Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Subservfloofent (floofinition) – Someone who unquestioningly obeys animals’ requests, especially when dealing with pets.
In use: “Becky acknowledged that she was subservfloofent to her dog, answering every bark or look immediately, asking, ‘What is it, what’s the matter, what can I get you?'”
First was a dream about my feces. Yes, a little disgusting. Yet, intriguing. Probably only to me.
I’d completed a bowel movement in the dream. Then spoke to my wife — who was in the kitchen, cooking in this dream — saying, “Hey, look how my feces came out to the left.” She looked but didn’t comment. I continued, “And it’s sticking to the side of the toilet in the bowl.”
Which it was. She and I were able to see it like that because the toilet wasn’t in a bathroom. No; just sitting in the room which was part of the living room/dining room combo. No walls around it. No sinks or tubs. Then I was like, why is the commode like that? There was no cistern, no seat. Just the throat and bowl, leaving me to go, huh. Also, I wondered, why didn’t the feces flush away?
Then…went through the exact same sequence again. Like my brain was looping the dream on repeat.
But then…I began it again, then realized, wait, didn’t I already point this out to her? Yes, I had, I was sure. For it to happen once was bizarre, twice was disturbing, but three times was mystifying. I went over and inspected the toilet closer and noted that it was beside a hallway with steps leading down the front door. Dream end.
Next, though, it got a little weirder. I’d awakened at 4:15. Got up to pee. Was suddenly shocked by recollection of another dream.
I’d gone to sleep thinking about the nasty skunk smell, wishing the skunks would go away. In the dream, I’d gotten out of bed and walked through the house bellowing, “BE GONE.” As I did that, I was thrusting out my hands. Which pushed out energy waves that purged the house.
The dream had been so strong and real that what startled me was the thought, how did I get back to be?
Enough about dreams. There were at least two others recalled but I need to move on to other things.
As a side note, having WordPress issues today. Like, had to start over on this post because WP wouldn’t let me put in a title. Then, it added a line which will not go away.
The day has to get better.
Cheers
Season’s greetings to you, my fellow autumnites. Today is Skunkday, October 24 2021.
Yes, Skunkday, where everything is coming up skunky this morning. Sometime about 2:43 AM, a massive skunk front swept through the house. It was Phase III of the Night of Nature. Phase I was furious winds beating up the house and trees. Wind died. The second assault began: heavy rain. Didn’t mind it. Then Phase III: the skunk assault.
Don’t know what transpired. Dawn at 7:34 AM brought no evidence for this amateur sleuth. No wind damage; just nose damage. Woof. The air purifier is on. Some windows open on the non-skunk side. We’ll see if the air is fresh by sunset at 6:15 PM.
More rain is expected today. Temperatures remain in the mellow zone — low, 42 F, high of 60. Winds have calmed again but we’re being warned that the bombogenesis that’s churning storms out off the coast will be sending more our way. BTW, I love that word, bombogenesis. I think whoever came up with it was probably stoned or tipsy. Sounds like a word my friends and I would come over cups of wine or mugs of beer.
No songs in the morning mental music stream this AM. Made coffee. No song. Fed the cats. No song. Figure that between my dreams — it was a heavy dream night — and the skunk and weather, my brain was too full to register music. But then, there, thinking my head is heavy with dreams brings up Collective Soul playing “Heavy” from 1999. Which is a relief. Thought my mental Alexa had gone on the fritz.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, like when the skunks battle, and get the vax and boosters when you can. Here’s the music. I’m going back to my coffee. Cheers
Luminal Floof (floofinition) – An animal at the threshold of change of life or situation, especially those who have endured and are starting anew under fresh circumstances.
In use: “The luminal floof, nominally a five-year-old cat appeared older, aged by years on the street, enduring winters, dodging traffic, and begging for food, still awaited a name at its new home, but took advantage of the quiet and secure warmth to stretch, yawn, and sleep.”
We interrupt this morning with a special news bulletin. Today is Saturday, October 23, 2021. Sunrise was at 7:33 AM and sunset will be at 6:17 PM. It’s windy and rainy, 50 degrees F, with an expected high of 60 and a low of 42. Clouds splashy with gray and white sprawl across the sky. Every few minutes, sunshine and blue sky bolt through the clouds. Their escape is short as the clouds gang up to shut them down again. From appearances, I’d guess this struggle will be going on for a few hours.
