April 2022 – Page 4 – Michael Seidel, writer

Dreamland has been a busy place for me, but life has been busy, keeping my deeper ruminations about my dreams to minimal levels. Last night’s dream about being a refugee had a sharper feel to it, though.

I was a prisoner along with many others and had been for some time. The dream really began at the end of that incarceration, when we finally found a way past the gates and walls keeping us in captivity. After we came out, blinking because we were seeing the sun for the first time in weeks, we were told by someone anonymous that we were free, and that ‘our side’ had won.

We’d been falsely imprisoned, though, and wanted justice for that. The people who were responsible were eight men. We wanted them found and brought to trial. I was given the task of drawing wanted posters for them.

I protested, I don’t even know how they look. Well, it needed to be done, and I needed to do it, because I was the one who could, I was told.

I found paper, charcoal, and pencils, and began doing sketches, working off other people’s descriptions of the eight. Someone told me about an office where a cache of information was. Going there and rooting around, I found that someone else had already created rudimentary sketches of the eight. I began improving these, shaping and sharpening features, adding details. It all came sharper into mind as I worked.

The people in charge came by to see how I was progressing and were impressed by my work. Looking out, we then saw a bearded man walking past who resembled the number one wanted person on my poster. As word spread that it was him, I held up my poster and looked at him in profile, amazed at how well I’d captured his image.

Dream end

Typical Tuesday for late April. Sun and clouds are pugilistic about who will rule the sky. The clouds were here first, they said, pointing out that the sun didn’t get there until 6:14 AM. “That’s the point,” the sun replied. “I’m only going to be here until 8:04 today while you clouds are coming and going as you please. Shouldn’t I have the sky while I’m here.” They were still arguing when the seasons came in and started putting in their points.

It’s April 26, 2022. Just five more shopping days until May 1!

I have the song “Mother” by Danzig (1988) circling the morning mental music stream. I was watching the new season of “Russian Doll” on Netflix, and they used the song. Well, the neurons reacted by saying, “I haven’t heard this in so long,” and latching onto it like a kitten taking a nipple. So here I am.

The song was a protest to labeling music for content and made a big splash when it arrived. As many noted, the labels warning children that there was sex and violence, or drugs mentioned in the song, prompted more interest in the music. As many told me later, “I didn’t even know “She Bop” by Cyndi Lauper was about masturbation.” All of that was part of a larger anti-pornography movement. Now, of course, we have the web, which casts a whole different kind of shadow over the world.

Stay positive, test negative, follow the CDC advice, etc. Here’s the music. A cup of coffee is summoning me to the other room. Cheers

They’d drained all the color out of the sky today. A light is blinking somewhere, highlighting an error message that says, “Your sky’s color cartridges are out of ink.”

Congratulations everyone, we did it, we’ve survived another weekend, reached another Monday milestone. I’ve gone through 247,800 Mondays, myself. Don’t remember many of them, TBH.

Today is April 25, 2022. Sunrise reached us at 6:15 AM and Sol will take its bow and leave our stage at 8:03 PM. It’s 50 F and comfortable now. No rain or snow is in the forecast for this day, and a high of the upper sixties remains in the deck as a possibility. Will we reach it? Very likely.

Papi, the young ginger feline who cofloofbitates with us, inspired today’s song. He was rapping on the door for entrance last night. I opened it to let him in. He starts in, checks up and swirls around, staring into the dark. I look out there and see nothing. “What is it, buddy?” Lights on turned on. Papi’s tail swishes, then goes still. He lowers himself. I don’t see a damn thing. Papi turns and does a hurried job into the house a few feet, and then turns and looks out again, and then sits. Tired of the drama, I close the door, telling him, “Yes, you’re in. You’re safe and sound now.”

The neurons, which often act up, said, “Playing Safe and Sound by Capital Cities.” The music kicked in before I could protest and remains playing in the morning mental music stream.

So here we go. Stay positive, test negative, and respect the CDC and health officials’ recommendations as we continue coping with COVID-19 spikes and variants. Here’s the music. The neurons say, “Go get coffee.” Who am I to argue?

Cheers