Category: News

Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: impetuous

We’re here until we’re not.

Slipperday, October 28, 2023, skated into Ashlandia, where people walk carefully in the shadows, wary that their feet will find ice and take them down. Spiky clumps of green grass stand tall, sprayed white, and stiff with cold. A wind keen with an icy edge lashes the house. It’s 31 F outside but no fear; sunshine is lifting over the trees and mountains. Soon the sun will gain enough elevation to pump some heat into the moment. We’ll be sizzling in the mid-50s F by the mid afternoon.

Warmer weather is on the way. November’s early days next week will take us into the mid to upper sixties as autumn entertains a last hurrah before December flexes in. All we can do is watch and adjust, and brace for holidays.

I have “Burning Down the House” by Talking Heads ringing out in the morning mental music stream (Trademark burning). The Neurons put it in there after a convo with friends and general remarks made about GOP intentions. Some thought they were burning down the house, others posited they were burning down the government, burning down the country, burning down the world, through their calculated disinterest, continuing efforts to manufacture and stoke divisions and fears.

The song title and repeating phrase, “Burning down the house,” is a metaphor as I understand it, about the house not burning down but being torn apart. In an interview heard years ago, David Byrne, who wrote the song, said it was also about schizophrenia.

Ah
Watch out, you might get what you’re after
Cool, babies – strange but not a stranger
I’m an ordinary guy
Burning down the house

[Verse 2]
Hold tight, wait till the party’s over
Hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather
There has got to be a way
Burning down the house

[Chorus 1]
Here’s your ticket, pack your bag, it’s time for jumping overboard
The transportation is here
Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are
Fighting fire with fire, ah!

[Verse 3]
All wet, here, you might need a raincoat
Shake-down, dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hundred sixty-five degrees
Burning down the house

[Chorus 2]
It was once upon a place, sometimes I listen to myself
Gonna come in first place
People on their way to work say, “Baby, what did you expect?”
Gonna burst into flame, ah

Burning down the house

[Verse 4]
My house is out of the ordinary
That’s right, don’t wanna hurt nobody
Some things sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house

[Chorus 3]
No visible means of support and you have not seen nothing, yet
Everything’s stuck together
I don’t know what you expect staring into the TV set
Fighting fire with fire, ah

So it seems apt as a theme song. We have elected officials in the form of Republicans (Marjorie Taylor Greene, Mike Ross, Lauren Boebert) who don’t understand the Constitution or are willing to dismiss it (and people’s rights) for the expediency of their own religion, rights, and privilege. There’s the schizophrenic part – elected to serve but instead tearing the government down – as well as the tearing down the house aspect.

I think The Neurons made a superb choice, and this live video is sharp with sound and energy.

Stay pos, be strong, and keep moving forward. Freshly delivered coffee will fuel my flight today. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: disappointed

Winter stepped closer to us today. Though it’s Thursday, October 26, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the animals are heading for hibernation, and so are quite a few people, the lows are now in the thirties at night. Our present temp here is 38 F, and it’s blue-sky sunny. Today’s high will be in the low to mid sixties, but tonight will drop to 32 and more snow will kiss the elevations.

Snow on the els is a good thing, though. Snowpacks require replenishing, as do all the ways we save water to support ourselves through the dry, hot summer.

Today’s mood (disappointed) results from the House GOP Speaker vote. With Rep Johnson installed, another right turn toward the dark edge was taken. Yeah, pessimist, aren’t I? No reason to believe otherwise. Modeates went along with him because they realized that the GOP’s naked dysfunction was ugly optics. Voters no like, markets no like, allies no like. Had to change those optics somehow. And Rep Johnson, a hard right conservative who preaches religion to save us while stamping out abortion choices and rights but affable enough to get along with all the GOP factions, is their Missouri Compromise, a temporary peace with nothing resolved.

My internal optimist suggest wait; see. My pragmatist laughed at my optimist.

Feel like we’re just bleeding the Earth dry. Suck out all the fossil fuels. Drink all the water, bottle it up and sell it for a few dollars more, or throw it on landscaping and golf courses. Douse the crops and fill the swimming pools. We keep butting up to limits. So what will be cut? Who will stop getting water? The wealthy and powerful will keep getting water. ‘Cause they’re the ones with the most say in a capitalistic democracy. Some voters and citizens will shrug it all off as a temporary setback or completely deny it’s happening. Others will desperately fight to change our course but will be blocked and obstructed every time, on every initiative. That’ll go on right up to the bitter end, when even the wealthy start singing the out of water blues.

