Author: Michael Seidel

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.

That Damn Dream

Had another one of those damn depressing dreams again where I was in the military. I’d been out, now I was back in.

It was just in time for a military parade and change-of-command ceremony. We were dressing in our Class A, or what is also called our service dress uniforms. I was behind, behind in knowing what to do, where to go, and when to be there. My hair was shaggy and needed to be trimmed to mil standards. I was racing to get my uniform pressed and check on my fruit salad, and worrying that my uniform was still in reg. Then I didn’t know where to go. I was running behind and people were both giving me grief and being supportive.

But they were leaving because it was time to assemble until I was alone, still scrambling. I still had to much to do, racing through a shower, getting the uniform on, and then checking the hair on my neck. You can bet, on reflection, I found it ironic that I was back in the military for a change-of-command ceremony. Changes are needed, I’m telling myself, or you’ll be exposed!

So much anxiety in that dream, a perfect exposure of the imposter syndrome.

Damn.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Thought of this as I was walking today. Thought we could all use a mellow music break from the news about politics, death, wildfires, and other disasters.

Here’s Alanis Morrissette with “Ironic” from sometime last century.

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Figment

Michael came in later than usual, arriving a few minutes after several others. Despite his tardiness, ‘his’ place was still unoccupied so he took his usual chair. Saying hellos, wiping sweat from his face — because he always walked — he poured a glass of porter and took a long drink.

Behind him stood another man.

Ron thought the other was with Michael. He’d followed him in and was now standing directly behind Michael’s chair. Ron looked at the fellow — unsmiling, a little swarthy looking and burly, about Michael’s age (in Ron’s guess), which would make the man in his early sixties, Ron thought, unsure about Michael’s age. Michael was the youngest. Ron thought Michael was his early sixties.

But Michael was ignoring the man, even though the man’s look was fixed on Michael.

The man looked at Ron as Ron looked at him. Ron shied away from greater contact, which wasn’t his style, and addressed his look to the other beer drinkers. He’d first thought the man was with Michael but now he thought maybe the guy had followed Michael in because he was pissed off. Ron, not imaginative, thought, maybe they’d had a fight, or were about to have one.

It wasn’t his style to back off or ignore things so he said to Michael, “Ahem. Michael.”

He waited for Michael to look his way. When Michael did, Ron said with a nod toward the man behind Michael’s seat, “Is he with you?”

Michael didn’t look. “Yes.” He drank more beer.

Confusion swept Ron. The rest of the guys at the table looked confused. Frank, grinning, said, “Should we offer him a chair and a beer?”

Michael glowered. “Why not?”

Rising fast, Ron said, “Let me do the honors, then.” Putting his hand out toward Rolf, he said, “I’m Ron, by the way.”

The man glared at Ron’s hand and then transferred the look to Ron’s face. “Rolf.”

“Rolf?” Ron said, lowering his hand.

“Yes.”

Joe had brought up a chair. Space was made for Rolf. “Do you drink beer?” Ron asked, sitting. His lips felt like Elmer’s glue had been smeared over them. “We have a Boneyard IPA or Pilot Rock porter. Or we can order you something else, like Ashland Amber Ale.”

“Porter,” Rolf said, sitting.

“Porter it is,” Ron said, filling the glass from the pitcher of porter. As he did that, Michael stood.

“I’m going to take a leak,” Michael said. He pointed at Rolf. “Stay. There.” He stared at Rolf for several seconds before turning and striding away.

Ron raised his eyebrows at Frank and the others. They all seemed as perplexed as he felt. That didn’t make him feel any better.

Andy said, “I’m Andy, Rolf.”

Nodding, Rolf picked up his beer.

Andy said, “How do you know Michael?”

“I’m his angel.” Rolf took a gulp of beer.

Everyone’s eyebrows except Rolf’s rose. “His angel?” Frank said with a grin.

Rolf lowered his glass. “Yes.”

“What kind of angel are you?” Bob said.

“I’m a healing angel,” Rolf said.