Today’s morning mental music stream inhabitant is “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill from 1993. I haven’t heard this song for at least twenty years. Probably more. But it was featured in a television show I streamed. Hearing it, I remembered how much I enjoyed it. It’s a straightforward, rambunctious punk sound, hard on a steady beat, thick with a driving guitar sound, sustained by heavy bass. Always inspires my head to start moving with it. And it’s a great sing-along chorus.
Sorry for the interruption. We’ll now continue with the morning and I’ll return to my coffee. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and booster when you can. Cheers
I was staying in a disheveled sort of place, a ramshackle series of hotels connected to a large, decrepit aircraft hangar. The hangar was white; the hotels were pale green and light pink. A number of friends and my wife were there. We seemed like refugees trying to pull it together and move on.
Activities were taking place in all of the hangar. One person with us was S, a short, energetic woman who’d been an office manager where I’d worked. S and I met up by an aircraft in the hangar. The jet was something like a 737. We planned to take it to leave. But before we could board, S said, “We need to have all the rivets sealed.” She had a rag and some stuff. Showing them to me, she went on, “A little of this needs to be rubbed on each one.”
Looking up at the aircraft, I answered, “We would need to start at the top and work our way down, section by section.”
S said, “It needs to be done in about an hour. Can you organize people and get this done?”
I replied, “Sure, okay.”
She thanked me. We parted.
After we walked away, I thought, we don’t need to do that. That’s overkill. I’ll talk to S about that.
I kept going. I saw some other friends just arriving. They had some clothes. I recognized the clothes as some stuff I’d left behind. They were returning them to me.
But we didn’t meet up. I needed to get back to my room to get my wife ready to go. As I wend through people across the hangar to my hotel section, I saw another pile of my clothes on the cement floor and scooped them up to wear, then went to the room.
My wife was still in bed. I roused her. Our room was small and cramped, with a bed and a tiny bathroom. She was confused about what was to happen. I went about, explaining it to her while packing. She climbed out of bed; she was wearing gray pajamas. As she started moving and looking for clothes, she went into the bathroom. In there, I saw a huge cobweb with a dead mosquito eater hanging in it. I pointed it out to her, saying, “That’s been here the whole time that we’ve been here.”
She agreed, then as she moved around it, we saw other, larger ones.
We exited the bathroom. She said, “I need to think.” She took out four small gray rectangles from a bag, then set them on the floor, spacing them about four feet from one another. I didn’t know what she was doing.
Bending to the first one, she pressed a button on it. Music began playing. She repeated this with the next two. I recognized the music with each. She began dancing and singing to the music coming from the third. It was an old pop song by Abba, “Dancing Queen”. Then she moved to the fourth and pressed its button. She stopped dancing and singing, listening. I realized that it was playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and sang along with it. She seemed unable to hear the music and stood listening.
Dream end.
From last night’s plethora of dreams, one remained nailed in consciousness throughout the day. It was all about dealing with a beard. Yes, facial hair.
I was a young guy. Looked much different than my RW appearances. Was taller. Stockier, with a barrel chest. Much less hair and swarthier skin. Things were going on around me but I was in front of a sink of water and a mirror, with a single light over it. It was almost like a stage. People going around me would ask a question. I’d usually say, “Just a minute. Let me finish my beard.”
I was trying to find a beard that I liked. First, I shaved it all down really short. Very dark beard. We’re talking black ink. I examined myself and was dissatisfied. I shaved different swaths through the beard, trimming it back so it covered less of my face. Then, thinking I’d gone too far, I said, “No, I want more beard.” I dipped my hands in the sink of water. Raised the water to my face and spread it. Instant beard. Although I’d done it, I was surprised, saying to myself, “Oh, if that’s all it takes.”
Then I found that I could also erase the beard by just using the water. So I quit shaving or trimming it and instead dipped my fingers in the water and added or reduced the beard as desired until I found the look I liked. After a minute of appraisal in the mirror, turning my head back and forth, I announced, “Good,” and turned off the light.
Michael Seidel, writer 