Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I had a haircut earlier this month. Really? Which one? *tish*
My wife said, “You look nice. Your hair looks really good.”
“Thanks,” I answered. I was leaving for the coffee shop. “I have a campaign to look less homeless. My hair is too short.”
“Looks good.”
“Too short. It’s shorter than it was when I was in the military because I have less of it now.”
“It looks good.”
“It’s too short.”
“It looks good.”
“Agree to disagree. See you later.”
“It looks good.”
He smelled stale cigarette smoke. He turned and saw a woman in a chair. It was rare to smell cigarette smoke coming off someone in these days. It happened all the time before 1995, when more smokers were active. As it was so infrequent now, he always looked to see who the smoker was. They always appeared a decade or more older than him but aging in appearance could be from smoking.
I was working with someone from RL. They weren’t my boss or in my chain but was a director. They came to me and said, “Hey, Mike, I’d like you to come with me on a business trip.” (He always called me Mike, when I’m one of those who goes by Michael.) I was surprised, a little flattered. He explained briefly that we were going to corporate headquarters. Then, we were side by side walking with our luggage, then, poof, we were there. Now it gets crazy.
I was wearing business casual but I’d brought a suit for some serious meetings. First I checked in. I disovered that my room, a large space with several beds, no closets but racks for clothes, and a large bathroom seemed to already be occupied. I thought that a little strange but guessed it was due to budget cutbacks. As I unpacked my clothes and hastened out go to meetings, a young woman dressed in shorts and halter tops.
After an awkward silence, I approached her and mentioned that I’d been assigned this room. Yes, she replied, she lived here. I clarified that she wasn’t just staying in the room for a meeting; no, she lived here with her co-worker. He arrived then, and we exchanged names. Then they started talking about their business while she took out an ironing board and iron and ironed clothes.
Outside, I discovered that I should be wearing a suit for this meeting, because I’d been in the same clothes for two days. Knowing I was due to be here three more days, I went back to the room. The other two weren’t there. I pulled out my suit. It had huge wrinkles on it. I found the iron but couldn’t fine the ironing board. Impatiently, I decided that I didn’t need it and dried ironing my suit on the bed. It wasn’t going well. As it progressed, the guy returned and watched me while he did other things. His presence flustered me.
After ironing it, I dropped my suit into a muddy puddle. Yes, our room’s floor was suddenly a pot-holed, cracked piece of asphalt. Trying to get mud off that part of the suit, I dipped another section and muddied it. I now discovered that I was doing this outside. It was cold and icy. My roommates came by and asked why I was ironing my suit outside. As I struggled to reply, they mentioned how strange it was to see someone wearing a suit. Neither of them ever wore one.
Dream end.
From last night’s plethora of dreams, one remained nailed in consciousness throughout the day. It was all about dealing with a beard. Yes, facial hair.
I was a young guy. Looked much different than my RW appearances. Was taller. Stockier, with a barrel chest. Much less hair and swarthier skin. Things were going on around me but I was in front of a sink of water and a mirror, with a single light over it. It was almost like a stage. People going around me would ask a question. I’d usually say, “Just a minute. Let me finish my beard.”
I was trying to find a beard that I liked. First, I shaved it all down really short. Very dark beard. We’re talking black ink. I examined myself and was dissatisfied. I shaved different swaths through the beard, trimming it back so it covered less of my face. Then, thinking I’d gone too far, I said, “No, I want more beard.” I dipped my hands in the sink of water. Raised the water to my face and spread it. Instant beard. Although I’d done it, I was surprised, saying to myself, “Oh, if that’s all it takes.”
Then I found that I could also erase the beard by just using the water. So I quit shaving or trimming it and instead dipped my fingers in the water and added or reduced the beard as desired until I found the look I liked. After a minute of appraisal in the mirror, turning my head back and forth, I announced, “Good,” and turned off the light.
Although it’s the moving-planets dream, it segued into a pants dream. That’s how I first thought of it.
We were given papers. “Follow the instructions on the papers,” we were all told. I’m not certain how many others were there. I’d guess about forty. I had an impression that I was middle-lower grade. We were doing something with planets and their orbits. Changing positions. De-conflicting paths and influences. The papers explained how to do these things. After a hesitant start, I picked up the idea and easily did my part, watching through large windows as I changed the paths and directions of gassy giants and small stones. An upper-level man came by and complimented me on my work. Told me, “You obviously have it. Go help some of the others. Some of them don’t get it.”
