m tired and sweaty, I’m having fun.
Then, I’m surprised to realize that I can’t hear any music. Everyone is still dancing. I’m still dancing. “Does anyone hear any music?” I ask.
No one pays me any attention. I can hear everyone’s feet thumping and shuffling. Nobody is talking or laughing or anything. None make eye contact with me; many have their eyes closed or their heads bowed.
Turning, I look for a band or a DJ. Not seeing either, I hunt for music system speakers. What’s weird is how everyone seems to be moving to the same beat. Most have their arms over their head, giving me an impression that I’m in the middle of a sea of arms. They’re generally younger people, say, their early twenties to early thirties. Multiple races are present, though most are pale skinned in this light. I peer at them, hunting for clues of headphones or a Bluetooth. Seeing neither, I say, “Does anyone hear any music? I don’t hear any music.”
I’m beginning to suspect that it’s just me that doesn’t hear the music. It amuses and frightens me; I can’t hear music, but I’m still dancing.
I stop dancing, because, why should I keep dancing? I remember seeing a movie being filmed that was like this, with people dancing without music, with the music applied later. I wondered if that was what was happening. I looked for cameras or some clue but again, no clues emerged.
I feel the dance floor shaking. Looking down, I’m surprised. It looks like we’re dancing on a wooden deck. I wonder if we’re on a boat or ship.
The dream ends.
Floofmail (floofinition) 1. An animal’s attempt to influence a person’s actions via affection or threats.
In use: “Deciding to resort to floofmail, the kitten started hissing and spitting, but the woman continued washing the little feline, ridding its tiny body of ticks, fleas, dirt, and grease.”
2. Traditional or electronic mail devoted to subjects and news about animals.
In use: “As he grew more concerned about the environment, he signed up for greater numbers of newsletters about animal rescue organizations. Floofmail soon dominated his daily correspondence.”
3. Mail delivered by an animal to its people.
In use: “Every day, the retriever greeted the mail carrier, ate a treat that was offered, and then accepted and delivered it to the bedridden man, which always earned him another treat, proving floofmail’s value in the digital age.”
Floofmencement (floofinition) – An act, instance, or time of beginning an experience with, or engaging with, an animal.
In use: “With many people, floofmencement began with looking into an animal’s eyes. From in there, people grasped love, pain, sadness, hope, among other emotions, and took it on themselves to be with and help this creature.”
Looked in the mirror this morning…
Yeah, big mistake. Reminder: never look in the mirror before medicating with coffee, Michael.
My father’s image started replacing my image about ten years ago; now his father is replacing his image in my mirror. After reflecting on that (hah! get it? yeah, I thought you did), I drifted toward the day’s beginning where the cats awaited the feeding rituals. Thinking about what needed to be done today and tomorrow, I drifted toward a spot of sunshine peeking over mountain, and through the trees and window. With that, a 1979 Kinks song flushed into the stream.
Woke up this morning, started to sneeze
I had a cigarette and a cup of tea
I looked in the mirror what did I see
A nine stone weakling with knobbly knees
I did my knees bend press ups touch my toes
I had another sneeze and I blew my nose
I looked in the mirror at my pigeon chest
I had to put on my clothes because it made me depressed
Surely there must be a way
For me to change the shape I’m in
Dissatisfied is what I am
I want to be a better man
Superman, Superman, wish I could fly like Superman
h/t to Genius.com cuz’ cut and paste is easier than typing.
Here’s the song, “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman”. Dig that bass line.
Fade in: I’m outside with others. Someone mentions a neighbor’s flagpole. That flagpole causes something to happen. I respond, “Well, they should move it, then.” There are protests about how difficult that would be, but I say, “That shouldn’t be hard. Hard, yes, but it can be done. It’ll just take some effort.”
Next up: someone announces, “We’re going to go help the neighbors.”
Cross-talk follows. I gather that the neighbor is following up on my idea to move their flagpole.
A flirtatious and vivacious middle-aged white woman with short blonde hair with highlights asks me, “Are you going to help, Michael?”
I envision digging a hole, so I shrug. “Sure. Let me get a shovel.”
Reaching ‘off stage’ I find a spade. “I’m ready.” Everyone else, about eight of us, were also ready.
“Let’s go,” the middle-aged woman says.
We walk down the street as a group. Arriving at the neighbor’s yard, we present ourselves as a small squad at attention. Our intention is announced.
The neighbor thanks us. Then he says, “Okay, thanks. Come on, Michael.”
“What?”
“Show us what we’re supposed to do.”
“Me?”
“I thought you knew how to move it.”
I think through this in the dream, readying protests, but then overcome my doubts. “Okay, sure.” I believe that I can solve any problems on the fly. “Well, first, let’s remove it from its old location.”
He shows me the silver flagpole. It seems to be brushed aluminum. As I approach it, I call to the rest, “Okay, everyone, come on over and let’s figure out how to move it.” Then I put my hands around the flagpole and give it a jerk, to test how secure it is.
I almost fall over as the flagpole comes out. Startled, I set it down. The neighbor explains, “It wasn’t fixed in place.”
“No kidding.” I look into the hole where the pole had been. It seems light, and there’s clear water. Something is swimming in there. I think it’s an eel. Stepping back with surprise, I begin to speak but the neighbor interrupts me. As he’s talking, a moray eel leaps out of the water and tries to bite his arm.
I’m shocked. It seems like the neighbor didn’t notice. Glancing around, it seems like no one saw what I did.
I tell everyone what I think I saw. As I do, an eel leaps out and tries to bite my arm. People see that. As we’re talking about what it means, the eel climbs out of the water and rests on the outside of the hole. I’m trying to understand what this means. It means danger to me, but it also means something unusual, something that needs investigated.
Engineers arrive to speak with the neighbor about where to put his flagpole. While they’re talking, I see several lobsters climb out of the hole. I’m amazed but I have no idea what’s going on.
The engineers then notice the lobsters and stop talking.
The dream ends.
Michael Seidel, writer 