Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The Floof Tops (floofinition) – Floofmerican floof-eyed soul group formed in Floofphis, Tennesfloof, in 1967. Originally active from 1967 to 1970, the group had international success in those years with several Floofboard 100 hits.
In use: “The Floof Tops’ hits songs include, “The Litter”, which has been covered by several artists in subsequent years, and “Cry Like A Floofy”, which reached #2 on the Floofboard Hot 100 hits in 1968.”
Affloofcianado (floofinition) – A person who is very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about animals.
In use: “Raised on a farm where she kept a pet cat, dog, goat, pig, fish, and birds, and helped with the cows and sheep and fed the chickens, Becky was an affloofcianado by age five.”
2. Floofazine written and edited by animals, dedicated to all things animals.
In use: “Affloofcianado floofazine printed its first edition on Animal Day in 1901 in New Floof City, and included an article, ‘Understanding People’, with tips on how to look endearing to humans, as people were more likely to help an animal if they were attracted to them.”
Floofjesty (floofinition) – 1. Animal-based humor, such as floof-fails and floof-flops.
In use: “One of pets’ enduring traits is floofjesty, their ability to make us laugh with the expressions they use and the silly things that they do.”
2. Impressive stateliness, dignity, or beauty of an animal.
In use: “Whenever someone met Mel’s St. Bernard, Bernie, they always commented on his innate floofjesty. Nothing ever fazed that dog.”
I wasn’t in one of my dreams last night. It was about an android. He was a naked killing machine.
There was a woman who he was helping, also naked. She didn’t understand that he was an android. I keep ‘re-writing’ the dream, evolving awareness of who he was and what was going on. He needed to leave without the woman. She was trying to dissuade him by employing sex. She needed help. Protection. People were after her. He had another agenda, though. He knew leaving was required because ‘they’ were coming after him. He was a renegade android.
He’d come in on men attacking the woman. The android killed them — not because they were holding her prisoner, but because they came after the android. Others entered, chasing the android. He killed them, too.
Shocked by the violence, the woman was still grateful to ‘the man’. Although he and the woman screwed, he still departed. He was moving from house to house in a dark suburban neighborhood. He hid in a home where no one was home. Now, though, a small, brown yappy dog was inserted into the dream. This dog was befriending the android. The android didn’t want to the dog’s companionship. The dog kept running around a room the android occupied, barking. Is the dog also an android, my dream writer wondered?
As the scenes progressed, getting re-written but moving on, the android left, stealing away into the night. Planning to steal a car, he settled in bushes down the street to observe the scene. His systems could eavesdrop on electronic devices and he could hear better than humans. Police had arrived. POV was shifted to them, to one officer in particular. He was trying to piece together everything that had happened and managed to arrive at surprising speculation: what if the person they were after wasn’t a person? What if he was a machine? Others mocked his suggestion. He began looking for and finding details to support his theory, like precision of movements, trying to understand the android’s motivation. Considering the people killed, he put together the idea that the android had arrived, helped someone else, and then others arrived. He guessed that the others arriving were after the android. The android had killed them, as well, but then others came along, others who were related to the original killing.
As he was putting this together, he was trying to frame the dog’s presence, too. Why was that sweet little brown dog there? The dog was whining to leave.
Did the dog know where the android went? Could the dog follow the android?
Dream end.
I spent over twenty years in the military, 1974 to 1995. The Cold War was underway. The U.S. and U.S.S.R. and the allies of each were constantly ready to fight a war. Stationed in Germany for several years, we used to practice wearing our hazmat suits and gas masks, taking shelter as we were attacked. I did the same during war games in Korea and Egypt.
Wearing the suits and masks wasn’t fun. That experience rendered it much easier to wear masks during the pandemic. These masks over our mouths, attached to our ears, are much easier to wear.
I’ve just finished reading The Splendid and the Vile. This book by Erik Larson covers Winston Churchill’s first year as Prime Minister. World War II had begun six months before. The London Blitz began that first year, 1940. The tales of deprivation are stunning. Larson uses multiple sources to weave a narrative not just about Churchill, England, and the Blitz, but about Hitler, Goering, Goebbels, Hess, FDR, and the many people around Churchill coping with him, helping Churchill, and hunting for the way forward.
Imagine those times in the United Kingdom as bombers flew overhead through the night skies, dropping incendiary devices, and then bombs, feeling the ground shake with violence as buildings were shredded and people were killed. Imagine being one of those people in London and other cities, enduring as food and tea was rationed, gas, electric, and water services were interrupted, fighting fires, worrying about unexploded bombs if you survived the raid, then going to work. Imagine sleeping in air raid shelters in squalid conditions. Imagine the black-out demands where lights were left off, forcing all to stumble through darkness.
