Category: miscellaneous

The Twelve Powers Dream

Last night’s featured dream included me as a young man. I put myself in my early twenties, with thick brown hair, my brown military ‘stach, tight skin, and a fit physique. Wasn’t in the military, but looked like me when I was in the military.

However, I wasn’t using my real life name. Instead of Michael, I was Richard when I was male, but also knew my name as Adley when I was female. I never was female in the dream, but I knew that as my female name, because I sometimes became a female.

I didn’t know anyone else’s name in the dream.

It began, strangely, with an awakening. I’d been busy with some undefined matters when recent memories were unearthed. From them, I realized that I’d been part of a project. In this project were twelve people who had special powers to change things. That included changing reality by modifying the past, present, and future. We collaborated in various ways as a team of twelve.

The twelve were male and female, insofar as I knew, and all young people into their mid-twenties. We didn’t all usually work at the same place and time, though.

We did wear a sort of uniforms, black pants with a square green tunic. I don’t think I knew the others’ names because the project didn’t want us to develop relationships.

The Project’s goal was to fix things that had gone wrong with the world. When I was part of it, we’d restored water to drought areas, and used our powers to collect trash from the sea and destroy it. To do this effectively, we’d be located in separate locations. This was based on the project’s calculations of how to best accomplish our goals. Everything was sharply compartmentalized.

From my new memories, I understood that the twelve had been reduced to seven. I’d been part of the seven. That was done because the released five didn’t work with us. Their ideas about how to fix the world didn’t match with the rest of us.

Then I learned that I’d been cut, along with all but one. After we’d been cut, access to our memories about the project were curtailed. Apparently, those memories were now restored because there was a problem with the project.

When everyone was cut, a three-year-old toddler was retained. This child had a remarkable ability to remake the world. More powerful than the rest of us powers, project management had concluded that one power was easier to guide, especially since this was a child.

I’d never known there was a child on the project. I usually worked alone, so I was immensely surprised.

Unfortunately, as the child’s powers exponentially grew, the toddler became willful, and, well, evil and destructive. They were doing whatever they wanted; the course the child followed would soon destroy the world. Stopping him was why I and five more were brought back.

We were watching this curly-haired white child as I remembered this information.

Realizing what was happening, I pulled a handgun. As the others gaped, without hesitating, I shot the child.

My peers were horrified. A woman said, “You shot him. You shot a child. Why do you even have a gun?”

“For things like this,” I retorted. “But it didn’t do much. Look.”

All six of us with powers were watching. In the men’s clothing section of a carpetted department store, the power child, shot through the chest, was staggering around between clothing racks filled with dark suits, but not bleeding. I was shocked and sickened.

“We can’t kill him,” another power said.

That confirmed what I’d guessed. I’d read the project manual. Killing us, the powers, if necessary was listed in one section, if that’s what it took if something went wrong. I believed that the project had already attempted to kill the child before they brought the rest of us back.

I suggested to the other five powers that I grapple with the child, power to power. Two others with powers mocked and criticized the idea. One, a male, said, “You can’t. Your powers aren’t not as strong as him.”

“I agree,” I answered, “my powers aren’t as strong, but they’re pretty good. Plus, I’m older than him, with more experience, and I think I’m smarter than him.”

“Still,” another power, a female said, “you can’t beat him.”

Impatiently I shook my head, irritated that they didn’t grasp what I was thinking. “I don’t want to beat him. I just want to stall and distract him so that the project and the rest of you can figure out how to stop him.”

“I’ll help you,” another male power said. “Two must be better than one.”

I agreed. At that point, the child charged us. With a hand wave, he brought the building smashing down.

Instantly countering, I restored the building and flipped the child upside down. I knew the child always worked through other things. Directly working him instead of things around him, would delay and distract him, in my reasoning.

Grasping what I was doing, the power helping me spun the child and wrapped in layers of clothing. Soon he was the center of a ball of shirts, pants, and suits.