Speaking of vampires and blues, The Neurons eavesdropped on my whining and dropped Neil Young and “Vampire Blue” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fading). It’s a classic Young song, spare of chords, simple structure and words, delivered in a weary tone. At least, that’s how I har him.

Stay pos, vote, be strong and keep getting up after you go down. I’ll do the same. Just pour some coffee down my throat first, would’cha? Say, how much water does coffee take? I’m as addicted as the rest to the way it was.

Sigh. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tueday’s Theme Music

Mood: puzzled

I’m careening along through the year, charging toward the next month with barely time to notice this month. So it feels, and has felt.

Today is Tuesday, October 24, 2023 in Ashlandia, where cheese, bread, and wine are made locally and taste above average. Leaves with fading colors litter the ground, crowding against curbs, huddling in storm drains and taking shelter against buildins and in bushes. High cirrocumulus offerings mark the blue sky’s ceiling like small pieces of popcorn. They’re moving east at an impressive clip as more serious looking stratus flow in from the east, heading west. 52 F now, 61 F is the purported high, according to those who know. Rain showers are forecast for this evening.

Songwise, I have “It’s Ok” buzzing in my head, a gift from The Neurons. Overhearing a person actually saying those words in the coffee shop, The Neurons immediately slotted them into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fabricated).

Released by Imagine Dragons in 2021, the song is about feeling different or being different. You know that feeling, right? Probably. I think most people feel it at one time or another, a sense that they’re either lost or out of step with everyone else, maybe confused about the beat they’re marching to because no one else hears it. The song reassures us that being so is acceptable.

It’s okay to be not okay
It’s just fine to be out of your mind
Breathe in deep, just a day at a time
‘Cause it’s okay to be out of your mind, mind

I don’t want this body, I don’t want this voice
I don’t wanna be here, but I guess I have no choice
Just let me live my truth, that’s all I wanna do
Baby, you’re not broken, just a little bit confused

h/t Genius.com

Stay pos, be chill, remain strong. I believe it’s coffee time. Join me?

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: unsteady

Another Monday is about us in Ashlandia, where the rain falls mainly in the valley, and the streams and rivers swell with the results.

The weather is 52 F, cloudy and rainy. Forecasters warn that today’s high will be 65 F, with intermittent clouds, but it won’t rain. It’s a good coffee and reading day.

As for the world outside of Ashlandia, there were no overnight miracles. The news reports that the ongoing wars are still ongoing, one in Europe, and one in the middle-east. Besides those two, the GOP still wars with the GOP in the US. I don’t look for a quick or happy resolution to the war in the middle-east, but expect it to trudge on as has happened with Russia and Ukraine in Europe.

The GOP war with themselves reminds me of MAD Magazine’s Spy vs. Spy feature, with less humor.

To summarize, led by the hardline Gang of Eight, the Republicans outsted their own guy as Speaker, Kevin McCarthy, even though they’re all part of the majority party nominally known as the GOP. Since booting McCarthy, the House has not been functioning much.

Note: the House wasn’t doing much before losing its Speaker, mostly because the GOP was determined to be the Grand OBSTRUCTIONIST Party. This is largely because a Democrat is POTUS, and most of the GOP’s ideas involve stripping rights from others, banning books, and keeping fossil fuels as the nation’s primary energy source.

Steve Scalise, House Majority Leader, R-La, tried and failed to become the new House Speaker, and withdrew after that one attempt.

Jim Jordan, a hardliner from Ohio, tried and failed after three rounds of voting to become Speaker. Just couldn’t find the votes. He’s considered too hard right and has never been known to compromise. Besides that, he has a poor legislative record.

“Critics of Rep. Jim Jordan (R-Ohio) have increasingly pointed to this – most notably the fact that he has yet to get a bill signed into law since being elected in 2006.” h/t to UnionLeader.com.

A line during Saturday Night Live’s cold open captured the essence of Jim Jordan’s attempt to be Speaker: “I want to be Speaker so that government starts functioning again so I can shut it down.” That’s the gist of Jordan’s politics. He doesn’t like ‘big’ government.