So I walked about, holding my paper, helping others learn how to move the planets. This was an introduction to a larger project. Once we knew how to move the planets, shift orbits, and change rotations, we were working on a larger project of aligning the planets for the most beneficial influence. By now, I’d read several people’s paper instructions. I’d learned that all were different in the details but with the same general practices and skill sets. Although my rank hadn’t changed, I was highly regarded and now considered adept at moving planets.
It was with some surprise then, followed by trepidation, when I concluded that some of the instructions were wrong. I went off and found the head guy and told him why I thought it was wrong. He decided that what I said made sense. He wanted to gather the whole group so I could explain it to them.
I agreed. Preparations were made. I decided I didn’t like my pants, so I made new ones, cutting them from cloth that I found, and then sewing them. The results were stunning. Form-fitting. Crisp creases. Neat darts and pleats. Perfect length. Cuffed. I was impressed by how my appearance improved by the change of pants.
The head guy and others came by to tell me they were ready. I had my pants on. My pants were different from everyone else’s. They stopped me and gathered around, asking, “Where did you get those pants? They’re perfect.”
“I made them,” I answered.
They were astonished. Wanted to know more. Felt the material. Had me turn so my pants could be admired from all angles. The rest of the people came in as this happened. They applauded my pants. The attention embarrassed me. With my new pants on, I was ready to explain to everyone where our plans to align the planets was amiss. I stood up to address them against a backdrop of stars and planets through tall, broad curved windows.
Dream end.
I was an adult and at a camp or retreat. Nothing posh. Many other people there. No one I know. Most were my age. A few were older. Part of the setting, a mild green tinge imbued everything. Skin, clothing, skin. All were tinged green. Not deep. But noticeable.
They made an announcement that we were going to play games. Everyone else was already in gym gear. I needed to change and told them. I had some trouble finding my gym bag. Once I found it, I sought privacy to change. The only place I could find was an old restroom. Cold and wet rough cement floor. Yellow walls — tinged green. Door that didn’t fit right. The door had a dead bolt. I was trying to close it and lock the dead bolt but others kept interrupting. I finally explained what I was trying to do. Left alone, I closed the door and bolted it. Stripped down to put on gym clothes. First set didn’t fit. They couldn’t be my clothes. But I knew those clothes and it was my bag. Next, I couldn’t get the shorts on and then I ripped them. Finally, I managed to get something on that fit. The white shorts and tight white top didn’t please me. But I had nothing else. I went with it.
I went outside to discover that they’d already begun playing. Teams were even. I couldn’t participate. That upset me. I understood that I’d been a long time and that they couldn’t wait But, mitigating what had happened, I’d been delayed. Nevertheless, that was the situation.
I moved to the side by myself and watched. The dream bounced forward from that scene. The games were over. We were gathered to hear about the next activity. Young woman of color was announcing it. I was sitting with others. We’re all tinged green. The coordinator said, “I hear that there’s a writer or novelist among you. Who is that? You’ll enjoy this activity.”
I immediately raised my hand. My hand was the only one raised. People around me turned and pointed to me while saying, “He’s the writer, he’s the novelist.”
The coordinator never looked my way. Never saw me. Then went on, “Who wants to do a fun creative exercise?” My hand was still up. Others still pointed at me. But others raised their hands. The coordinator went to them and passed out the exercise. This went on until only me and one other remained. The other was a young woman of color. She and I told the coordinator that we weren’t given an exercise.
The coordinator said, “Oh, you two can work together.” She then gave us some objective which struck me as make-work.
My partner and I went off to a table. She sat down. Rain sprinkled down. I said, “I don’t think I want to do this. It seems like a waste of time.”
She said, “Neither do I.” She called the coordinator over and said, “We’re not doing this.”
I then walked off.
Dream end.
