Category: Uncategorized

The Brown Man Dream

Dream activity is on the rise again. They’re mostly satisfying and comforting.

One very short dream stands out, though. It’s so short, it could be a fifteen second commercial break. Other features also stand out.

  1. It took place in my current home.
  2. I had it twice in one night.
  3. It was the same both times.
  4. I woke from it both times.

Some qualifying reasoning crowds in.

  1. I may have dreamed it more frequently and not remember it.
  2. It may have been different but my consciousness fashioned it to be the same.

The dream

My living room back door to the patio was open. A tall, young, broad brown man was walking in front of me. We were leaving the house. Although not recognized from life (qualifying it as this life, existence, dimension, plane, realm, etc.), I knew him.

Troubled by a speech impediment, he was talking but I was struggling to understand him. I said, “What?”

Stopping, he answered with exasperation, “I told you already.” He was now on my patio.

Whirling, he added with more force, “I told you already. You’re not listening, you’re not listening.” 

Each time, I awoke thinking, “What am I missing?”

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Exflooferbate

Exflooferbate (floofinition) – To have a situation worsen or a problem complicated by the presence or behavior of animals.

In use: “Her day was already scrambled beyond her limits when the cat exflooferbated it by bringing in a live robin and setting it free in the living room.”

 

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The Floopremes

The Floopremes (floofinition) – One of the foremost groups representing the Flooftown sound. Formed in the early sixties, they were originally named the Floopremes. The all-female group was renamed in 1967 to Diana Floof & the Floopremes, reverting to the Floopremes when Diana Floof left the group in 1970. Throughout the name changes, the group posted 33 songs in the Floofboard Top 40, making them one of the most successful floof acts of all time.

In use: “By the mid-sixties, songs such as “Where Did Our Food Go”, “Baby Floof”, and “Stop! For the Floof of Love” kept the The Floopremes on the radio, in our ears, and in our hearts.”

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Backstreet Floofs

Backstreet Floofs (floofinition) Orlando, Florida vocal floof pop (floop) band. Active from 1993 to the present, the Backstreet Floofs, sometimes shortened to BSF, became superstars within a few years of their debut album.

In use: “The 1996 Backstreet Floofs song “Quit Playing Games (with My Tail)” reached number two on the UFA Floofboard Top 100.”

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Floof in Chains

Floof in Chains (floofinition) – American flock rock (flock) band formed in Seattle in the late 1980s. Initially identified with stray music, the band rose to international fame and then gained commercial success.

In use: “Sometimes shortened to FIC, Floof in Chains scored it first major hit with “Flooster”, a song the vocalist wrote about his father.”

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Dr. Floof & the Medicine Show

Dr. Floof & the Medicine Show (floofinition) – American floof rock (flock) band. Formed in the late 1960s, the band achieved considerable commercial success in the early to mid 1970s.

In use: “A 1972 single recorded and released by Dr. Floof & the Medicine Show, “Sylvia’s Mother”, was written by Shel Flooferstein and autobiographical.”

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Obit

It began with my obituary. 

Everyone googles themselves, right? Filling the gap between what you should be doing and thinking about what to have for dinner. Games have been played, work postponed, and the news is another blunt instrument on your head. So, idly, you type in your name.

My name, Michael Seidel, is bitterly common, bitterly because that makes it forgetful, except for the weather guy, what’s his name (see what I did there?). Google returned pages of Michael Seidel in their vaunted search results. Most were dead, except for real estate agents.

“Get more granular, dummy.” I played with search parameters. City, state, birthday.

Obit, obit, obit.

“Fuck.” What did the net know about me? My lust had to be sated. All that turned up, though, were obituaries. With some vinegar, I clicked on one to address the question, who is this imposter?

There was my photo and details.

I’d died the day before.

Car accident.

“Malware.” Had to be. Some new variation on ransom ware, doxxing, or cat fishing.

Loud rapping on the front door burst my concentration and triggered a sphincter clench. I hadn’t heard a car, I wasn’t expecting a package or a person, and visitors were as rare as snow in summer in this age of COVID-19.

Screw it; I wasn’t answering the door.

Then I was standing in the office door, looking in at me, me all the way from the disheveled, thinning, graying, fleeing fucking hair, navy shirt, beige shorts and clothes that I now wore.

Sweat ran down his flushed face and neck. He was panting. “Come on, let’s go.”

The natural retorts skittered through my head without reaching my lips because ‘I’ dashed across the room and peered out the window. “The shadows are coming.”

 

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