Category: miscellaneous

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: aggroptimstic

Friday, March 15, 2024, has been blessed by abundant sunshine, praise floof. The cats love it except, today was also blessed by gusting winds. Probably something to do with March in the northern hemisphere, right? Although the temperature was already 50 F, the cats eschewed the outside sunshine for the comfort of the sunshine streaming in through the windows in the wind-free living room. The omniscient weather they think today’s high will crest at 66 F. Yesterday’s high was supposed to be 61 F but my corner saw 66 F, so I’m slithering out on that limb and prophesizing a higher high around our place, and I’m not talking THC, either.

I’m eagerly awaiting the results of the Trump family running the RNC. The new co-chairs, Lara Trump (she with the dead eyes) and Michael Whatley, were personally selected by DJ Trump. The Whatley/Trump RNC declared that they’re dedicated to ‘election integrity’.

I wish they’d be more devoted to ‘reality integrity’. If they paid more attention to reality, they’d know that the fraud that DJ Trump pushes about the stolen election has been shown to be bullshit. Over sixty court cases validate the bullshit verdict. Judges of both parties at several levels found there was no evidence to support Trump’s bullshit. State election officials all found no evidence presented to support the stolen election claim. In fact, if the RNC put more reality underfoot, they would discover that former POTUS Trump is indicted for trying to undermine the official, legal, results that resulted in him being shown the WH door.

But the RNC is leading the TBP now, TBP meaning the Trump Bullshit Party. Little of the ‘Republican’ party is visible under the avalanche of Trump-centric garbage being spewed and supported. Sure, the RNC put out a memo to “Grow the Vote”. They expressed interest in getting more voters who don’t show a propensity to vote Republican.

Then they fired sixty people, including the ones running the Black and Hispanic outreach programs.

Frankly, I’m predicting a wobbly, angst driven 2024 TBP which will end with DJ Trump rejected by voters again. A shower of petulant anger, finger pointing, and angst will rise in the aftermath. Lots of lies will be brought up by DJT. He’ll probably claim he won despite all the evidence that he lost, and that he ran the most beautiful campaign ever.

And the TBP will goose step along with his claims, fueling the confusion and polarization on which the TBP thrives. Time will tell us if I’m right. Maybe I’m hopped up on caffeine and have it totally wrong. Hope not.

Today’s music comes from being out back (with Papi, the ginger wonder cat) on the patio this morning. I was considering the sky, which harbored some clouds in the blue sea over my head. Catching on that I was thinking about the sky, The Neurons began playing “Fall on Me” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). The 1986 R.E.M. song is about things falling from the sky, so I can see why The Neurons chose it.

Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote. I’ll do the same after I suck down more coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: flooftastic

3/12/24. Tuesday. Clouds have swept in with their shadowy crays. Stealth rain falls, altering the day’s complexion. When Papi and I went outside eightish-AM, sun was shining on us and the air smelled fresh. We noted, oh, this is nice weather with a strong early spring flavor. Now, though the temperature has pushed itself to 45 F, just five degrees short of the projected high, we’ve gone from spring to sprinter again. The rain and snow help the earth recover locally but it doesn’t sufficiently offset years of drought. We’re still considered abnormally dry. Looking at my yard is depressing. So many of the plants were fiercely damaged during the hot drought years. We investigated zeroscaping during that period but with the heat and wildfire smoke, it didn’t work out, mainly because I wanted to DIM but didn’t wish to endure those conditions to do it.

I watched a video from Jimmy Kimmel’s show. They called the skit “Debate and Switch”. Essentially, agents from the show went into South Carolina and asked Trump supporters questions. What the voters didn’t seem to know is that they would ask about things Trump did but mis-attribute them to President Biden. After the person answered, the interviewer would correct the question and note that it was something that Trump, and not President Biden, said or did.

First, it was hugely remarkable that they didn’t know who said what. Did they really not know, or were they just going along with it? Trump supporters are often accused of living in a right wing bubble and being oblivious to what’s going on. I don’t know how accurate this video is, but it seems damning. Likewise, their unblinking pivots about the two candidates shows how little thought they seem to put into matter. Give it a watch.

