Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Mood: spirited
We’ve reached the final Thursday of September. It’s the 28th now; this weekend, we turned over our pages to October.
Chilly damp weather continues its supremacy. The night showed a cool hand, pushing the furnace to turn over. It’s 46 F outside, 68 F within. We expect bounteous sunshine today but only a 69 degrees F ceiling. I reckon that’s pleasant fall weather, and good for taking a walk and doing some landscaping tasks.
Well, last night’s GOP debate was a sharp reflection of the party’s state: muddy and limp. This was the debate between the Republican nominees for POTUS for the 2024 election. Parts I saw was of lackluster candidates not debating much policy but eagerly attacking each other. A few shots were thrown at the favorite, DJ Trump, but he wasn’t mentioned much. The candidates preferred to beat up one another.
I’ve always contended that this field is not about establishing their bonafides as the party nominee. No, they’re shooting to be the Trump replacement. They look at Trump’s speech, grandiose boasting, erratic behavior, and his obese being, and think, “He’s gonna die soon. When he does, I’m going to fill the void for the MAGAts.”
A few of the candidates know, though, that they need to appeal to independents and Republicans who are never Trumpers. Hence, the shot by Florida Govenor DeSantis, demanding an explanation by Trump about why 7.8 trillion dollars were added to the debt during Trump’s administration and caused the current inflation. I’m surprised he took that tack; the GOP rarely acknowledges how much they add to the economy’s woes. They prefer to declare that less taxes will fix everything even as problems mount, and shove those problems onto the Democrats’ plate.
Also never mentioned were any of the 91 indictments against Trump, or his four court cases. In not mentioning that, they stayed within the Republican talking guides, never mentioning the criminality spreading through the GOP like a cancer.
Well, enough GOP bashing. On to the music. The Neurons have “You Dropped A Bomb On Me” by the Gap Band from 1982 playing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark shady). I must say, I don’t know why Der Neurons are playing this funky tune. I’ve always enjoyed the song’s playful verbiage and its beat but there’s not reasons for it to be in my head. I guess I could blame an unremembered dream for opening the musical stream.
Well, I’m not going to solve that now. Maybe I can do that after more coffee. Stay positive, test negative, be strong, and press forward. Here’s the music. There’s my coffee. Away we go.
Cheers
Floofuage (floofinition) – The private and personalized idioms shared between animals and their people.
In use: “In their house’s floofuage, ‘nom-nom’ meant treat, ‘bub’ was floofhand for an insect or spider, and ‘wa-wa’ was water or drink, all worked out during interactions between the human and their furpanions.”
In use: “The dog always barked in an odd way when the mail carrier came to the house. It sounded like ‘nark-nark’ to Carol, so ‘nark-nark’ became her floofhand with Charley about the mail carrier.”
I heard about a wedding — and this wasn’t my nephew’s recent wedding, I hasten to clarify — where the best man didn’t know what he was going to say, so he asked AI for help. AI provided him a speech. The best man then personalized it. After he spoke, no dry eyes were found.
That AI realy knows how to push our buttons.
Another slice of the nocturnal mind’s workings to share.
To begin, I’m with my father. Each of us are similar to our real life appearances but I think we both were a little younger.
I’m getting an award. I don’t know what it’s for. Dad wants to attend. He tells me, “We’ll go together. We’ll drive there.”
He gestures toward a car. A silver behemoth, it may have been manufactured in the 1930s and features a long wheelbase — think of a large SUV here — running boards, an upright radiator, and spindly, narrow wheels and tires. Its condition is show-car perfect.
“What is that?” I ask. I see from looking around that he has other, more modern cars but still several decades old. All are well cared for. A graceful, polished gray model’s dazzling shine catches my eye from one.
In answer, he says, “You drive. We better get going. It doesn’t have a high top speed.”
I am floored. At that moment, two sisters arrive. They want to go with us.
Dad is against that. Telling them so, he finishes, “But I want you there. Take one of my other cars.”
A large steel garage door which was previously unnoticed grinds open. Behind it are modern sports and luxury cars. “Take one of those cars,” Dad says.
My sisters are already clamboring into a new red Mazda Miata. I say, “Why can’t we take one of those?”
