Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Today’s song comes fresh out of the dream stream. I awoke singing the song Danny Elfman wrote that he can’t stand, “Weird Science” (Oingo Boingo, 1985). I’ve never seen the movie by the same name. Began watching to see if friends who loved it were right, but didn’t find it that weird, that funny, or that interesting, and too predictable.
As for the dreams…well, that’d be another post.
“Thunder only happens when it’s raining.”
It wasn’t raining (at least around our house) but the thunder was relentless. Half the cats did a frenzied thunder-run to hide. The other two yawned.
I listened to the thunder, waited for the lightning, and remembered songs about thunder, lightning, and rain. The mental stream finally selected the Fleetwood Mac song, “Dreams” (1977). Ostensibly a reflective song about ending relationships, the line about the thunder always resonates with me.
It’s a very mellow song.
A heavy night of dreaming was endured last night. I’ve noticed my dreams have a cycle that parallels my other cycles. Observing it fascinates me. Within that cycle, then, I wonder if my military theme also works in a cycle within a cycle. I’m beginning to believe it does. Now I’ll watch for evidence while doubting that I, the observer, can objectively and dispassionately observe what’s happening to myself. It’s that kind of morning.
In the military exercise dream last night, I was part of the command staff. We were preparing for an exercise to test readiness. I was command and control IRL, and typically was the Battle Staff Exec (which I liked to state as the B.S. Exec), coordinating the Battle Staff response. But in the dream, I was given a folder. The commander said, “You’re in charge of communications.”
NBD, but I was surprised. The B.S. began walking through scenarios. Security went through a succession of possibilities about terrorist actions. I thought some possibilities were being overlooked and spoke up. Yeah, that was agreed.
Then it was my turn. As I began talking, the decision was made to move. We’d been in the commander’s conference room; now we moved to the actual battle staff. I took my place at the podium and tried to employ order so I could resume my briefing but small interruptions kept taking place. I kept beginning, “Communications will be an important part,” and then an interruption would ensue, humorously ironic, right?
Which summarizes the dream and my current issue. Writing at home instead of at a coffee shop has been been fraught with interruptions. That’s why (and how) I’d developed my writing process, to separate me from my home and its interruptions. So this dream seems like a manifestation of my daily writing problems while sheltering in place during the COVID-19 pandemic.
The two remembered dream segments from last night were questioning what was going on and what was happening next. None addressed the current news or anything, but used metaphors to express my concerns.
In the first dream exploration, I was at a start-up company. The dream featured many of the people associated with the first start-up employing me after I retired from the U.S. Air Force. A big event was happening, but it had flopped and fizzled. I was concerned; what was going to happen next? I wanted to know. I knew there’d been a plan in place, but it depended on some milestones, and weren’t due to happen for another twelve to eighteen months. What was going to happen in the meantime until then?
I kept asking people. My question confused most others but two friends said, “Here, play him the tape.” They took me into an office and played me a recording off an old-fashioned answering machine with a cassette tape. I listened but couldn’t understand any of it because it was in another language.
I told them that I didn’t understand. A woman came in to stop me from hearing the tape. One friend told the other, “Turn on the translator and play it.” The friend turned on the translator but the woman hurried me out, telling my friends, “He’s not supposed to hear that.”
So something is up, I thought. There’s a plan, but I don’t know it. I wanted to know it, and felt frustrated.
Another distraction struck in the form of the next door business. They’d closed for good. I was sorry that it’d happened. The doors were open and people were inside cleaning it out.
I went in to check it out. Bins overflowed with grain, nuts, and kibble. I said something to the effect the place needed to be cleaned up. The men told me, “Yes, that’s what we’re doing.” I asked if I could help. That amused them. “Go ahead.”
I shoveled loads of stuff into a large, wheeled silver bin. When it was full, I wheeled it out the door and parked it, setting the brake.
A young white woman happened along. A bubbly person, she wanted to know what was going on, peppering me with questions but not waiting for any answers. As I turned to return inside the store, I saw her moving my silver bin. “Careful,” I warned her.
We were on a hill. I told her, “Set the brake.” She went to do that but then turned around and started talking to other people. The bin started rolling down the hill. I shouted, “Look out.” Before I could move, it went completely down the hill and off the cliff.
I was shocked. I knew people were down below. I figured they were injured.
The woman turned around. “Where’d the bin go?”
“Down over the edge,” I replied.
She ran down to look. I followed. When we got down there, it was still going through the air. I was surprised that it hadn’t landed. It looked like it was going to hit people but landed in an empty space.
Shrugging, she walked away. “I guess everything is okay.”
The dreams ended.
It was late November in 2015, just a few days after Thanksgiving. Prompted by a dream, he sat and write. It seemed so outlandish and shocking, he shared it with nobody.
His dream said that Donald Trump would be the President of the United States. At that point, many were laughing at him and his crude, ridiculous bombastic declarations as he demanded President Obama’s birth certificate, and lied. It seemed impossible that he would be POTUS, but the dream whisperer said, “It’s gonna happen.”