Unfortunately, that’s where the dream ended.

Awakening, I thought a great deal about the dream. While flattering to be cast as someone with power to change the world, I thought it a manifestation of wishful thinking, given the course of recent world events and our inability to take decisive action on global problems. The child represents those who would destroy the world without concern for themself or anyone in the world.

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’d been sitting and writing for almost ninety minutes. The coffee was cold, the mug almost empty.

My rear end requested a break. I agreed that it was a good time to break, so my rear end and the rest of my body went for a walk.

Sunshine flooded the area as I left the coffee shop. Within a minute, heavy rain began descending. My head whipped around in search of a rainbow. None spotted.

A woman was coming up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Slowing as she reached me, she asked, “Where’s the rainbow? I see sunshine and rain. There’s gotta be one.”

Laughing and nodding, I answered, “I looked and didn’t see one.”

She resumed her previous pace. “Well, there’s gotta be one out there, and I wanna see it.”

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

I’m a regular at one coffee house in town. There are other regulars but I’m told that I’m one of the most consistent and dependable. I spend a few hours a day in there, drinking my favorite black brew while sitting in the corner, writing.

The baristas and manager all know me just because I’ve been coming here so long, and we chat when I’m ordering. We talk about football, politics, books, news, movies, etc. They know my drink — it’s always the same — so ordering is not necessary, though paying is. It isn’t unusual for them to hand me my drink when I step up to order.

I suppose this is why one small but touching practice has evolved. For whatever reasons — miscommunication or mistake — they’ll end up with food that the customer they made it for doesn’t want it. This includes pastries, cookies, brownies, cake, and sandwiches. So often, they walk across the crowded room to offer it to me first.

I am touched but usually turn it down. I have more than enough to eat. While I appreciate it, I think there are others who would appreciate, enjoy, and need it more than me. And, when I turn it down, they do find another who wants it.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

Austin is gone. I haven’t seen him in days.

Austin showed up earlier in 2023. Just after spring, is what I think. A white man in his mid-twenties, he appeared to be in good health. About 6′ 2″, his hair was bright, shiny copper. His shoulders were broad but he was otherwise lean, but didn’t seem very musular. His clothes, usually green or gray, the sort worn for hiking, were in excellent condition. A large backpack rested on his shoulders and back.

My interactions with him were brief and superficial. I nodded to him once and said, “Hello.” He didn’t answer. I held the door open for him another time and was rewarded with, “Thank you.” Thank you is the most I ever heard him say to anyone.

Quickly becoming a daily regular, Austin usually requested water or ordered tea. His voice was low, with a soft tone. I rarely heard him order, but saw the tea or water. He never spoke to other patrons and sat alone, sipping his drink and listening to his phone through earphones. He didn’t have a regular seat, as I do. He sat wherever there was space, stripping off his huge backback and setting it on the floor beside him. People tried to give him money several times; he always rejected it.

His routine presence intrigued me. I like watching people and observing matters. Regulars and their habits are like a weird hobby for me, which I call ‘coffee shop spotting’. I have made several friends in this way. I’ve often included aspects of what I observe in my fiction writing.

Since we’re located close to the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT), I speculated that Austin was walking it and stopping in Ashland for a break. Many hikers pass through here in that way. They’re a normal, regular sight. Many stock up on supplies, rest and clean up, pick up mail, and receive packages. I figured Austin was doing these things.

But one week became two, and two weeks expanded into several months. Austin spent the entire summer in Ashland, walking Ashland Street with his pack on his back, stopping at the coffee shop, and then going back out and walking down the street again. I never saw him anywhere else. I don’t know where he slept. He always presented a neat and clean impression.

Now he’s gone. I never met him but I worry about him. He’d become part of my daily landscape. I asked the coffee shop workers if they knew any more about him; no. Several shared my concerns and had made many of the same questions. Austin never elaborated to him about any of his plans and situation. I know that local homeless individuals tried becoming his friend, but he rebuffed him, too.