Dad responds with non-sequitors. I interrupt him. “If you want to ride with me, why don’t we take one of those cars?” I see a BMW in the garage. “Like that blue BMW. Why don’t we take it?”
Evasive as before, Dad basically declares, “I want to take this car.”
We climb into his old car. I ask, “Is this a Bugatti?”
Dad doesn’t respond. Firing up the old machine, I keep looking for clues about what it is.
That’s where the dream ends.
I tote this dream down as another manifestation of unspoken worries and doubts about my life and where it’s at. Pretty standard stuff. Retired from corporate and military careers, I’ve staked a lot of time and hope on writing fiction. I’m driven to write, but will it go anywhere beyond my computer? Or, as the dream suggests to me, am I interested in trying another vehicle?
As I pass over the post again, though, the driving theme raises new questions. Writing = driving. Whether I want to or not, I need to go on. Some of my choices seem taken away from me by some deeper driving force within me.
Looking at it another way, though, I can point out, it’s a silver car I’m being forced into, a classic which is in good condition, and I’m driving off to collect an award. Looking at it that way, my subconscious is encouraging me to go with what I’m doing.
It’s amusing how these dream elements can be addressed. Even if I find success beyond writing for myself, I think that I’ll always be wrestling with the drive and need to write, and my doubts. Just part of my imposter syndrome surfacing again.
Mood: jouncy
We’re mid week, but almost the end of the month. Prepare for October; it’s coming.
We’re also entering 2023’s final calendar quarter. 2024 sees us coming and is rushing out to greet us and lick our faces. From what I read on the net, many people are dreading 2024, because of the state of politics in the US and the elections which 2024 brings us. I tend toward the optimistic side of life, so I think the justice system will triumph. I think if I fervently repeat that enough, I’ll believe it can happen. Sorry for the early cynicism.
So many in the US are misinformed as voters and citizens. Slander campaigns are on the rise from the right. They love throwing out fake narratives. They know that people remember the first thing they learn about something, and displacing that information is hard for political campaigns. Increasing the difficulty of correcting false informatin is the right wing destruction machine. It blasts out falsehoods on high volume, looping it day and night, things like the 2020 election was stolen from Trump.
Repeating this information is enough to keep people fooled. For a historic perspective, look how Dubya’s team approached Gulf War II. Their marketing changed the number of people fearing Iraq, and convince many that dire military intervention was the only way to save the world. Twenty years later, we know how that turned out.
But before 2024 arrives, we must endure the 2023 budget show. The GOP reprises this tactic just about every other year. Twenty-eight times, they’ve shut the gov’mint down in protest or to force their way on us. Coercion and fear, hypocrisy and lies, innuendo and smears; that’s our modern GOP. Lincoln weeps for what has become of the party he created.
On to lighter topics, like the weather. It’s a chilly fall AM. Brisk is the mind-friendly term. Rain has been falling intermittently in the last several days. I love the smells and sounds and its positive impact. Like many things, though, too much rain can cause as many problems as too little. Always surfing the balance, aren’t we?
Cloudy skies rule us. We expect high sixties today. It’s currently 53 F in Ashlandia, where the trees are abandoning green in favor of bright reds, yellows, oranges, and so on. Yes, the colors are flaring up all around, a beautiful sight. Wisps of burning odors from wildfires still strike me from time to time, forcing me to the net to prarie dog it and see if another fire started.
Not all is perfect in our realm, though, even with the fires dying under the rain’s. Treatment for algae blooms in our water system has festooned the water with a sharp chlorine smell and an earthy flavoring. Well, it’s drinkable, and it’s running, and it’s not killing us, so it’s a good thing. Such an optimist, I am.
Dreams again inspired The Neurons with the morning mental music stream (Trademark ludicrous). Thanks to a dream involving driving cars, I’m hearing the pop ditty, “Going Mobile” by The Who in my head. It’s off one of my favorite albums, Who’s Next. Although Daltry isn’t on this song at all, it features classic Who touches, Townsend’s guitar work and heavy, busy drumming.
Stay pos, and be strong, and power forward. My coffee fuel has been administered. I’m ready to take on things like shaving. Have a good one. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 