I have My Chemical Romance performing “Helena” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks, swear to cat). The Neurons explained because I was thinking about politics. Somewhere in the thought process, “What’s the worse that could be said,” part of a larger scheme of thinking around, “What’s the worse which can happen?” This song has several references to the worst: the worst I could take, the worst I could say, the worst you could take.” That’s why Les Neurons slotted it in there, even though MCR’s song is about a grandmother’s passing and has nothing to do with politics.

Stay positive, be strong, and register and vote. Coffee is being guzzled, thanks. Here’s the music. Hey, the sun is out. Cheers

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The War Dream

War was just becoming a reality in this dream. No details about who although I was alert for militia to and individuals or small groups to come in.

Details are likewise sparse about the location. Along a lazy ocean. Cloud-streak greyish blue sky. Sands and grasses, a desolate place. Nothing familiar.

I was in my forties or fifties. Friends and family were absent. But I belonged to some sort of community. I told them war was going to commence. The majority were doubtful but being pretty certain, I set off north to collect intel because I’d heard some opposition was up that way. I had a feeling they were preparing to come down to our location and cause problems.

I was in flatlands. Staying along a road that ran parallel to the coastline, I walked, taking my time. Others accosted me about who I was and what I was doing. Two of them, a man and a teenage male, joined me. The man carried a small dog. We all had handguns but that was it.

Some opposition was spotted. We hid in scrub grass and watched. Seemed like they were looking for us. I headed toward the water and circled around them. Backtracking down the coastline from the road’s other side, I saw my companions were spotted. A man was aiming a gun at them.

Hurrying, I found another long rifle on the ground sticking out of the grass. Grabbing it, I shot the gun man three times. I then slipped forward and shot another gun man. He had a WW II Nazi helmet on. His skin became ash and fell from his body, leaving a skeleton in clothing and a helmet laying in sand and grass.

Returning to the other two, I urged one to take the rifle because I thought myself a poor shot and believed they’d do better. Continuing north, we encountered others who wanted to join us. By the time we returned to the community where I’d started, fifty men, women, and children had joined me.

We had few weapons, though. From what I’d gathered, I decided I knew where the enemy would come and set up a series of ambushes for them. Someone reported to me that the Army was arriving. I went out and met some of them set up as a watch. Speaking with them, I urged them to move because they were out of position and would be overtaken by the attacking force. They told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I discussed it further with them. They threatened me so I snapped and dressed them down. The senior of them said that I needed to talk to the colonel.

I went off and made my case to the colonel about why his forces were placed wrong. He dismissed my concerns and basically claimed that he knew better. Writing him off, I returned to my force. They asked me about the Army. I told them that they weren’t moving but when the enemy came down, they’d eventually realize they were wrong and move.

I saw some enemy soldiers moving along the beach. “Here they come now,” I told the rest. “Don’t shoot until more are here. Try to take them alive if you can but don’t put yourself into danger.”

Dream end.

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I saw it in their body language and shaded eyes: what does this guy want? Can he be trusted?

Three women, three places, three weeks. I was being friendly. Thought I was charming, as I’ve done all my life. Maybe I was wrong all those years. Now, addressing these women in public places, catching their reactions, I have to re-think matters.

First, it’s their right to not be bothered by others, just as it’s mine. I thought that asking what someone was reading was safe and innocuous as we crossed paths at the coffee shop. She’d previously asked me to watch her purse for her. As a writer and reader, I’m often trying to learn what others are reading. It interests me. But asking this sixty-ish woman clearly disturbed her. Haven’t seen her since when she was a coffee shop regular. I hope I haven’t driven her away. I’m sorry.

I sincerely believed I knew the second woman from another place. I judged her to be in her sixties. She indulged me and responded but clearly thought I was up to something, maybe hitting on her. Sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.

I’m used to being flirty. I always thought I was charming. My wife and sisters always told me I was charming. Maybe they were being nice. Polite. Maybe I used to be charming but, older now, it’s no longer charming. Perhaps, because I’m older, it’s perceived as creepy.

Could be that it’s not me at all, but other matters, a product of our times. Women have endured unwanted male attention and assumptions and decided, enough. I’ll note, I do the same with males, chatting with them sometimes about what they’re reading, their accent, or talking to them because I think I might know them.

