Category: Uncategorized

Myth & Hyperbole

Walking today, I returned to the Stellar Queen in my mind.

Things changed after Her Lady disappeared from the ship’s scene. You’ll notice that I don’t say that she died or departed; I don’t know but that she was ‘gone’. Rei claimed she left the ship in secret, but what’s one person’s view, especially the view of a baker? How did he get to know Her Lady so well, the people wanted to know?

Remember, too, this was still the Integrated Age, when body and electronics were blended with marketing, security and privacy to create a web of existence. Marketing and security bees traveled the ship. Her Lady hadn’t wanted them but had agreed that it was Her People’s ship. A bare majority of its half million population wanted the bees, so they were permitted. While the bees weren’t greatly popular, they tracked people’s movements. When Her Lady disappeared, attention was naturally directed to the bees.

But Her Lady had no records, as the Security Director knew. “Her Lady was above that, too,” she said. “There are no records of her existence or movement for any time, nor any place, during her entire life aboard the Stellar Queen.”

Although many professed they shouldn’t be surprised, given who she was and her penchant for secrecy and privacy (a vote via the ship’s Galeb revealed that 77% could not pick out Her Lady’s image from a group of five), most were surprised and even outraged. Suspicions began nibbling and lurking. Perhaps the Security Director and Rei had entered a nefarious partnership and removed Her Lady to assert their own power. A majority rebutted that as absurd but the rumors persisted, especially after the turn of problems on the Queen.

First was an outbreak of killing disease, followed by the ship quarantine to manage the disease, and The Revelations. The Revelations were still being discovered when ship equipment malfunctioned. Worse of these events was the ship’s sun, Surya (named for the benevolent Hindu sun god who rode through the sky in a carriage), which suddenly became Surly Surya, rising fifteen degrees higher than planned in its first malfunction and resisting input, before finally cooling but stalling in the sky. Becoming a dull orange, it hovered over the Majestic Plan and Snow at its high noon summer position, an angry glowering ember. “The heat had been bad,” Wallander said, “but I’d rather it than this endless day with an ugly sun. It seems like a dangerous omen for us. Perhaps this is the end for the Stellar Queen.”

Nobody argued against his observation.

0

Dream Vehicles

Normally, thinking of dream vehicles, I fill my mind with sports cars or interstellar ships.

But I recall Quinn of the Black Paws jumping on me last night. He’s only eight pounds but is very adept at targeting and hitting my bladder. So up I went to use the can, with a chatty Quinn accompanying me. Sometimes I think he does this from boredom so he’ll have company.

The sleep interruption let me recall a dream fragment. I was outside, in bright sunshine, on a sidewalk, beside an asphalt parking lot. In the parking lot, parked close by, were cars as shiny as silver mercury. I don’t know what makes, models, etc, but all were sleek, new and exotic in my brief glance, and glittering with reflected sunshine that seemed so amazingly bright that my eyes, even behind sunglasses, were pained.

All of this was experienced as a close, personal POV, like a camera following me, but not from a first person point of view. I, in light colored shorts, a light blue shirt and sandals, light warm breeze blowing my hair, looked at the cars and guffawed, remarking, “Ah, my dream cars.” I was pleased.

And leaving the john and remembering them, with Quinn flying his bushy tail ahead of me as he hurried down the hall, I thought, “I get to pick the car for my dreams.”

0

Turbulence

Bounced around the spectrum yesterday and today, pissed off at the world, frustrated, tired. Buckle up, I’m in for a bumpy ride.

I’m not certain which spectrum I’m addressing. The spectrum of happiness, satisfaction, or self-actualization. This could just be a broader spectrum, the ‘life’ spectrum.

Reading others’ blogs and posts, I see many battling similar conditions and why not? How many billions of humans live on Earth right now?