I hope he’s okay, and that he’s not same killer or something on the run, and that whatever brought him spend the summer in Ashland has been resolved in his favor. Maybe there never was anything. Perhaps he was just taking time out from his life for a while.

It shouldn’t be important to me; other people have come and gone. It’s that Austin was a regular but an enigma. That made him a puzzle.

Now he’s gone but the puzzle remains, probably never to be solved. I hope he wasn’t injured or hurt. In my mind, I’ve sent him back to the world where he started. He’s resumed his life, and is back in college.

One can hope.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: chill

Good morning, fellow travelers. It’s Sunday, October 8, 2023.

Indian summer continues in Ashlandia, where the people are mostly progressive, and concern about climate change continues to rise. Today’s weather looks just like yesterday’s with sunshine and blue sky continuing its autumn takeover. Temperatures range from 56 F in the morning to 87 F in the afternoon’s final hours. I am very happy about it and hope it doesn’t end soon.

A friend’s seventieth birthday was celebrated at her house yesterday. She has two sons. It was her sons and her son’s husband, along with her other son’s boyfriend, who planned and hosted the bash.

She’s a retired botanish. As such, the taught botany at California and Oregon colleges and universities. She also worked with the forest service extensively. Naturally, that life work and its locations were dominated the guest list. Many Phds attended. Professors, BLM and forest service people were plentiful. Botanists dominated.

Let me tell you, these botanist are engaging, charming people. They love to have a good life. So we all had a good time.

The party defined The Neurons’ music selection today. I have “Get A Haircut” by George Thorogood and the Destroyers circulating in the morning mental music stream. Released in 1992, the song tells the story of a long-haired fellow who keeps receiving the advice to cut his hair and find real employment working nine to five. Thorogood didn’t write the song; that was done by Bill Birch and David Avery. Thorogood heard it while in Australia and liked it because it pretty well defined exactly what he was hearing.

The Neurons began playing it because I asked many people last night about their jobs. I enjoy drawing people on these things. For example, one woman had retired after thirty years as a librarian, even though she’d been educated to be an urban planning. After receiving her degrees, she decided that she didn’t want to be involved with urban planning. But a job was needed to pay bills, so she applied for a job as a part-time librarian. Its order and structure appealed to her. This was back in the days when people, organizations, and businesses would call the library for help on research. She especially enjoyed that. That job is rarely needed these days because corporations bought or developed their own databases, and the Internet emerged. Just fascinating to hear her recount as the slow change in her job took place over the final twenty years.

Stay pos, be strong, and keep reaching for the stars. Here’s the music. Let me go find coffee. Cheers

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The Organic Machine Dream

I had a plethora of dreams last night. This was one of the more interesting to me.

I was a younger man. I looked and acted like I was in my thirties, thirty years plus younger than my real life age. But I looked like myself from that time, tanned, thick brown hair, fit and sender.

Life was keeping me busy and active, reading, writing, playing softball and racquetball, hurrying around, doing errands and talking to people.

During all of that, I came to meet someone. I can’t describe them because I never saw them. Nor can I tell you how they sounded because I heard them, but they were speaking and not speaking.

They had interrupted what I was doing to tell me that I was part of a machine. Confusion was my reaction. Further explanations followed that they had created a machine which was wholly organic. I asked them if the were aliens but I don’t recall an answer to that question.

At that point, though, I was busy and just wanted to get on with everything and hustled off. Later, I stopped to get coffee. They accosted me to say again that I was part of the machine. I didn’t understand what they’d said, and asked for clarification. They launched a long and detailed explanation that they were using humans for many features in an organic machine which they’d created, and that I was one of two individuals who’d been selected as the brains.

While flattered, I thought they could have made a better choice for their brain than me, and told them so.

They countered that the functioning they needed from me was far above my conscious thinking level, or the subconscious. I first asked if drinking coffee with caffeine would affect the brain and the machine, and joked about their machine getting hyper from too much caffeine.