These wars complicate the world’s already precarious situation. The biggest crises we face in 2023 is growing food shortages and rising food costs, per ReliefWeb. Food shortages are worsening because war is tearing up farms and arable land, and growing extreme weather is damaging crops and disrupting growing seasons.

What a mess we’re in, and so much of it is brought on by our own actions. But just as so many addicts of drugs and addictives are helpless to save themselves, so it seems, are we.

Let’s go on to more pleasant matters, like music.

My wife was telling me a story about a conversation between her and some friends. I thought, “Oh, shit, sparks are going to fly now,” as I laughed, because I knew the husband and wife involved and how they were going to react.

Boom, The Neurons pounced, delivering “Master of Sparks” by ZZ Top into my head, where it remains in the morning mental music stream (Trademark sagging). This feels like a case of needing to play it for others to unloop it from my mental music stream, so here we are, me presenting it to you as Monday’s theme music.

The song is part of the first ZZ Top album I ever listened to, Tres Hombres, from 1973. I was seventeen. My buddy, Scott, brought it into high school art class as part of the established routine of listening to music while drawing and painting. One take of that album and I was smitten.

“Master of Sparks” turned out to be one of those songs that caught my attention as I was drawing because I was struggling to figure out what it was about. “What are they singing, Scott?” I asked. He brought it in, so I thought he’d know.

Sweeping his long bangs off his face, he grinned at me with big eyes. “I don’t know. Sounds cool, though doesn’t it?”

Scott introduced me to many new rock bands during that time, and shaped my musical preferences. Highly intelligent, athletic, and creative, Scott started at our school in my junior year after being tossed out from a well-regarded prep school. We shared multiple classes and were on several sports teams together. We also were both very rebellious.

Taking the question seriously, Scott returned two days later and told me that “Master of Sparks” is telling a story about a ball-shaped steel cage that the narrator was in. My reaction was basically, “Whaaa?”

Scott explained that he and Rick listened to it again and again at Scott’s house, and decided that’s what the song was about. Thanks to the net, I know they were right.

High class Slim came floating in
Down from the county line
Just getting right on Saturday night
Riding with some friends of mine
They invited me to come and see
Just what was on their minds
And then I took my first long look
At the Master of Sparks on high

In the back of Jimmy’s Mack
Stood a round steel cage
Welded into shape by Slim
Made out of sucker gauge
How fine, they cried now with you inside
Strapped in there safe and sound
I thought, my-o-my, how the sparks will fly
If that thing ever hit the ground

Slim was so pleased when I had eased
Into his trap of death
He had slammed the door but I said no more
And I thought I’d breathed my last breath
We was out in the sticks down Highway Six
And the crowd was just about right
The speed was too, so out I flew
Like a stick of rolling dynamite

When I hit the ground
You could hear the sound
And see the sparks a country mile
End over end I began to spin
But the ball started running wild
But it was too late as I met my fate
And the ball started getting hot
But through the sparks and the flame
I knew that the claim
Of the Master of Sparks was gone

h/t AZLyrics.com

Onward, my friends. Stay pos and be strong, and let’s press forward. But first, coffee.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Mild Rant

Mindlessly net surfing, I encountered stories that mildly attracted me, just to see what they were about. They were probably among twenty stories of this kind that I encountered. These two, though, pressed my Rant button.

Take One: Atlanta home demolished

That’s what it says on the Bing search page. MSN, AP News, USA Today, and others are covering the tale with headlines like this one from AP.

The Associated Press

The Associated Press

Woman returns from vacation to find Atlanta home demolished

Makes it sound to me as if the destroyed home was the place she was living in. But no.

From the article: ‘“It’s been boarded up about 15 years, and we keep it boarded, covered, grass cut, and the yard is clean,” she said. “The taxes are paid and everything is up on it.”’

It’s been vacant and boarded up for fifteen years. While I admit that someone made a big mistake and demolished a vacant, boarded up home by accident, and that would be upsetting, I think the way the story is projected is wholly misleading.

Take Two: Former Teammates Now Opponents

Yes, this is what’s on ESPN/NFL’s page: a story about two NFL quarterbacks.