And so many here, in 2021, complain about social distancing. They won’t wear a mask, because fake news. Freedom.
They know nothing. They should have been in London or any of the other cities around the world that experienced these conditions. Then maybe they’d realize what sacrifice means. A mask? Six feet apart?
Really. It is nothing.
Wear the mask. Stay positive. Test negative. Get the vax.
Sorofloofmist (floofinition) – International service organization made up of females dedicated to improving the lives of animals.
In use: “Sorofloofmists often work behind the scenes, quietly organizing fundraisers to help animal shelters with food and spending shortfalls, or finding the funding for animals who need surgery.”
Different floofs leave these places
with bits of fur and other traces
bite marks, claw scratches,
round dimples in furniture
where they made their beds
their scents fade
and the signs disappear
but we remember these floofs
which we hold so dear
Defloofciation (floofinition) – 1. The loss of love and caring for an animal, such as a family pet.
In use: “Pets often suffer from defloofciation, becoming abandoned as families move away, leaving them behind, a situation that often angers, sickens, and disgusts true animal lovers.”
2. The reduction of animals in a home.
In use: “Once she had several cats and two dogs, but her declining health soon forced defloofciation, and now she had many pictures of former pets, and just one who lived with her.”
Spring has a solid grip on this Sunday, May 2, 2021. Clouds tinker with the sunshine. Mountain breezes manipulate the temperature. Snow remnants haunts mountains on the valley’s other side, above shadowy stretches of green that turn into deep jade.
Sunshine first broke cover at 6:05 AM, and will flee for the night at 8:11 PM. Our highs will seek now familiar ranges in the lower sixties.
We ride the unending roller coaster of COVID-19 news around here, up one day, down the next. Vaccinations have stolen past 28% of Oregon’s population. Jackson County, where I call home, had shown a disturbing trend, with the seven-day averaging climbing. It peaked at 49 a few days ago. Now we’re down to 41. We’ve been through this before. After Christmas and New Year, the cases had been declining. Then they rose to levels not recorded since last November.
We visited Curry County last week. The seven-day average had increased from three to four cases there. A relatively remote location on Oregon’s coast, reached by Highway 101 going north and south, they haven’t suffered many cases, but have experienced the morale of businesses being shut, lockdown, and social distancing. Disappointing to note that some businesses had signs up requiring masks, but weren’t enforcing it. On the whole, though, masks were worn, usually correctly, and distancing practiced.
Today’s song is the 1981 Stray Cats song, “Rock This Town”. The song arrived on neurons’ back, their origins unknown, joyous vagabonds stealing through my brain with their musical message. I like the song, so I went with it. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get that vax. Cheers
I dreamed I’d been caught doing something wrong. Although I can’t recall details, it wasn’t major, like killing anyone, but constituted a significant failure on my part. A short trial found me guilty. Punishment was forthcoming.
I sulked, alone, although surrounded by others, none that I knew of as family nor friend. Returning to where I was staying, I discovered everything being rearranged. My room had been changed, which infuriated me. The whole place was dimly light, very dark, full of shadows. Seeking the common area where I thought I’d read and watch television, really, do anything to distract myself, I found a man there re-arranging everything. “Part of a big project,” he explained. I wanted to know more about this big project. Everything familiar was gone. The books and television had been removed, as had the chairs. The windows were covered, along with every exit except one door. Maroons and dark blues dominated. There was an old carnival funhouse feel to the room.
My exasperation leaped. “What’s going on? What’s the point of all of this?” The guy working on it, snide, young, smug, white, and bald, refused to explain anything, acting as though it was all above me. I had little grounds to do anything because I’d lost my authority as I awaited sentencing.
This drove me to attempt to leave the room. Extricating myself wasn’t as easy as it should have been, as others were coming through the door. Taking initiative, I found a panel which resembled a stylized red and white question mark. I was able to swivel it up and to the left, then leveraged myself out through the small opening.
Although I was outside my shared quarters, I was still in a building; it was buildings in a building. I was wondering when my sentence was going to come down. Maybe the delay was good news. Maybe it was bad. I walked around, spotting some familiar faces, including the judge who’d sentenced me. A few years older than me, he’d been boss and casual friend. Seeing me, he smiled and waved, but the turned away. Others, though, who’d been cool, were suddenly friendly. I’d been feeling like a pariah, I realized, but now they seemed to be letting me back in.
It was giving me hope. The dream ended on that note.