This struck me as hilarious. In the midst of other dream action, I came to discover that I’d grown a tremendously thick beard, light gray in color. Preparing to go off to do business, I thought I’d trim it back with an electric razor. Interruptions kept occurring, limiting continuity. In an attempt to get it done, I was trimming it without a mirror. Since It was so long, broad, and heavy, I didn’t see any harm in that; I’d trim it back, and then tighten it up and make it neater.
Now, nearing the time to leave and wanting to look more presentable, I gathered myself in front of a mirror. Behold, where I’d trimmed the beard back, it was a luscious and glossy black. As I was cutting back from below, that meant that I had gray up around my mouth and chin. I was so pleased and astonished by the deep black beard revealed, I thought, I should trim off that gray and make it black, too.
I cut into the beard as planned but was horrified to see that the cut didn’t come out as planned. But on second look, the cut did a service by revealing more of my face. I thought, I need to do more of that. As I was doing so is when the dream ended.
A snake in a bag was included, and a cat, along with crystal stemware and stairs. Oh, and Matthew McConaughey. It ended with music.
I’d arrived, alone, at a large conference center, one of those mega places, part mall, part hotel and restaurants, and offices. A clean and busy place, I was there to do some work on my own.
Walking along the main corridor, I spotted a young woman in a large island shop. All glass, she had it fenced off on all sides, and the top. As I came closer, I realized it was because she had a black and white cat with her, and her arrangements were to keep the cat in.
I struck a benign conversation up with her and petted her cat, then continued on. Veering to one side, I entered a place loaded with tables. Finding an empty one, I unpacked my gear and set to work.
An attractive woman on one side began flirting with me. She was young, with blonde hair. An equally attractive young brunette woman on my other side then engaged me.
That put me on a high cloud, to be flirted with in that way. I reciprocated, then checked the time and decided I’d worked enough. Standing and packing my gear, I saw myself in a mirror. My appearance pleased me.
Saying bye to the women, I wondered around the bright, clean complex. Busy, nothing of interest drew my attention so I drifted back the other day.
A large canvas bag was thrown out in front of me. As I went around it, I realized it was holed, and then saw a large and angry snake was inside it. After watching for some seconds, I clarified that it was a large and angry rattlesnake, and it was trying to get out.
I worried about the young woman and her cat. Going to her, I told her about the snake. She decided she’d close and leave, to protect her cat.
I’d decided to leave. Shouldering my backpack with a glance back toward the bag with the snake (it may have escaped, I thought), I went down the stairs.
A stack of crystal stemware blocked the middle of the narrow staircase. Right and left of it were trays of dirty dishes.
It looked like dining tables had been bused, but they’d not taken the dirties away, which pissed me off. I turned around to report this to the receptionist, but she was on the phone.
Well, I wanted to leave. I carefully picked my way through the mess and made it without disturbing anything.
Free. I headed toward the exit.
Matthew McConaughey plowed into me. “Did you know that with one thin dime, you can be a free and wealthy man?”
I kept walking. Matthew was a friend, but I didn’t want to hear this now. “Get away from me, Matthew. I’m not interested.” He held up a dime.
“Not interested.” He walked with me. “I’m talking about a great opportunity. Do you have one thin dime, Michael?”
At that moment, I heard music on the loudspeaker and stopped. “Listen.”
“To what am I listening?” Matthew asked.
“The music. Recognize it?”
“I do not.”
“It sounds like the beginning of Deep Purple doing “Highway Star'” on their live album.”
“I don’t know it.”
Matthew’s response amazed me. “You don’t know it?”
The music began, and I was right about the song.
The dream ended.
Floofclone (floofinition) – 1. Micro-weather event of great wind and noise caused by an animal, often a dog or cat tearing around a house.
In use: “Whatever the trigger, once a day, Rebel (who was otherwise a sweet and goofy (but very smart) German Shepherd) leaped up and caused a floofclone, expending energy until fur was flying everywhere, and then collapsing with a grin.”
2. Animals who resemble one another.
In use: “The gray cat had but two white pieces, which made a white handlebar mustache on her sweet face. Everyone thought Pearl was unique until her floofclone, Spike (a street rescue), showed up.”
3. A person who resembles an animal.
In use: “He was a quiet and reserved man, long-limbed, a floofclone with feline cheeks and eyes. It made her wonder if he had a tail.”
Michael Seidel, writer 