They answered that none of that affected it because the brain function they were employing was beyond an organic level.

That prompted me to retort, “Your organic machine is using parts of humans which aren’t organic?” I laughed at that.

They seriously responded, “Yes.”

I asked them if they were talking about the Id, ego, and super-ego, trying to comprehend it. They replied that it was beyond those levels as well, pushing me to ask what was beyond that level?

They asked me if I wanted to see the machine. Enthusiastially, I replied, “Sure.”

“You’re standing in it,” they replied.

Confusion and suspicions squirted up in me. I’d been outside, among trees and buildings, cars, utility wires, streets, and businesses. Now I was in a glistening pink edifice with tall, vaulted areas, reminding me of the inside of a pink church.

“How did I get here?” I asked.

“You were always here.”

That made me think of the movie, The Matrix. Before I could speak, they asked if I wanted to see my part.

“Yes.”

They told me to go further in. Not feeling anything but curiosity, I did, walking until I reached an intersection. Ahead were two pink tubes, which reminded me of short smokestacks. Five feet tall, they were about two feet in diameter.

“Where do I go now?” I asked.

“That’s it, you’re here. You’re the brain on the left.”

I looked at tubes. “Those are brains?”

“Yes, they just need the energy. We wanted to tell you and show you because as your brain changes, our brain will grow more powerful. As it grows more powerful, you will become more intelligent and powerful, and then, so will it. As each of you change and grow, you’ll feed the other. We thought you should be aware of that”

Dream end.

I have no idea what this dream was about. I woke up feeling surprised. Thinking about the dream, I concluded, “That was different.” I wanted to just dismiss it but instead felt compelled to keep thinking about it, as though I was preparing for more to come. Intrigued, part of me thinks, wow, some power is informing me that I’m going to go through great changes. A more cynical aspect thinks that’s highly dubious; it’s just random neurons firing parts of my brain as I sleep.

I’ll let you know if more of the dream ever does come.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

A woman in the coffee shop accosted me today. We’re both regulars. We see each other there, sometimes nodding. I’m always at a table, using a table to write. She’s a few years older than me and typically buys something to eat, checks her phone, and reads a book.

Today, we said hello. I was in the midst of revising a page. She asked, “I notice you always a wear a green hat.”

I do; it’s a Tilly. I nodded.

“Is there a reason for why you wear it?”

Deeply seriously, I replied, “Yes. It has a foil lining built into it.”

Puzzlement folded into her expression. “A foil lining?”

“Yes, you know, to protect me.”

She studied me. I think she was trying to decide if I was joking. Smiling and nodding, I returned to my writing.

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The Dream of Getting Lost

This dream began with my wife naked in front of me. She was on her knees in a room when I walked in. We flirted and I began kissing her and nibbling her ear lobes. She said, “Let’s move this into the other room.” Aroused and ready, I agreed.

We went into the other room, which was the living room. She said, “I’ll be right back.”

While she was gone, I stripped off my clothes. When she returned, she was fully dressed and had two other women with her. I knew both of them.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

My wife replied, “My book club is arriving.”

Well, that took me aback but I didn’t feel like now was the time to discuss it. Discreetly, I made my way out.

Dressing in the other room, I took off through the local area. It turned out to be a village built on several hills thick with pine and oak trees. The roads were narrow and winding, but I was enjoying my walk.

Going up a steep hill, I found a huge border of tall, trimmed bushes. Slipping through them, I discovered myself at a palatial estate.

A young boy approached. He seemed like he was ten years old. We briefly tossed a baseball back and forth. He told me that this was his house and invited me in to see it. “It’s like a museum,” he finished.

My curiousity had grown. The house presented a huge, jumbled, modern appearance of arches and glass, with multiple types of materials finishing the facade, complementing the many large, dark windows.

I entered the house with him. The boy was right; the first room we entered was tall and broad. Art and aniquities filled the space. Walking around, I gawked at art pieces. Several were Picasso pieces, from the cubist and blue periods. I was astounded to find them in a house in a small village and thought the people who owned the property must be very wealthy.

