Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I’ve been hearing a little voice in my head. Well, there are actually a few. I live by a committee of voices in my head. Some are writing advisors, editors, and muses. Others are DIY budgeteers. Several more very vocal citizens and progressives are in there, often spitting mad with exasperation and disgust as the Trump wrecking ball obliterates democracy, decency, and morality in the United States. Besides them and voices of memory who like to bring up things I have done and enjoyed, I also have a couple health consultant voices, a few therapists and exercise coaches, and relationship advisors. On the whole, they’re mostly civilized, respecting the other voices, only speaking up when the others are quiet.
One thing I’ve learned from all of these is not to ignore them. As time has threaded past, I’ve repeatedly been re-educated that the little voices often know a lot more than me about what’s going on and what I should do. When I ignore them, things will go bad, as they predict. Naturally, they then say, “I told you so. You should’ve listened.”
So I’m vowing to them again, “Okay, I’m listening.”
Naturally, one snidely replied, “Sure.”
The voices are a lot like me.
So there I was…
I’d turned on the water, apparently to water the lawn, a problematic decision because snow and ice loaded the land. I realized all that when I went back and discovered that everything was flooded by a couple inches because I’d left the water on. People were looking out their windows like genuine looky lous. I could hear them commenting, telling each other, “Oh, poor Michael. Look at him. What’s wrong with him?”
The house where I turned on the water belong to Mom. So I figured I needed to turn off that water and reimburse her for what was sure to be an expensive water bill. I had a small paper bag with some money in it, but first things first: I was naked. I needed to dress. I had clothes. Most of it was very fancy. So I dressed out there in the flooded yard in front of the watching neighbors, first with undies, then with a pressed pink dress shirt, finally black dress pants.
Before I could get to my shoes, I saw Mom and accosted her. Her children, my sisters, were with her, as young children. I explained about turning the water on and leaving it on, and that I owed her, so I wanted to give her some money. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a bundle of money, estimating it as $40,000, and gave it to Mom. She protested, “That’s too much,” but I insisted she take it.
She left and put on my shoes. As I finished that, ‘Dad’ approached. This father was a squat, chunky guy, no at all like my real father. Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and short black tie, he wore a black bowler hat. I knew he was a drunk and was dismissive and scornful of him. He knew this but still approached, asking, “Can you spare ten dollars for me?” I knew he’d use it for booze but I said, “Yes, of course,” and ended up giving him $40. He profusely thanked me. I replied, “I can spare it.”
As Dad thanked me again and again and walked away, I opened my bag to get a sandwich and eat. As I pulled the sandwich out, I realized the bag was larger than first thought, and full of newly bundled money. As I gawked at the bundles of cash, I thought, there must be four million dollars in there.
Dream end.
Greetings to all you stars from bucolic Ashlandia, the gem of southern Oregon. It’s Wenzda, August 13, 2025. We cooled a little last night after 102 F plugged the thermometer in the late afternoon. It was a late cooling, as midnight still saw us hugging the 80s. Today’s temperature has dropped into the friendlier realm of 96 F and tonight’s low will splash into the low 60s. Air is clear, blue, no skunks bothered us last night, and we continue a good string of not being pestered by flooding, wildfires, or smoke, knock wood.
Man, I slept well but it was a night of wild dreams. Gonna think about them for a while.
Today’s song is dedicated to Papi. As I star-gazed and soaked up cool night air, Papi startled me by slipping up from behind to brush against my calf. My body shouted, “Holy shit, something’s got me,” before saner Neurons said, “Hey, Papi.” He didn’t stay long, floating off through the moonlight into the shadows. The Neurons honored the moment by channeling Bob Seger and the Bob Seger System into the morning mental music stream with “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Cat”, I mean, “Ramblin Gamblin Man” from way back in my mid-teen years. It’s simple, basic rock and roll, folks.
After reading the news, I’m eschewing comments for now. Weather the storm for the moment, keep the rage alive and the powder dry, you know? Trump’s crash is coming. How far he takes us all will be interesting. He lies about so much, as do his stand-ins, and the lies are so easily proven. Now they’re trying hard to hide facts so they can build pillow forts and play make believe. It sucks that while they drool over fantasies, real world problems are being ignored, and they’re creating more, making life miserable for millions.
Coffee has tuned my mind and soul again. Time to take the body out for a spin. Hope peace and grace walk with you wherever you are today. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 