My wife has spoken of being approached by men in public. For example, she’s working out and a man walking by will tell her with a grin, “Smile.” Pisses her off. She’s exercising and sweating. It’s work. She’s focusing. Smiling is not part of her agenda, and she resents him telling her that because men are always saying things like to women.

I thought what I was doing was different. I guess I was rationalizing it as different and okay.

I quit, though. I’ll keep to my private circle, drop a cone of secrecy around it, only speak when addressed, and keep myself to myself.

This all probably reads like self-pitying whining. That’s not my intention but you’ll reach your own conclusion. I like to write to think through my thoughts. Doesn’t mean I need to post it for the public, but I often find that things which confuse me also confuses others. Or maybe I’m fishing for sympathy and just rationalizing that I’m searching for understanding. It’s a challenge for me because this is how I learned to be from Mom and my wife, polite and friendly. It’s inculcated in me.

I guess this is the new world, at least in progressive Ashlandia, for a sixty-seven-year-old white male. I just need to learn, accept, and adjust.

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Sunshine glistens, highlighting white clouds with plump blue and gray muscles, cutting through the chilly air like a friendly furnace. A Cooper’s Hawk judges the human traffic from a high-wire act. Three blackbirds start an overhead interaction from different compass points, pulling my attention with their fervor. Flying toward a central tree, they posture on naked branches. Intense chatter explodes. Stopping, I eavesdrop to see what I can learn. One spreads their wings, exposing large white coins on their wing’s bottom, and offers a short, shrill, impassioned speech that silences the others. The three depart in relative silence but flap away in the same direction. Some accommodation seems at hand.

Around the corner, a crow sits in a high bare oak branch, black against a blue sky, beaking on about his world assessments. Further on, a robin preaches from the top of a sagging brown wooden fence protecting a yard.

Spring might be coming, if you believe the bird gossip.

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Satur-day’s Theme Music

Mood: consnowplative

Saturday, March 2, 2024. The winter storm finally discovered Ashlandia. Snow fell through the night and falls still this morning. Gathering to 4 inches around my life zone, the flakes come in an unending, peaceful, almost joyous descent. The scene out there is remarkably white and colorless. Even where parts of bushs and trees can be seen, their colors are diluted.

It’s 31 F now. Snow is expected to continue all day. Tonight’s low will be 24. This is what we needed. Maps show that it’s snowing the mountains, too, building the snowpack for summer.

I’ll stay home and try to write. The cats shouldn’t cause interference; Tucker has been medicated, and the pain meds knock him out for about four hours. He grows so stll, I check for breathing and notice one eye cracking open, ears shifting, to see who’s there. Papi has explored outside and is now exploring sleep in a warm living room niche. He seems to like this space between a tree by the button chair and the enterainment center. I refer to it as Papi’s Niche.

The Neurons have loaded my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) with music. Eric Clapton joins the Beatles to perform “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, a particular favorite of mine. But there is also “I Want to Take You Higher” by Sly and the Family Stone, Chicago with “25 or 6 to 4”, and “Love Shack” performed by the B-52s.

Conversation with a friend may have inspired that last one. Meeting with a friend, he imparted some Vietnam conflict adventures he had as Army infantry. One story involved being ordered to get up and run because B-52s will coming in to bomb their location. He remembered looking up between the trees and seeing the bombers coming in, high and small from distance and altitude, while helicopters, lower but also small in perspective were entering the area from another direction. His order were running up a hill when then they were ordered, “Down now,” and the bombs began hitting.

But today’s theme music is another in the MMMS, “Superstar” from Jesus Christ Superstar, sung by Murray Head and the Trinidad Singers from 1969. This rocking song is relevant today as Christians work on tearing down democracy and freedom in America and work to estabish a white-man ruled theocracy ruled by a completely corrupt sinner, Donald J. Trump, by attacking reality itself.

Another dream storm last night. I’ve noticed now that I have this pattern; if I have a busy dream night, I’ll also have several songs in the morning mental music stream. But in parallel, my creativity increases, too. Wanting to understand more lead me to a search and articles like this one. I couldn’t find any decent articles talking about potential corelations between dreaming, ear worms, and creativity, but I’ll continue searching.

Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote. I will do the same. I’m up for more coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers

2

A Book Dream

A short dream recap.

I was in a room, high walls painted sky blue, tall windows which looked out over a hill which lead to a beach and see, white ceiling. ‘My book’ as I referenced it was on an old but polished dark brown table that I’d been using to write. My book was finished and had a cover which I partially saw: sky blue, yellow, with a red frame around some scene and the title in red.

I left the room and returned, finding the table gone, along with my book. I hurried back into the other room and asked what someone to tell me what had happened. I’d been half expecting the table to be taken away but having my book removed upset me. A tall, angular woman with short brown hair told me that the mover had taken the table and inadvertently took my book with it. They’re realized their error and were bringing the book back. I was looking out the window while she spoke. “There they are now,” she said, pointing out.

A helicopter was high in the sky coming toward us. This was one of those heavy lift Chinooks with two rotors. A large white lighthouse with a red tile roof dangled on a hook and cable. “Yes, I see it,” I answered and settled down to patiently arrive, and begin hearing its distinctive helicopter sound getting louder.

The helicopter arrived and lowered the lighthouse. When they finished, I went into the original room and found my book. Unfortunately, it was high on the wall and out of my reach. I searched for a ladder. None was available, so I returned to the other room and complained to the angular woman. She said, “I’ll get it moved so you can reach it.”

I went back into the other room. The book had been lowered. Standing on my toe tips and stretching fully out, I was just able to reach it. With it finally in hand, I opened the tome and began reading.

Dream end.

After I awoke and thought about the dream, I realized that my dream self had equated the book as the lighthouse, and meditated a while about what that meant.

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

The barista and I chatted when I ‘ordered’. Ordering wasn’t needed; my order was known and delivered before I reached the counter.

During our chat, it was somehow revealed that the barista was 20 years old. Then it came out that her father was three years older than her when he became a father (she was the oldest), and she couldn’t imagine that. She was nowhere ready to be a parent, herself.

I, meanwhile, did the math, and made that her father was probably about 43 years old. Meaning, he wasn’t born when the Stones song I listened to on the car radio on the way to the coffee shop was released (“Wild Horses”, 1970). Curious, I asked her if she knew who the Stones were. Yes, she said. She knew them because Dad was a fan. His older brother had introduced him to them after their parents introduced the Stones to the older brother. All this made me think that her grandparents were probably just a few years older than me.

And all of this is so right and fine, and amusing.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: ambivasense.

‘Brrr’ cold covers Tuesday morning’s description. It’s February 27, 2024. Feb 31 is just around the corner (not really). Spring is too, in theory, but winter is saying, put me in, coach. 30 F when I slunk out of bed, our temperature eventually chugged up to the mid-forties but it didn’t feel warm. Even comfortably furred floofies said no thank you to the scattered clouds and tepid sunshine owning the morning. Returning to the inside, they situated themselves in comfortable warm places, said good night to daylight, and went to sleep.

My wife and I went running around this morning. A late morning breakfast at the excellent Sweet Beet Station in Talent, Oregon, and then over to Quality Paperbacks, where we picked up another half dozen books, because the waiting to read pile can never be too big. Then to a few stores for a couple items, and here I am, starting my writing day in the mid-afternoon.

The floofs inspired The Neurons’ song choice this morning. As they clamored for their morning meal, I told them to take it easy, I’d be with them in a minute, but some things were needed to be done ahead of time. These things TBDone including mixing up Tucker’s medical slurry. While I was doing that, West and Petty’s electrified guitars lit up the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks).

In truth, I think the song was lurking beneath my mind’s covers, waiting for a chance to leap up. After all, Petty sings about an “American girl raised on promises.” This is an era of promise and denial in America IMO. Like, yes, being told that women have equal rights under the Constitution only to have those rights stripped away by a right wing trying to force its religion on the rest of us. I’m talking about abortion, of course and the Dobbs decision overruling women’s right to take care of themselves in favor of something growing inside them. It may be 2024, but the logic of 1984 is gaining strength. Take Texas, for example.

Sorry, politics just keep bubbling up in my thinking. I’ll try to keep it contained.

BTW, “American Girl” was the last song Tom Petty performed in concert before he passed away.

Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote, please. Here’s the music. Cheers

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