The best way to describe it is that I feel out of sync, with rough energy that escapes my control. Feeling this, coping with it, I wonder about cause and effect. Maybe it’s boredom, or weariness with routines of food, people, drink, habits. Is it my diet, I ask, thinking through it, searching for the food or drink that may have poisoned my spirit, or perhaps I’m experiencing a nutritional deficit or chemical imbalance. Is it hormones from my time of life, month or year? Maybe the world is just too much with me of late, and I’m suffering news fatigue, or digital fatigue. Would I be this way, I query myself, were I richer or poorer? If I was richer, could I escape myself by booking travel to a island somewhere, or someplace ‘fun’, or use shopping therapy? If I was poorer, would more critical concerns distract me?

I don’t know. I can play those games and search for answers but this is an emotional condition, not logical, not a product of intelligent thinking, but a product of emotions. What triggers these emotional switches, and why is it so much deeper now? I ponder the birthday aspect, coming up on one, and whether the stars, moons and planets – or other energies we don’t know – afflict me, conjuring up Twilight Zone and Outer Limit scenes of aliens, ghosts or Gods toying with me. It’s all in bright, fuzzy black and white.

Meditation and affirmations help. Don’t know how dark I’d be without them. I’ll go walking. Walking, with its combination of distracting my thinking and emotions, but also stimulating me with the chemicals the physical activity produces, will help. It will give me time to be by myself, and that may just be the issue here.

I want to be alone.

For a while.

0

Sliding

I’m sliding along the spectrum of emotions today. The spectrum itself is on a fulcrum. The slightest shift tips it sliding one way or the other.

Some are wild slides. I slip from depression to elation to bitterness and frustration, zing zing zing. Exhausting, but I’m older, experienced in my mind and body’s ways, and have some sense this will pass. Last night and the early morning both had me sliding toward the spectrum’s darker end. Self-pity and regret stifled my breathing. Reading helped me out.

I’ve not been reading much, I thought, then corrected, I’ve been reading non-fiction and news, but not fiction. So I retreated into The Signature of All Things. I started reading it a month ago. I added new books to my tower of reading and realized I needed to finish Signature before permitting new reading. A book of a woman reaching understanding of herself and heartbreak, the novel enabled some quiet reflection and delivered new insights into me and my existence.

I believe this mood will pass, recognizing it for one of the more prolonged types of funks that sometimes shroud me. They’ve always passed before, prompting speculation about what sort of guarantees that provide (none), but it does give some expectations, and helps me stay upright as I slide along.

0

Sirens of Fear

9:30, sirens erupted. First thought: speeders. More sirens. Second thought: ambulance. Or firetrucks. Both. More sirens. Worries…something big is happening. A shooting? Not been a shooting in our town in the eleven years of my residency time…which means nothing.

Some places are so acclimated to wailing sirens that people exhibit minimal reactions. We react, and wonder. Didn’t help that I’d just been reading a post about mass shootings in America. The cycle between mass shootings is down to about 64 days. How long has it been since Orlando?

Sirens go on, so I worry about fire. Wildfires are our constant threat, unless it’s soaking wet in the winter. Friends are already out there battling blazes up north in Oregon and down in SoCal.

We’re a four mile walk from one end of town to the other. Our television and radio news is provided by the big city down the Interstate. The paper is local but doesn’t always report what prompted sirens. Sometimes all that we get are the police log entries and then depend upon the grapevine for explanations. The grapevine’s not dependable.

We went down to the Saturday Growers’ Market for produce. Nothing out there was burning. No bodies, no crashes, no smoke on the horizon, all good. Probably not for someone, and not for everyone. I can wish them the best, but sometimes that response seems so frail, empty and shallow.

Something was behind all those sirens.

 

0

Be Bad

The wave came over me as I got up and walked around. I’ll have gluten free pancakes with Omega 3 butter and organic maple syrup.

The wave struck.

Have a donut.

I didn’t even hear it coming.

No, not a donut, I told myself, not thinking about a Krispy Kreme maple log. I didn’t remember the times when I was young and I would dart out to a Dunkin’ Donuts for a dozen. Being a child and reading the comics while eating a donut wasn’t thought of. Nor did I recall wolfing down a cruller or cinnamon rich glazed sinker, or walking to the bakerie down the cobblestone street in Germany and gazing at the pastries and pointing out, “That one.” Fritters never crossed my mind or walking into the office on a casual Friday morning (we could wear jeans or shorts) and discovering a big pink box full of frosted cake donuts with sprinkles, glazed and filled donuts, and cinnamon twists.