TEAMMATES TURNED OPPONENTS

DOLPHINS-EAGLES: 8:20 P.M. ET

Inside the complicated rivalry of Tua Tagovailoa and Jalen Hurts2dTim McManus and Marcel Louis-Jacques

The way this story is presented, they make it sound as if the NFL isn’t full of college teammates who get drafted by NFL teams and end up playing against one another.

This article focuses on Jalen Hurts and Tua Tagovailoa, quarterbacks who played at Alabama. Hurts was the starter. With a record of 28-2 and a national championship, he was highly regarded and respected, and definitely capable. But Alabama was being shut out. So he was pulled and Tua was put into the game.

Gosh, that never happens in a football! Coaches are always very careful about these things, putting players’ feelings and reputations above winning (yes, that is snark). I can’t think of any other time that a player who wasn’t doing well was benched so another player could be tried, neither in college or the pros. (Yes, that was more snark. It’s a snarky kind of day.)

Fast forward to this year. Hurts now plays for the Eagles and lost in the last Superbowl and Tagovailoa quarterbacks the Miami Dolphins. The two will meet again when their teams play today. Hence, the story.

Yes, I read both stories. Fortunately, they’re not major events. Sure, it’s upsetting to the woman to lose her vacant other home this way; I’d be pissed, too, if someone went to the wrong address and tore the place down. And the way the company has handled it (so far) does nothing to redeem them. But no one was hurt.

Likewise, the football story was a small distraction in an otherwise war-weary and politically numb world, a story significant or meaningful to some serious fans of the teams or players involved, but net fodder for the rest of us.

And yes, in a way, I’m doing the same thing: posting net fodder. But I’m doing it to distract myself from doing other things.

Hope it wasn’t too boring. Cheers

1

Floofservant

Floofservant (floofinition) 1. An animal who serves others. Origins: 1920s, United States.

In use: “After former President, George H.W. Bush, passed away, many people were moved by the sight of Sully, Bush’s longtime floofservant, beside the casket.”

In use: “Pudditat, a stray cat with a rep as a bully, became a floofservant, acting as a guide floof for Tervel, a blind farm dog.”

2. A person or individual who attends to animals’ needs and desires. Origins: 2000s, United States, Internet.

In use: “Many people end up as floofservants, voluntarily working to reduce the stray cat population and managing feral cat colonies so felines have safer, healthier, and happier lives.”

In use: “Rescuing a dog can be noble and rewarding work, but people who do so end up virtually being a floofservant as months of work is done to restore the canine’s emotional and physical health.”

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: animated

Slidding into place like a giant oceanliner docking, Saturday, October 21, 2023, arrived in Ashlandia, where the coffee shops are pleasant, and the library is above average.

Cooler temperatures prevail today. Several large masses of feathery white clouds breached the southeastern horizon and now master half of Ashlandia. They block the sun. With those clouds in place and the Earth’s position on its orbit relative to the sun, it’s 53 F now and will reach 75 today, chillier than yesterday. Tomorrow is expected to deliver rain and a high of 61 F as summer’s efforts to hold on slide away and autumn more firmly asserts itself.

Lot of news this week in war and politics. Keeping up with the mess that is Israel, Palestine, Gaza, and Hamas, is wearying and sickening. It’s complicated, and war, with the killing and destruction which war brings, will do nothing to make anyone feel better. When will that mess be resolved enough to achieve a lasting and settled peace?

Of course, the mess in Congress continues. This is the one caused by the majority party, the GOP, voting out their speaker. A contentious hard rightwing gang forced the vote. Democrats, never pleased with Kevin McCarthy, a Trumpublican, were given the opportunity to rid themselves of him, and did. Now Repubublicans, the parents of this mess, are blaming Democrats for voting against McCarthy.

That’s quite laughable, isn’t it? Democrats are the more progressive and liberal party between the two parties. Republicans who routinely denounce Democrats, try to derail the Democrats’ agenda and counter the Democrats’ policies, now blame the Democrats for not supporting the Republican hard right speaker.

Enought of politics, although I could air grievances againts GOP for days. Instead, let’s turn to crime.

Interesting developments in former POTUS Donald J Trump’s court cases, right? Up in New York, things seem to be slidding down a long messy slope for Trump. This is the civil trial in which Trump is being accused of fraud in how he valuates his real estate holdings and developments.

