Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
“I know you,” he said with a lick to my hand.
“Perhaps not from here, but from another time and land.”
“Yes, I know you, too,” I said to the little whiskered face.
“I’m glad we found each other once after coming to this place.”
So we’re privileged to witness, once more,
the transcendent love between a paw person,
and the human they adore.
he’s an edge without a blade
rain without a cloud
a dance without a song
a steak without a knife
he’s a foot without a leg
a beard without a head
pupils without a face
fat without a bone
he’s an object without shape
sweet without taste
sour without texture
swallowed without chewing
spoken without thought
buried without mourning
morning without light
coffee
without beans
the computerization
fragmentation
digitnation
wants one thing for itself
and another for the rest
keep everything else
just gif me the best
don’t judge me wit crayons
or color me
on Insta
Face
tweet
you adult you
e’s and blue screens
ceilings and fans
t.v. and sports
song and dance
coming and going
in
fan-tah-sy
compa-tish
shun
hiddin by a fence
you see there
i see it
don’t
you correct my words
for-gettin’
’bout my
e’s and blue screens
ceilings and fans
t.v. and sports
song and dance
coming and going
in
fan-tah-sy
compa-tish
shun
Macfloofnation (floofinition) – a housepet’s scheming or crafty action or artful design to accomplish something it knows it’s not allowed to do; a group of animal lovers who also identify as Apple Mac users; (slang) housepets who enjoy eating food from McDonald’s restaurants.
In use: “As part of his macfloofations to get food off the plate, he put on his cutest face, holding it in place as he edged his paw forward.”
He considered it a sign of his life that this shit happened.
First, he’d outlived his friends and family. Said good-bye to all of them. By the time some died, they’d noticed that his hair remained shiny and full, wrinkles didn’t mar his skin, and that he remained energetic and athletic as a twenty-year-old. “Good genes,” he always said, even to his parents and siblings. “Why didn’t we get those genes?” they wanted to know. “Good question,” he replied.
Now, they were alive again, not because of his good genes, but because he’d awakened back in time. “Impossible,” he told himself.
But there they were. He wondered if he’d have to say good-bye to them again, or would they finally watch him pass away.
Either way, it could be awkward.
Someone from my past returned to me in a dream last night. They were helping me build a new home.
First, my wife and I discovered a place where we wanted to live. We were just out in another town having fun on a clear and sunny, pleasant day. We came across the house by accident. Partially constructed and all white with many arches, it struck us as gorgeous. We purchased it on the spot, eschewing all the standard real-estate requirements for buying a house. Excited, she went off with friends to move us to our new home, and I finished building it.
That’s when M.B. showed up. I haven’t seen him since 1990. M.B. was a friend, at first. We were assigned to the same squadron in Germany. A year older than him, I was a few ranks above him, and he was in a different section, but he lived across the street from me in military housing.
He was an interesting guy. Incredibly strong and athletic, his hand-eye coordination was fantastic. But he soon demonstrated unlimited arrogance, no empathy, poor communication and interpersonal skills, and was short on discipline and intelligence. He claimed to be an expert in everything and disparaged everything. We soon found out how little he knew, but since he didn’t want to admit that, he never learned. Besides all that, he was a reckless braggart. People were soon avoiding him. Although I tried being his friend, I began avoiding him. Being around him was exhausting.
It was surprising that he was in my dream, then. Not only that, but he was vastly changed and helpful. We worked on the house together. He knew what he was doing. The final touch was putting on a new front door. After going out and getting a door for us, surprising me, M.B. worked on squaring and installing it. I wanted to help but I was delayed by other things happening, and couldn’t assist. Then he had to leave. He left me with guidance on how to finish hanging the front door.
I was just beginning to do that when M.B. my wife and friends showed up with our furniture. Several of the guys helped me finish the front door and install it. I then began calling people on my cell phone to tell them we had moved. My first call was to our current neighbor. She asked, “Where did you move to?” I said, “Jacksonville.”
That was the first time that I realized that I was in Jacksonville, a small town a short drive from here.
The dream ended.
Overfloof (floofinition) – in households with more than one pet, the pet that usually keeps order (if there is any order).
In use: “In a household of two Beagles, one German Shepherd, and one Jack Russell along with four cats (and a hamster), a bird was the overfloof. Able to mimic the doorbell, garbage truck, and vacuum cleaner along with the sound of crinkling plastic and their masters’ voices, the bird kept the animals in a wary but peaceful vigil.”
It was an uplifting experience, although strange.
I was with several groups of men. We’d decided we were changing countries. I connected with a few others to hunt for country candidates. An adviser was telling us what our options were.
My first choice was Japan. I headed to the JP room with a few other men and our adviser. We entered, and then our adviser had us wait while he checked on availability. Coming back, he told us, “Sorry, but there aren’t any openings.”
A little disappointed but still optimistic, we selected another place. I knew the name in the dream but I don’t know it now. Our adviser checked and confirmed, “Yes, eight openings are available.”
Only three of us went, however, with the others backing out. We had to answer questions to be accepted in the new country, and also to put on a shirt with cultural significance to that country.
After putting the shirts on, we entered an office. Bleachers filled with people were to one side. Most of the people were young women. The first man of my group went to a desk. There he was asked eight questions. He passed.
It was my turn. I went to the desk and was asked the eight questions. They were so simple and basic, such as, “What is your name? What is your favorite color?” The process amused me as I wondered, are there wrong answers? I passed and then waited for my friend to go through the process. Then the three of us were sworn in as new citizens and congratulated. A spattering of applause followed.
Now citizens of another country, we walked toward the exit. I remembered that I still had the other shirt on. Wanting my own shirt, I took the shirt off, gave it to someone, and then walked back, shirtless, looking for my own shirt, with everyone watching me. I found this quite funny. The dream ended with me finding my shirt, but leaving it off, I left.
To me, the choice of Japan was interesting. When I lived in Japan, it was a successful and enjoyable time, and I was very happy. That it wasn’t available meant, you can’t go back, but there are other choices. These will give me new experiences (changing the shirt, see?), but they’ll be like Japan, successful and enjoyable.
And it’s my choice.
I’d dreamed about setting up games in a small city college, and found myself thinking about a song as a result of it after I woke up. Then, my little ginger-fur friend plagued me to come in, tapping at the window by the door while imploring me with wide eyes, “Let me in.”
Letting him in, I began singing, “You belong in the house, carpet under your feet.”
The cat responded by asking me if I had anything to eat.
I returned to streaming the original song in my head. Here’s Glenn Frey’s song, “You Belong to the City”. It was written for the Miami Vice television series way back in 1985. It was a good year for me. I spent a few months in Africa, but that’s a different story.
Michael Seidel, writer 