Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
While I was cleaning and writing in my head, my thoughts drifted through news and current events. The neurons then said, “Alexa, put on “Zombie” by the Cranberries.”
Zombie is an apt song for the current era. War is deeply ingrained into human existence. While the United States and others keep trying to revitalize war as an extension of capitalism diplomacy and seek ‘limited military actions’, Russia has reverted to an earlier stage of aggression in attacking Ukraine. I say, Russia, because this is the aggressor nation, but all know it’s Putin pushing the buttons that launch the weapons of destruction and killing. “Zombie” is the right song for it, because of those lyrics alluding to tanks, guns, and bombs, and, of course, what’s in the killer’s head.
Another head hangs lowly Child is slowly taken And if violence causes the silence Who are we mistaking But you see it's not me It's not my family In your head in your head They are fighting With their tanks and their bombs And their bombs and their guns In your head in your head they are crying In your head In your head Zombie zombie zombie ei ei What's in your head In your head Zombie, zombie, zombie ei, ei, ei, oh do do do do do do do do Another mother's breaking heart is taking over the violence causes silence We must be mistaken It's the same old thing since nineteen-sixteen In your head in your head Their still fighting With their tanks and their bombs And their bombs and their guns In your head in your head they are dying
h/t to Lyrics.com
Yes, Putin is a killing zombie, fighting an old-style territorial war.
Dayfloof Savings Time (DST) (floofinition) A practice among animals to sleep during the day so they’ll have more energy to run around at night.
In use: “Although not all animals have adopted Dayfloof Savings Time, it’s very popular among cats, who find that it allows them to get many things done at night, when humans aren’t around to interfere.”
Got up to see the full moon a few times last night but clouds obscured it.
It’s a rainy Saturday this March 19, 2022. Sunrise kicked in at 7:16 AM and the other end will take place at 7:20 PM. Meanwhile, it’s gonna be raining, not a bad thing at all, with a high of 48 F, a few degrees above our present 44. My wife has declared it’s gonna be a cleanin’ day. I’m gonna stealth my way out of the house, you feel me?
Sick cat is declining. After my report to her about his eating, drinking, and sleeping habits in response to her question, my wife says, “Maybe his organs are starting to shut down.” Yes, I know. Later, she says, “Maybe his kidneys are shutting down.” Yes, I know. She has a parttime gig as Captain Obvious.
Today’s morning mental music stream song is a Robb Thomas song from 2005 called “This Is How A Heart Breaks”. After tiring of “Head & Heart” and “Fireball” as an exercise song, she’s shifted to the Thomas song. She’s always been a big RT fan.
Anyway, that’s the music. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the shots when you can. I’m off for coffee because it’s needed. Cheers
Some things you might think about. You may not agree with it all, but I generally do.
Dreamed my wife bought me a Mustang convertible as a surprise. Let’s get into it.
To start, it was night. I left the house and drove around with a friend in his Mustang. He had some special edition, white with fat blue stripes. As he drove, I realized we were in my current town, Ashland. Stopping in the street parallel to some apartments, he powered his window down. I was asking, “What are you doing?” Grinning, he responded, “Wait.”
What he was doing was using a remote control to open and close his trunk. He’d stopped parallel to another Mustang, which was doing the same thing. Behind my buddy’s car was another Mustang, white with blue stripes, doing the same thing. “It’s how we greet each other,” my friend said. I said, “I didn’t know there were so many Mustangs in this town.”
He dropped me off at my house, which wasn’t my RL place. It was now day. A light blue Mustang convertible with its top down was sitting in the driveway. The interior was dark blue. The car wasn’t new, but gently used. I went into the house to see who owned the car and my wife announced, “Surprise! I bought that for you.”
I had to leave to pick up friends, so I took the Mustang. I picked up friends from a military unit I served in, and we drove around. We weren’t in my town any longer, but a large city’s business district. I checked things on the Mustang and commented on it. I wondered about its price, too. I also kept going the wrong way down one-way streets. I’d catch myself almost immediately and then turn around, but it was embarrassing.
I dropped off friends and returned home. A woman was there. She said she was the car sales rep and wanted to know how I liked the car. As we talked, my wife joined me and the three of us walked over to the car dealership. I was ambivalent about keeping it — I didn’t know the mileage, the year, or the cost — and told all that. The dealership was closing. We all rushed to get out the doors before it did because we were worried that we’d be forced to stay overnight in the dealership. The rolldown doors were closed, but two workers raised them and slipped out, closing them behind them. I then did the same, holding the doors up for me and my wife to leave.
The dream ended.
Welcome to Catday, Cat 18, 2022. Oh, wait, scratch it and start again. It’s Friday, March 18, 2022. Just feels like cat day because. Cats.
This was the night of three cats. It started, of course, with Papi. Two weeks ago, the young ginger was seriously sick. Well, he’s baa-aack. Got me up to let him in and out, in and out, throughout the night. That prompted sick cat to ask for food and attention, which was given, per the Foofneva Convention on the Treatment of Floofs. Through it all, head cat, Tucker, was a constant presence, monitoring it all so that he could report back to the FBI (Floof Bureau of Investigations) on what I did. Each time that I returned to bed, he joined me, rubbing his nose against my chin, nose, and fingers, ticking my cheeks with his whiskers.
Tucker also performed some impressive performance art this morning. Called ‘The Missing Bowl’, he sat between two bowls of food before the space where a third bowl should be and stared straight down at the empty space caused by the missing bowl. It was so moving that I moved one of the other bowls to the empty space. Satisfied that his art had delivered his message, he ate.
The sequence of waking, rising, and returning to bed multiple times did provide opportunity to notice the moon. It was like a spotlight was shining against the blinds. At 5:45, I opened one to ensure that the police weren’t spotting the house with a bright light (be like the cats to call the cops as a prank). Lo, an almost full moon blazed in the southwestern indigo sky. Just a small slice off the bottom stalled its right to be called a full moon. Its clarity was sharp. I could see seas and plains, and so stayed a few minutes to admire it before closing my eyes and falling asleep standing there. I awoke with Tucker rubbing his face on my toes.
Sunrise came at 7:18 later that morning, and sunset is expected at 7:21 PM. Temperatures were cold during the night. We’re up to 37 F now and a high of 65 is forecast. Clouds are milling like people waiting for the doors to open and the sun is struggling to shine.
The neurons have dug out a 1996 song by Better Than Ezra called “Desperately Wanting”. The moon inspired the neurons. Or, the scene really, because I thought the grass looked damp out there, and then remembered, “running through the wet grass” as a child. A neuron jumped up and shouted, “I know that song,” and here we are.
I was going to go to a coffee house this morning to write, the first time in a while that I have, but I’m tired. We’ll see after I have a cuppa coffee. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, when needed, and get the vax and boosters. Here’s the music. Cheese. I mean, Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 