In 2020, an epidemic would sweep the world, the dream whisperer said, forcing people to wear masks and stay inside their homes; businesses would shut down. “It’s gonna happen,” the dream whisperer insisted, continuing, that some, driven by the President Trump’s false promises, scoffing remarks, and refusal to heed the advice himself, would disbelieve and refuse to follow the science and medical advisors. The nation’s divisiveness would increase, shocking the citizens and the world.
The final nails would come from escalating violence, the dream whisperer said. As President Trump bullied, so his followers bullied. As he called for violence and to be tough and cruel, so his followers did as he said, acting under the umbrella of being Christians, while demonstrating nothing of traditional Christian principles.
So he saw in 2015, scenes in dreams that shock and dismayed him. Still, he’d written them down, mostly in amusement back then. Surely, it would never be that bad.
But one early June night in 2020, he had another dream. Driven awake, he pulled out the vision from 2015 and reviewed its contents. He’d not be able to believe it; it seemed so stunning and impossible, like a throwback to an earlier era of troubled times in the United States. Hadn’t they evolved past all of those things? Yes, he’d believed they had; that’s why the dream was so difficult to believe. Yet, here they were as a nation…
And now he had a new dream to write, one where he saw where they’d be in 2024. It seemed so different, so impossible because of where they were now —
But that’s exactly how he’d reacted in 2015.
And so, he began to write. History does repeat itself. Sometimes, some of it is good.
At least, that’s what the dream whisperer said.
I often dream about four things: being in the military (again), cars, houses, and animals. Two of those made it into the second dream. It was the main event. First, though, came a dream snippet.
I was working on rice flavors. I came up with a new, exciting idea: cinnamon rice. Awakening, I thought, cinnamon and rice? That’s been around for eons, as in, say, rice pudding. I was quite excited in the dream, though.
My boss entered. I made my announcement.
He loved the idea. “Cinnamon and rice. That’s our new potato chip flavor.”
Whaaat? I’d been working on potato chip flavors? I was aghast, horrified, and crestfallen. Then I said, move on.
My second dream found me in a huge house. My wife and I had been living there for years, but the place surprised me with its size. Besides several levels, the house featured several wings and a huge yard.
I’d been living on the main levels, I realized, and had forgotten about the other parts. Now, remembering them, I went on a re-discovery exploration. Everything was well lit, plush and well furnished, but some of the white marble steps were dusty. I had to clean those off, I told myself.
Back in the house, my black cat was clamoring for my attention, but I had a house guest. I took her to a breakfast nook off the second dining room (the more informal one). There was a table with three chairs. Two were standard dining room chairs, white with light blue padded seats. The third, in the same motif, was on wheels and featured a wicker headrest that could be folded up to extend the back.
I presented this to my friend. I hadn’t seen here in over a decade. She’d never been to my house. Dressed in light blue and white that weirdly matched the dining room and breakfast nook, she stood there with a laptop bag over her shoulder. “Perfect.” She set her bag down. “I will write and type here.”
Good. She wouldn’t bother us there. But I said, “You’ll be facing a wall.” That was anathema to me; I liked facing a window so I could look out.
“No, I like facing walls, so I’m not disturbed,” she replied.
Weird to me. Meanwhile, I had to pick up the dogs from the vet. I went out as the van arrived, bringing them back. (Yeah, that confused me for a second; I thought I had to go get them, but no, they’d been brought to me.)
I took the dogs inside and let them go. They rushed to one bathroom. Surprised, I followed them in. There, I found kittens: a gray, ginger, and two black and white. They were toddling around, their little tails straight up the air like pointers. The dogs avidly sniffed them.
I called to my wife, “Where did these kittens come from?”
She didn’t answer. That’s where the dream ended.
We were in a new home. In some ways, we seemed dissatisfied. The place was large and new. Despite that, there was a feeling that we needed to change it and make it our own.
My wife left on errands. While she was gone, we were overrun by cats. We had cats, but every time I looked around, new cats had arrived. Some were afraid of me and scurried out. Others ate without care.
While this was going on, I was trying to explore the house. There wasn’t any furniture or personal things yet. Those were due to arrive. I found we had a large, green yard surrounding our house. Part of a plan, we were on a paved road with other new houses. Plenty of space was between us.
Yet, something about the house continued to bug me. As I walked around, I realized the floor was tilted. It hadn’t been that way. I inspected the rooms while talking with the cats, trying to understand why the floors were tilted. Returning to the living room, I discovered a huge bulge in the floor.
My wife arrived back home in an annoyed mood, berating me for not ‘doing things’. As she went about, I tried telling her to look at the damn floor and the bulge, but she stayed focused on other things and kept talking. I finally said, “Will you stop and look?” in a loud, dramatic manner.
Glancing toward the bulge, she dismissed it as my fault.