First, the judge fined Trump for not obeying the gag order imposed on select aspects of the trial. This is because Trump posted a photo of the court clerk with a Democratic politician, Chuck Schumer, with the misleading caption, “Schumer’s girlfriend.”

Next, Trump got upset and vocal over witness testimony. That prompted warnings from the judge to Trump about his deportment.

“Inside the courtroom, which is closed to cameras, Trump grew irritated as Larson testified. Trump’s lawyers were seeking to undercut the state’s claims that his top corporate deputies played games to inflate the values of his properties and pad his bottom line.

“In a series of questions, Trump lawyer Lazaro Fields sought to establish that Larson had, at one point, undershot the projected 2015 value of a Trump-owned Wall Street office building by $114 million. Larson said the “values were not wrong — it’s what we knew at the time.”

“Trump threw up his hands during the exchange.”

Meanwhile, in Trump’s Georgia trial, two co-defendants have taken plea agreements. This case involves charges against Trump and nineteen others in a RICO trial. The accused are charged with interfering with the 2020 POTUS election, among other charges. The two co-defendants, Sydney Powell of kracken fame, and Kenneth Chesebro, took the deals in exchange for testifying as witnesses.

It’s such a complex affair, it’s difficult to project how these moves will ultimately affect the outcome. At the least, though, Trump who acts imperiously and demands loyalty, will be deeply angry.

Now, to music. I was at a store with my wife yesterday afternoon, buying birthday cards for friends and relatives. I heard an elderly man shout, “Is anyone going to serve me?” I stepped out and immediately spotted him at the mouth of another aisle about ten feet away. He might have been eighty years old from his wizened appearance, and about five feet tall, in sagging jeans and work boots. I don’t know what was going on but a sales person was hurrying to him.

Well, just as quickly, The Neurons spooled up Bob Dylan with his 1979 song, “Gotta Serve Somebody” in the mental music stream. The song was still playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark resented).

The song has Dylan’s unique style and insights. The song lists multiple people by profession or position in life, always beginning, “You may be.” But after listing these people, Dylan asserts, “But you’re going to have to serve somebody, yes indeed.” The implications are, we’re all beholden to someone, even if it’s the devil or God.

Stay pos, be safe, and stay calm and strong. Coffee has been imbibed, I can report. Here’s the video.

Cheers

2

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

I saw a photograph of a USPS envelope in an online post today.

The photo was supporting a story about the first female postmaster in colonial America. First thought: I didn’t know they had cameras capable of doing such clear, detailed photographs in colonial America. The colonists were more advanced than I thought. (Yeah, that’s snark.)

Second thought, looking at the envelope in the photo, what is v-mail service?

As it was part of the return address for the War & Navy Departments, I figured it was related to WWII, and the v probably meant victory. I looked it up online and verified that. But there was more to the story:

“Generative AI is experimental. Info quality may vary.

“V-mail, short for Victory Mail, was a mail service used during World War II to expedite mail service for American armed forces overseas. The Post Office Department officially inaugurated V-Mail service on June 15, 1942. 

“V-mail worked by: 

  • Letters written on pre-printed forms were photographed and reproduced onto microfilm.
  • The rolls of microfilm were transported overseas.
  • The letters were printed again at one-quarter size and mailed to their destination.”

They were using microfilm to transport letters in WWII.

I’ve only been alive for almost 68 years, and wasn’t alive during WWII. In all that time, I’d never heard or seen v-mail service referenced anywhere. Maybe it just flew over my head. I don’t know.

It’s really surprising as Mom was a little girl living in a small rural town in Iowa during WWII. She had brothers who served in the US Navy, as did her friends and classmates. Stories from the fronts transfixed her. I thought she would have mentioned v-mail service. That causes me to wonder if she is aware of it. It’s something to ask her.

What’s more astonishing is that the v-mail service wasn’t original. This system was based on a British service called “Airgraph”. Giving me another pow-pow moment of discovery, Airgraph was developed by the Eastman Kodak Company in conjuction with Imperial Airways and Pan-American Airways in the 1930s.

Pow. I’m knocked down in amazement.

Once again, learning something new and astonishing. It makes me smile.

1

Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: committed

Thursday, October 19, 2023, slid into its slot. Indian summer has re-commenced in Ashlandia, where the battles over how to help the homeless still rage.