The boy who was my host had left. Nervous about being alone there, I was accosted by a woman coming down a large spiral staircase. Brunette, slender, not tall, and very attractive, she wore blue jeans and a red top. She seemed to be about the same age as me.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

I explained why I was there. Her son came down and verified my story. Nervous, I decided to leave. She protested that I didn’t need to leave. We began walking around, looking at art and antiques. Standing very close to me, she told about how they came to own the pieces. Acting on impulse, I kissed her.

I prepared to be slapped or rush out, and apologize. In response, she took my hand behind a screen and kissed me. I was both excited and worried. She kept leading me into nooks and niches, kissing me and encouraging my advances.

Then her son said, “Hi, Dad.”

I was horrified that the woman’s husband was with us. Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, he was silver haired with black streaks, slightly taller than myself, and a few years older.

The woman introduced me to him. I thought any dalliance with the woman was over, but she continued leading me to secluded places, where we made out with teenagers. I saw the husban suspiciously eyeing me. Not wanting a confrontation, I left.

The wife caught up with me outside and gave me her number, asking me to call her so we can meet and finish what we started. I was dubious. The whole thing was crazy. I left her without promising anything but kept the number, sticking it into a pocket.

Darkened skies had taken over while I inside. Now going up another hill past throngs of people shopping in many small shops and boutiques, I remembered that a book store was up the hill and headed there to buy a book for my wife. After chatting with the owner, I purchased the book and headed down another stretch of hill. It was later and darker, and I wasn’t sure where I was. Thinking I knew a shortcut, I took a few turns.

I ended up completely lost in a maze of small white shops along an alley. Big raindrops began striking me and splattering along the ground. Stopping at a bakery, I bought pastries for me and my wife. The rain intensified while I was in the bakery. As I opened the door to leave, the shopkeeper urged me to stay inside until the rain stopped.

I declined. Going out, I was quickly drenched. I still didn’t know where I was and kicked myself for not asking for directions at the bakery. I kept going, though, believing that I would find my way. It didn’t help that the sun was behind clouds, and the rain was so thick that I couldn’t see far.

Then, unexpectedly, I saw two trees and knew where I was. Seeing my house, I hurried to the covered front porch. Sopping wet, I stood on the porch, ate a pastry, and watched the rain as dusk heralded night’s entrance.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: introspective

Sunshine glistens off a wet, clean sheen, complementing the air’s fresh smell with sigh-inducing vigor. Fall has been good to Ashlandia, so far. That could present further clues about why I like it. Summer in our zone becomes damaging. Blazing sun takes over, cooking the plants. Temperatures lunge into the nineties toward triple digits. Sweat pours off us as the heat broils us. Wildfires light up as summer lightning strikes parched vegetation. Smoke spreads, clotting our lungs and stinging our eyes.

Come fall, with soothing, “there, there” damp temperatures, the world relaxes; we the people relax with it. In my perfect world, I’d have fall weather but with the long stretch of daylight seen in the summer. That’s where fall fails me, as orbits and planes shift, moving the sun away from us, shortening the daylight.

Temperatures today will operate in a narrow zone. 56 F now, cloudy, 66 F later, with rains coming and going throughout the day.

A bevy of tunes fell into the morning mental music stream (Tradement teasing). Dreams sparked these. Such a myriad of wild, long dreams were experienced. The Neurons just rode the current. The song which ended up on top was “Who Can It Be Now?” by Men At Work from the 1980s.

It’s a true Aussie new wave sound. The part which The Neurons linked to a dream is a line, “It’s not the future that I can see, it’s just my fantasy.” That’s a true beat to my waking mind dealing with the dream mind.

Stay pos and hydrated, be strong and push forward. I can and will with help from my little dark friend steaming in a large mug. Here’s the music. Let’s enjoy some life. Cheers

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