Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Parroof (floofinition) – ‘Parrot Floof’: an animal or bird which enjoys resting on people’s shoulders.
In use: “Barry became known as Parrot, because the parroof was always seeking to rest himself on Klein’s shoulder, which wasn’t bad when Barry was a puppy barely larger than Klein’s hand, but more daunting when the Tibetan Mastiff achieved his full growth.”
He pulled his car up to the stop sign and stopped. No cars were visible on the mile long slope in either direction. He pulled out, going left, heading toward town. A car pulled up on each road that he came up on, left and right side, and pulled in behind him after he passed. It was almost like they were waiting for him.
A paranoid person could really worry about that.
I’m sitting at my desk at home, sipping hot black coffee. A cool breeze washing over my back through the window. Machine noises are carried in. Sounds like excavating equipment is hard at it in Ashlandia, where wine is made on one side of the valley, and beer is brewed on the other.
It’s a summer morning, Friday, July 7, 2023.
A weary state of mind has overtaken me. Just read about dark waters and the pollution causing cancer to humans and animals. Companies like DuPont do this to communities and fight against taking responsibility, while manipulating laws and lawmakers to make more money, more profits. They epitomize the worse of corporate greed. Unfortunately, they’re one of many. And our hugely right wing Supreme Court goes and guts laws to protect water and people and animals, and the right wing shouts, “Hurray. Freedom.”
That article was atop reading about the proliferation of shootings across the nation on this holiday week. How these murders are enabled by the NRA, with right-wingers heartily going along with it, shouting, “Hurray. Freedom.” Death doesn’t mean much to the pretend ‘pro-life’ party called the GOP.
The GOP party has become the party of minority rule — meaning a rule of one. One person in many GOP led states can complain about a book and have it taken off shelves. One person can take up an automatic weapon and go shoot up a school, a synagogue, church, workplace, neighborhood, resulting in deaths and the ruination of many lives and that party will continue to shout, “Freedom.” They write into laws against others, and shout, “Freedom.”
Naturally, thinking of all of this, my neurons sink back to Janis Joplin’s magnificent cover of the Kris Kristofferson song, “Me & Bobby McKee” from 1970. The lines so many of us remember from the song, the one I was reminded of as we celebrated a nation’s beginning that is supposed to be founded on principles of freedom, democracy, and equality, are, “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose. Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.”
Stay as positive as you can as we endure this era. Try to look forward to what we can build, and don’t be dissuaded or disheartened by those trying to create something other than a land of freedom and equality for all. Or as it’s written in the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
The coffee is half gone. The breeze is fading and the heat is rising. 71 F now, it’ll be in the low 90s before the sun slips out of view. Time to take this show on the road. Here’s the music. Cheers
Too hot for barbecue.
Too hot for peaches.
Too hot for coleslaw.
Too hot for beaches.
Too cool for poetry.
Too cool for words.
Too cool for rhymers.
Too cool for nerds.
Just right for justice.
Just right for peace.
Just write a slogan.
(Did I mention peace?)
Act like a big boy.
Pull up your pants.
Think about changing.
Give peace a chance.
I walked around for days like all was alright. Although I smiled and engaged with others, I was an empty puppet, dealing with anxiety. The writer was agitated. The novel’s finish was supposedly in sight. That was the theory. He — the writer — knew the scantest bit of what was supposed to happen, like saying, you know it’ll snow this month because it’s winter and that’s what supposed to happen. That’s how nebulous it all was. So I kept thinking about it. What’s going to happen? Different avenues were considered and tossed out almost at once for different reasons.
I told myself, “I need to think about this.” No, I answered; overthinking matters, overanalyzing them, is your biggest weakness. Trust yourself, the writer. Trust the muses trying to guide you. Trust the emerging story. Don’t think. Just sit, drink your coffee, and write.
That advice actually worked. Two hours and almost sixteen pages later, what emerged astonished me. Never saw it coming at all. Yet it built on so many throw-away elements I’d embedded in the story as small pieces of verisimilitude.
Trust. Hard to win, hard to keep, even when it’s only with yourself.
‘Tis a quiet Thursday, July 6, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the children are out of school, and the parents are on vacation. It’s 74 F now, ten AM, under a hazy blue sky. We’re supposed to creep up to 90 F today, a change from the last several days, when we saw 97 F. Normal summer for us.
Today’s lower temp pleases me. We’re taking some friends to the OSF Green Show, where a local popular band, The Rogue Suspects, are performing. Featuring ‘The Girls’, three wonderful female singers they’ve added on over the years, 6:45 PM is when it starts. Probably have ice cream at one of the local establishments when it’s over. Should be a very comfortable temperature at that time.
My birthday was yesterday, and was a grand time. No party, per se, but I try to party every day, even if it’s only in my mind. Lots of messages from family, friends, and old co-workers via email, text direct messages, birthday cards delivered by the postman, FB posts, and phone calls. Sorry I didn’t get a telegram, too. I was told that I don’t look a week over 70, which pleased me, as I’m a sensational 67. Now the countdown begins until the next birthday.
Day like that deserves a song like “For A Rocker” by Jackson Browne out of 1983. As mentioned here before, I was at NCO Academy in Florida when the song was released. I immediately took to it and drove others crazy by frequently singing it. I apologized with the post script, “Don’t blame me, it’s The Neurons. They’re totally out of control.”
Stay positive and comfortable. Keep your head above the water and your mind fixed on your destination. A fresh brew of the life energy called coffee has arrived. I will be partaking.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Things which are always reassuring to see when you’re walking along Ashlandia’s streets:
A FedEx truck running a stop sign with a blast of noise as you approach the corner. A pick up truck and SUV traveling in opposite directions, each driver with their cell plastered to their skull. Another driver wheeling it with one hand while shoving food into her gob as she comes up, braking hard and late as you stand in the crosswalk, waiting for her to notice. A large Acura MDX running a red light and aggressively coming around the corner, going around you as you walk through a cross walk.
Ah, yes, so very reassuring.
Michael Seidel, writer 