With a sky full of sunshine and a wind full of promise, it’s 72 F right now. Forecasters assure us that our temperature will achieve the low to mid 80s today, a solid complement to the blue sky and fall foliage.

Had a stray cat encounter at home last night. I saw something wink past the front door windows. Investigation was demanded.

I opened the portal to see. In trotted a white and gray cat. An orange splash marked their back like an island in that white sea while its thick, bushy white tail waved like a friendly neighbor.

The cat seemed healthy and friendly. Without a mew, it worked through the house, exploring everything. Some nibbles of kibble were taken. A lengthy investigation of the kitty litter zone followed.

We were concerned. Was this cat lost or cast off? I’d never seen the cat in our neighborhood. That’s limited in how meaningful that is, because I have a limited view of the street and general area. It’s also possible that the cat lived in one of the nearby residences and never got out, but now had, and was confused.

Anyway, we couldn’t keep them. Our male cats barely tolerate one another. They never tolerate any outside cats. The sole exception to that was the late Pepper. A dark tortie, she carried herself with a majesty that asserted royal privilege. She also didn’t hesitate to hiss and swat, should any other feline venture too close. Pepper seemed to make peace with all, eventually; I used to find her and Tucker sleeping side by side on the front porch. I’ve never seen Tucker do that with another floof.

It’s odd to me that Tucker and Papi don’t get along. After all, they actually co-existed with three other cats for several years. When Tucker came, Scheckter was approaching the Rainbow Bridge. We still had Lady and Quinn. Sweet Boo, an onyx shorthair with a white star on his chest, then came along, a stray in need. I searched for his home and people without success, so he joined as a stray in residence.

Papi next joined, and that’s how the family stood for a while until Lady, Quinn, and Boo were each taken. So, I thought that Papi and Tucker were okay and even hoped that they would become friendlier.

Well, flooftente was achieved but they still issue threats and warnings to each other. Happened just the day before yesterday; Papi stepped up behind Tucker and leisurely sniffed over Tucker’s tail and rear. Tucker turned to reciprocate, sending Papi into a yowling, hissing frenzy, like, “Oh, no, he’s going to sniff me.”

So the sweet stray couldn’t be put up. We did set up a bed for them on the front porch and fed it again. The food needed to be brought in because outside pet food invites other creatures: skunks, raccoons, coyotes, foxes. The smell of food might attract one of the bears or cougars who roam our neighborhood. So, very, very reluctantly, we let the cat stay out, hating it all the way.

I posted about the cat on social media last evening but haven’t had a response. They haven’t been spied today. I hope they’re alright; I hope they’re safely home. I put food and water out for them on the front porch, in case they return, and let the boys out into the backyard.

I will also note that Papi returned from his morning patrol at about eight AM. He may have encountered the stray and chased them away. That’s Papi’s style.

While tending the stray last night, I picked up Tucker after he started after the stray. Hugging, kissing, stroking him, reassuring him that he wasn’t being replace, I told Tucker, “You need to stay calm.”

Picking up on that, The Neurons began playing Taylor Swift’s 2019 song, “You Need To Calm Down”. Without surprise, I can report that it’s continued playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark disputable). That’s how the MMMS generally works: once a song is in there, if stays until another song displaces it.

I do like the message out of “You Need to Calm Down”. The song’s message of people acting out in hate because of others’ genders when they’re not binary, or their choices of pronouns, or sexual orientation is exactly as needed. Too many people — many who seem to be right-wing — have gone over the top in their need and eagerness to deny others the freedom and right to be who they are. Right-wingers blast anyone who is not cisgender with surreal claims about how children are prey, or how the emergence of people who identify themselves under the umbrella of LGBTQ+ are destroying the world.

Witness, as a prominent example, Florida, led by Ron Desantis, and their absurd “Don’t Say Gay” law.

‘The bill’s sponsors have emphatically stated that the bill would not prohibit students from talking about their LGBTQ families or bar classroom discussions about LGBTQ history, including events like the 2016 deadly attack on the Pulse nightclub, a gay club in Orlando. Instead, they argue that the bill would bar the “instruction” of sexual orientation or gender identity.

‘But the text says both.’

Stay pos, be strong, and remain calm. I’m having coffee, which should sustain my efforts to do the same. Here’s the music. Carpe Thursday. Cheers

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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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