Nope, never thought of them at all. I just ate my stupid healthy pancakes.

 

0

Garbage Time

“Escapists.”

Her Lady was amused.

One man held center stage in a corner of like men. He seemed like a natural actor, with a voice that traveled the room like a machine gun firing.

“They’re living on the ship, what is it called again, the Stellar Queen? Which is made to be like a small world inside.” He waved a canape. “How is that different from living on a planet?”

A fellow industrialist, he was a large, trim man who could have been a professional athlete, from his looks and mannerisms, and not a venture capitalist. He didn’t know Her Lady was the agent behind the Stellar Queen. She’d taken pains to hide her early involvement, a simple matter if one had the means and resources to create the required fronts.

“Okay, sure, they’re traveling through the galaxies,” the man, an Australian whose name she didn’t recall, began again, “but again, so are planets. They’re all up there because they can’t cope with real life. You might as well call it a cocoon or a coffin. That’s what it really is, isn’t it? A huge coffin for a hundred thousand people, masquerading as a bio ship. Tell you what, it’s ridiculous. But they’re doing us a favor. We’re better off without people so weak willed and fearful that they’re attracted to abandoning real life and living on that thing.”

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Doctor Pollux suggested while leveling an impartial wide gaze on Her Lady.

Her Lady didn’t care, so she agreed. Privately, Her Lady scoffed at the Australian’s loud pronouncement, although, she agreed with a few points he gave, except he sketched with hard edges. She would soften and blend the points because matters were broader than that. “Are you afraid that I’ll be upset?” she asked Pollux.

“I know you better,” Pollux answered. “It’s for me. I prefer a more comfortable and less noisy environment.”

Her Lady nodded. “I was tempted to engage him and ask what he’s doing with his life, and how it was so different from those going onto the Stellar Queen.” She, who had spent a natural lifetime plus the time awarded the wealthy through medical technology, thought that many on the ‘natural worlds’ as such places as Earth and the other worlds were termed, spent most of their days in garbage time.

Garbage time was the concrete expression given when a sports game must continue to progress until time is reached even though the results are clear. Garbage also refers to a team playing out its schedule even though it has no chance of advancing into any play-offs. To Her Lady, however, garbage time was also assigned to those living with purpose, passing the day via tedious routines, usually because they wanted or needed money, but failed to do anything with the monies they accrued except stay alive.

“I’m sure he lives to make money,” she said to Doctor Pollux, “and acquire power and influence to better his life.”

The conversation varied along points made in previous discussions. Priding herself as seeing a broader rainbow of existence and thinking Her Lady was being simplistic, Doctor Pollux pointed out, “As I have said before, many people would not be living like that, were they not caught up in the machines’ gears. The comfort and confidence provided by a secure and healthy home life can’t be overstated.”

“Many people do not need to exist like that, if they had greater courage and self-confidence.” Her Lady’s eyes sparkled with the engagement of one of her favorite subjects. “Most people live lives of fear and desperation, ruing their lot while never attempting to change it.”

“I don’t think it’s so easily changed,” Pollux answered. “It’s such a complex issue of nature and circumstances.”

“What, money?”

“Besides money, besides willpower and courage, or fortitude. It’s a more deeply seated personal and unique issue that must really be addressed on an individual level.”

They were sufficiently away from others that they had private space. Sipping her wine, Her Lady said, “That is why I’m building the Stellar Queen.”

Attempting to breach the other’s secretive manner, Pollux considered Her Lady more carefully. The other seemed happy, even relieved that she was making a great revelation. She’d been working with Her Lady for some time and thought she’d developed an intelligent composite of the other. Both had been inspired by the old space adventure television shows, books, movies, and computer games when they were children. Thanks to Pollux’s great-grandmother, humanity was exploring the galaxy and completing the first wave of colonization on other worlds. Pollux had always assumed that this was why Her Lady was building the Stellar Queen.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Turning away, Her Lady smiled and replied, “Yes, I know,” quickening her step and drinking her wine before Pollux could ask for more explanation.

