

Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I recall four brief dream snippets from last night/this morning. In the first I was taking broken material and setting the edges together. After I did that, I’d fuse them into one piece. The materials were mostly like thick, green safety glass. After sealing them, I’d shape them. This was all being done with a little effort by using my hands. Strangers began coming by with more of the glass for me to use, but would also sometimes bring other materials that I’d blend into it. I passed out the fixed sections so people could take them to protect themselves.
The next dream segment found me wandering around this place as the sun set and dusk crept over the land. It was an outside venue. Other people were sitting and talking in small quiet groups. As I went around, I discovered a small stash of cut watermelon pieces. I took some for me and my friends, then went back and told my friends about the stash. I went back several times. The second time I returned, I used a different angle so I could see more of the stash, and discovered it was larger than I realized. The third time, I saw that the watermelon was different. Others were using it too, I deduced, but there was still a great deal of watermelon. As I investigated it I found a glass, which turned out to be a champagne flute filled with champagne. I then found a second one. I thought, well, if there’s flutes of champagne, they must be storing them temporarily, but it was odd, storing champagne like that. Removing them and setting them aside, I saw grapes and cheese. I put all of that back and left in, worried about being caught.
The whole episode caused me to think about where else things might be. I looked in another place and found a stash of candy bars. I didn’t see a name on them because they were face down, but they were large, in dark brown wrappers aligned in a row and stacked deep.
Next, I was signing my name to documents while seated at a desk. I was doing this in response to some vague demand; the papers were expected to be signed. A man came along and leaned over my shoulder and watched me sign.
“Just as I thought,” he said.
“What?” I replied.
“There’s power in your stars.”
That amused me. “What stars?”
“The stars in your name.”
“My name doesn’t have any stars.” As I said this, I signed my name again. My signature and name were just as I did in real life, and the ink was the thick black that I prefer.
He said, “The stars between your names. There’s a lot of space in those stars. You can do a lot more with them.”
I responded that I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He pointed to where I was signing. “You’re signing your name twice.” True. “In between them is a star.” Also true, which I hadn’t noticed. “Those stars have huge capacities. You should be using them”
The final snippet found me discovering a small cardboard box. I opened it. A kitten was inside. It meowed at me, so I picked it up. I immediately knew that there was another box with another kitten. After getting the second kitten, I took the two of them and put them someplace safe. I watched until they started playing. Then they saw food and began eating. I closed where they were, knowing they would be alright.
One, two
Where are my shoes?
Three, four
Did I shut the door?
Five, six
I need to replace my hips
Seven, eight
Come on, it’s getting late
Nine, ten
We have to do that again?
Sipping coffee, he watched the morning sky drizzle soft rain over the grass and trees. Mom was in the hospital. Her house was quiet in a different way. It wasn’t the house he grew up in. No, he was years gone when she found and purchased this house. She and the house shared a character. They’d spent years together. Feeling like the house missed her, he told the house what was going on, so it wouldn’t worry.
It was the least he could do for such a kind house.
Don’t count your money before they hatch, he reminded himself. Yes, the expression was amiss, but it felt oddly right today.
The muses insist, “Write, write.” They follow their own order and structure, indifferent to what’s happening in his life or the real world. They don’t care what goes on there. They are there to make him write, no matter how his mind and emotions teeter with the events overtaking his life.
As news about his mother’s declining condition was received, he thought for a while and then, teary-eyed, told her with his mind across time and space, “Well, Mom, I’m good with whatever you decide to do. You’ve known pain and sickness for so many years. If you decide you’re done, I understand.”
She would be missed, though. Strong, intelligent, and vital, she was his favorite mother. Probably always would be.
He heard a character on a commercial say, “I’ll need a lot of duct tape. The sticky kind.”
That put him on a path of wonder, is there ‘non-sticky’ duct tape? Is this something he should google?
After the server walked away, he turned to his partner. “Did you notice that she has glitter on her eyes?”
His partner’s expression widened in shock. “She has blood on her face?”
The shock was now his. “No, not blood, glitter. GLITTER.”
But he kept wondering, did he say blood? He thought he said glitter. Yes, he had to wonder.
He read that male giraffes will butt female giraffes in their bladder until they urinate. The male will then taste the female’s urine to see if she’s ovulating.
Imagining how all that might have worked if humans had followed a similar course, he decided that he was glad that humans did not.