That irritated me. I didn’t see how it was my fault, and didn’t care; it was a new house – less than a year old, I decided – so the builder should be responsible. I had to find the building.
In my underwear, I left to find the builder. As I went, I grew more concerned that if something wasn’t done, the house would collapse, or if we waited to take care of it, the builder would weasel out of responsibility. While walking in my underwear, I carried shorts with the idea that I would put them on. Every time that I tried, something convened to interfere and stop me.
Struggling on to find the builder, I came to a market and passed through it, trying to put my shorts on as I went. I discovered a black woman naked from the waist down. Not wanting to embarrass her, I looked away. She laughed at that, but I made it a point to stand in front of her with my back to her so that she could dress with some privacy, which she did. Then I put my shorts on.
I left the market and ran into my nephew. He said that he’d been by my house and that a pillar had gone through the roof. I was horrified. He told me that the same thing had happened to his house, and we needed to find the builder and have him take care of it.
I hurried home with my nephew to tell my wife. As I approached my home, I studied the roof. I didn’t see the pillar sticking up through it. When I turned to ask my nephew, he was walking to his car and about to leave.
That’s where the dream ended, giving me a lot to think about.
Woke up this morning and after traipsing through the dreams, urged myself, come on, get up. Seize the day.
Not uncommon words. But my brain then latched on to other words, “One more time around might do it.”
I chased the threads while I did morning business, finally realizing that Soundgarden’s song, “The Day I Tried to Live” (1994), was trying to break through.
Singing, one more time around might do it
One more time around might make it
One more time around might do it
One more time around I might make it
The day I tried to live, yeah
h/t to Genius.com
How many times have I told myself, one more time might do it over different projects and efforts over my lifetime.
I don’t usually have such trouble getting out of bed. Cats generally don’t permit such self-absorbed dawdling.
I think it’s just a sign of the times.
Today’s theme music came after reviewing my dreams. Empowering dreams, I enjoyed them, in part because they seemed fuller and more coherent than the last few sleeps’ fragile fragments. As I thought about them and the almost one eighty shift in lucidity, I thought, the dream police must’ve stepped in, which gave me a chuckle.
Like that, the brain said, “Oh, “The Dream Police” by Cheap Trick,” and began playing it like it was Alexa gone nuts.
So, I went with it. 1979: a good year to be young and getting older. Amusing video. I don’t think I’ve heard this song in a looonnnggg time.
So much happened in dreams last night. Putting it all together…well, I probably failed that. But, here goes.
My wife and I were in a new car, a small vehicle, made of gold. I was driving, and the car pleased me. I was very happy with my new acquisition.
My wife was in the passenger seat and there were two people in the back. We were going through a tunnel, perhaps exiting a parking complex. She told me that I’d missed the turn. I couldn’t turn the car around, so I backed up. Not able to see where I was going, I hit a support pillar with the car. This upset me, but we kept going. When I finally parked, I checked the bumper for damage. There was none.
After parking, my wife and a friend were going shopping. I decided to check into a hotel. But first, I spoke with Jerry.
I haven’t seen Jerry since 1977. We were stationed together at Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. Smoking a cigarette (as he often did back then), he was laughing and talking about how he’d changed. “I used to be a survivalist. You wouldn’t believe the stuff that I had.”
Laughing, I said, “I find that hard to believe, knowing you.”
Dead serious, he replied, “You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t.”
I went into my hotel room, got into bed and went to sleep. A while later, noises in the room awoke me. It was Jerry’s wife. She said, “Hey, do you need anything, baby?”
I said, “I need you. Get into bed with me.”
She said, “No.”
Shrugging, I sat up in bed. Her long dark hair was now a short bob. Looking right, I saw a pile of hair on the floor. “Have you been in here cutting your hair?”
“Yes.”
“While I was sleeping?”
“Of course.”
My wife rushed through the room. I realized that she was going shopping again.
I dressed and hurried to work. When I arrived, I found hundreds of people milling around, waiting for something to start. The man in charge gave me several lists. “There are forty possibilities in here. You need to match them up from the different sources so that we have the information we need.”
Looking at the lists, I saw that many were printouts, but some were newspaper articles. Some had circles in red markers, but others were highlighted in orange. Another man came up to help me.
“Can you do it?” the man in charge asked.
“Yes.” I was confident that I could. He left, and I got busy. It soon became apparent that the information was more difficult to sort and mass than I realized. He expected results for forty but there were hundreds or thousands of possibilities. I struggled with finding a scalable way to do it.
The man with me said, “It can’t be done.”
“Yes, it can,” I replied.
The man in charge came up. “How’s it coming? Are you almost done?”
“No,” my helper said. “Far from it. I don’t think it can be done.” He and the man in charge argued.
I said, “I can do it. Give me time and space.”
The man in charge said, “Okay, we’re counting on you.”
End of dreams.
Michael Seidel, writer 