“Did you say that you’re an angel?” Andy said.

“Yes,” Rolf said with a sour look at Andy.

Ron said, “Maybe we should clarify what you mean by an angel.”

Rolf turned to him. “I’m a fucking angel from fucking heaven. Clear?”

“Yes,” Ron said, pulling back. “Very clear. I don’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended.” Rolf turned back to his beer.

“How did you meet Michael?” Andy said.

“I didn’t,” Rolf said.

“Then how do you know him?” Ron said as several others asked the question.

Rolf picked up his beer and smirked. “He made me.”

Ron said, “He — ”

“Jesus wept,” Rolf said. “What the fuck is this, twenty questions? Michael imagined me. By imagining me, he made me. That’s how the fuck I met him. I’m his healing angel. Any other damn questions?”

Ron put his hands up. “Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you but I don’t think any of us have ever met an angel before. This is certainly a first for me.”

“Congratulations to you,” Rolf said.

“It’s just that we’ve never met someone who someone else made by imagining them,” Andy said. “So we’re taken aback.”

Raising his beer glass again, Rolf smirked at Andy. “Oh, yeah? What the fuck do you think you are?”

 

 

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Floofography (2)

Floofography (2)  (floofinition) – knowing where your cat or dog housepet likes to sit or lie. (see also floofography)

In use: “He checked the floofography before turning off the lights, noting everyone’s position, confirming all were in and safe, but also lessening the chance that he might inadvertently step on on or trip over them.”

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday o’memories – I stumbled across some ol’ Grand Funk Railroad stuff while browsing today, and remembered their first live album. It was my sister’s album, but I really enjoyed it, another step in my rock music education. It was a 33 RPM vinyl record that I played on Mom’s big Magnavox stereo that resided in the living room of our thirteen-hundred square foot ranch-style home in Penn Hills, PA. I only did this when I was home alone.

GFR was basic and almost primal in their early years before moving on to more of a pop sound. This first song, “Are You Ready”, epitomized their first year, I think – frenetic musical energy.

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A Rising Dream

When I awoke from this dream, I held the last scenes in my mind’s hands and thought, wow, that was empowering.

Only snippets of dream fragments come to mind now. I remember struggling and coping through a morass of frustration and weariness. I don’t know the specifics of that dream’s chapter, but then I started rising. I grew taller, bigger, and stronger. I knew and felt that in the dream. As I did, I took control, because up where I was, I could see how everything connected, and how the mechanics and leverage worked. Up there, I could tell others where to find answers or how to see things. I kept growing until I was a giant. Then I used my fingers to move and show things, and help others. The last piece was that I, as a giant, was showing a young girl where something fit. By that point, the world appeared to be an enormous periodic table to me and I told her, “Forty across, and eight down.” It was then I woke.

The dream wasn’t a great surprise. Just as I fall into dark airless abysses or find myself in caves or tunnels about every twenty-five or -six days, I find myself rising, too, feeling invincible and empowered. When the dark side comes down on me, I hunker down and endure. I’m grateful when the light side lifts me up, re-igniting my hopes and optimism.

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Floofductive

Floofductive (floofinition) – measures taken to reduce or control a dog or cat’s run of the house.

In use: “She used floofductives such as stern orders that the cat cannot jump onto the table or counter, and the dog could not sit on the sofa, but sometimes she came home to discover evidence that both events took place while she was away.”

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Know these words?

We skipped the light fandango
Turned cartwells ‘cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
But the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
As the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
The waiter brought a tray

Procol Harum released “A Whiter Shade of Pale” in 1967. When I heard it, I thought, WTF? What are they singing about? What’s it all mean? Later, in my early twenty-somethings, out tasting libations with friends, the song made complete sense. It became then a song about feeling isolated and lost, not drunk or stoned, but confused and searching. I like that in music, art, and literature, I can find one meaning to what I perceive during one stage of life, and discover something vastly different at another point.

The other thing that I like is how some of these things pull me back to a very sharp point of a moment and feel it all again.

 

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