Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.
To borrow from the movie franchise that stole the phrase from popular culture, today’s writing session went fast and furious. Hard keeping pace with the muses as they turned up with generous inputs. It fast became one of those writing-like-crazy sessions where I sat down, swallowed a big gulp of hot coffee, and then started typing. When I next was aware of tasting the coffee, it was cold to the lips, and the coffee shop was empty except for me and the barista.
Exciting time. Loved it. Hate for it to end, but they’re shutting up for the day, as they close at noon on Sundays. It was great while I was here, though, the sort of session writers always hope to experience, where the story comes alive, and the words thunder out as if the faucet’s been fully opened and will never close.
Exfloofsive(floofinition) – An area, period, or activity established or reserved for animal use.
In use: “She hadn’t planned it, but Caramel made every evening at eight PM his exfloofsive time, fetching his brush without being told, bringing it to her, and sitting down before her, waiting to be brushed, with his bright eyes telling her, “You know what you must do.” Resistance wasn’t even considered.”
We went to a spotlight performance the other night. As an elderly community of retired professionals in their sixties to nineties thrive around here, performances are often geared toward their preferences and memories. The spotlight performances are among those, featuring music from 1960s era “girl-bands”, the Motown sound, the Eagles, and the current offering focusing on the Mamas and Papas. They’re a lot of fun but they fire up neurons from that era, as more of that period’s music flooded my stream this morning.
“Eve of Destruction” by Barry McGuire was playing as irritation with our current government sent me into new spasms of frustration. Then along came a song by a group called Thunderclap Newman has been on loop. I always liked the name, Thunderclap Newman. Goes right up there with Moby Grape, Psychedelic Furs and Strawberry Alarm Clock.
Thunderclap Newman’s song, “Something in the Air” is streaming in my head. Word association started it. First, “Eve of Destruction” lyrics bobbed along the stream:
Yeah, my blood’s so mad, feels like coagulatin’
I’m sittin’ here just contemplatin’
I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation
Handful of Senators don’t pass legislation
And marches alone can’t bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin’
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’
Ah, the rhyming. But the song’s sentiment plays as true for 2019 as it did for 1965 regarding governments’ ineptitude, human respect, frustration at the pace of change, and constant war. We stay on the eve of destruction, don’t we?
I always enjoyed Newman’s piano solo in this song. I have a vivid memory of smoking hash and listening to this song again and again when I was sixteen and my Dad was away.
So, that’s my Sunday theme music, Thunderclap’s 1969 song, “Something in the Air”.
Omnifloofium-gatherum(floofinition) – A gathering or collective of housepets. On small scales, they are generally organized around pools of sunlight or food being distributed. Organized omnifloofium-gatherums are established for more serious matters regarding quantum energy, shape-shifting, and time-shifting.
In use: “Each year, unbeknownst to humans, an omnifloofium-gatherum was established in which five representatives were sent to another dimension on a fact-finding adventure. Though it was an honor to be selected, the housepets felt bad for their humans, because they never knew what had happened to them.
“Then, along came a boy and a girl who changed everything.”
Ever get up and feel like your day already feels like a genre of music? Perhaps you have swing or a big band sound reverberating through your soul. Maybe disco is moving your hips, or soul is talking to your lips.
It’s a hard rock morning for me. My poor spouse’s right shoulder gave her sudden issues last night, a problem continuing today. I had a first impulse to say, “She did something to her shoulder,” but as you age, you realize that you often don’t do something to your body; genetics or a developing weakness or something just says, “Time to pull the cord,” and goes out.
That was gestating in my mind’s background noise as its forecourt punted reminders and prioritized errands and activities. Some actions were rejected as too late; they’d need to wait another day.
That provided a niche in the mindstream for Def Leppard to begin their hard-rock ballad, “Too Late for Love” (1983). 1983 was part of my Okinawa years. We arrived there in 1981 and stayed until the end of 1984. Two years were spent in the United States, and then it was off to Europe. We came back from there in 1991.
Floofcist(floofinition) – One who follows a floofcism, a doctrine that animals are less intelligent than humans, lack emotions, and don’t love or feel pain as humans do, and should therefore have less rights and freedoms.
In use: “Ted initially seemed like a great guy, but then revealed that he supported big game trophy hunting. Being floofcist was an immediate deal breaker for Heather, she told him. In response, he laughed at her shallow sentimentality.”