0

Meet the BoBs

I met with the BoBs last night. It’s a weekly meeting. Nothing is called to order. There is no roll call. There is beer and conversation.

BoB – Brains on Beer – is an informal group of retired engineers, scientists, professors and doctors. We meet every Wednesday at 5:00 PM at Northwest Pizza & Pasta in Ashland. Most arrive five or ten till so we can get right to the business of drinking beer. I’ve been a member for about five years, having met the founder at an annual gala to support SOU’s Schneider Art Museum. At 59, I’m the youngest by ten years.

The beer is divided into the dark side and the light side. Pitchers for each side are purchased. The light side will buy an ale or IPA while the dark side (including me) go for stouts. It’s all good, though, we throw money in the pot, and it’s all paid for from there, regardless of how much or which you drank. To highlight special times, a member usually buys the beer for the night, and sometimes pizza. I’ll buy next month to celebrate my birthday.

Everyone needs a BoB group for release. We encourage one another as health issues are encountered and losses are mourned, and discuss technology, art and politics. Several were NASA engineers and scientists. Those projects are very long term, like one just reached the edge of the solar system last year, so we toasted that. Another vented that Space X crashed during its latest landing attempt. He’s a contractor on the project, so he takes it personally.

We’ve been trying to encourage children to embrace STEM. Several members volunteer at Science Works but we also invite science and math teachers and organizations in to tell us their needs and problems, and donate money, and sometimes time, to help. Last night, we decided to donate $1,000 to provide Science Works memberships to needy families, more or less an annual thing with us. That will permit fifteen families to come to Science Works who otherwise may not have made it. We also donated $500 to sponsor two children taking Science Works Academy courses.

Books and politics occupy us. We’re all left leaning people, although some are only about five degrees to the left. All are vocally anti-Trump. We’re surprised and dismayed he’s the apparent Republican nominee. Meanwhile, a few are Bernie supporters. Most of the others support Hillary. Local politics and plays going on with the local Oregon Shakespeare Festival and Cabaret are debated, but very few movies are brought up, unless it’s the Oscar season.

We only meet an hour because we don’t want to overdo it, but an hour is a good time length to meet with friends, have a beer, and do a little venting and commiserating. We’re always open to new members, so come on by, if you come to town.

Your first visit is on us.

0

Thursday Thirteen

I stand on the _____ of writers like Ron.

Ron.'s avatarSCRAMBLED, NOT FRIED

(When I was much younger and I said, “Jeez, I could really use a joint right about now,” it had a totally different meaning. Most of my joints are problematic these days, but guess which one I just had about a dozen X-Rays of, in preparation for the referral to the rheumatologist.)

Here are 13 hints from the common vernacular:

1. Feel free to cry on my _____.
2. She’s got a good head on her _____.
3. That guy’s got some chip on his _____.
4. I’m giving Trump the cold _____.
5. My Beloved Sandra is head & _____ above the rest.
6. That’s a real weight off my _____.
7. I’m putting my _____ to the wheel.
8. You better keep looking over your _____.
9. All he could do was shrug his _____.
10. He always speaks straight from the _____.
11. I am a dwarf, standing…

View original post 23 more words

0

Luminicious

Opened the blinds a little before six AM and then set about doing items and prepping for meditation. Without much thought, the angle, release, came to me for my meditation. Deciding what that meant and how to apply it, I headed back toward the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast while pondering what held me that I wanted release.

Sunshine billowed in from the east in a golden blast that filled the room. It looked so luminicious. Such a wonderful sight, I thought, yes, release. Release. Let it all go, don’t worry, trouble and struggle. Release. Breathe deep, take in the sunshine, join the moment and release.

Release. Just let myself not worry.

Release, and don’t let myself be anxious. Dismiss that ugly fuzzy energy within. Let it go.

Release. Just let myself feel good.

Release. Flow with the day, and it’ll carry me.

Release.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