Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Time races by
A flash of a second
A flutter of thought
The mess of a moment
Dreams flood in and fade away
Nothing seems to stay
For more than a day
Emotions arrive
In a moment’s wash
Soaking every other feeling
And thought
Debilitating and deepening, stealing thunder
Leaving us worked over
Tired
Feeling plundered
Thinking comes
Arriving from odd angles
Hooked by a word
A sound
A gaze at another
From all of it comes
Thoughts of life
Ways to improve
Methods to lesson our strife
So we go on our intelligent ways
Being
Coping
Seeing
Trying to look beyond the day
I broke out of my writerly cocoon this week. I typically get into the coffee shop, find a table and seat, assume the position and shut down to being friendly. I have met Kim, another writer, and chat with her regularly, but briefly. We each respect the writer’s privacy and methodology, so while we will emerge to joke and exchange words, we shut back down and get down to our respective writing processes.
Meanwhile, though, there are dogs. People bring their pups in with them, a practice I applaud. Living in Europe, it wasn’t unusual to encounter dogs in restaurants, cafes, and shops. I’m fine with them.
And the dogs are fine with me. But because they come and visit me, I end up chatting with their people. Then the people open up with their curiosity about what I do there each day. In explaining, others overhear. They volunteer later, privately, that they’re a writer, too. It’s a veritable writing hive.
I also ventured out of my cocoon on my own. A woman sat down beside me yesterday as I was wrapping up. She put a book down, along with a notebook. Always interested in people’s reading material, I glanced over. The book’s title was A Wild Life, a book about women in botany and their discoveries. I have several botanist friends, learned, intelligent, charming people who are passionate about botany. I said, “Pardon me, I saw your book. Are you a botanist?”
“I wish,” she responded.
We chatted about the book and why she chose it. A local person, Lucretia Saville Weems, is the author, and the woman saw it in Bloomsbury’s local authors section and was interested and bought it.
Packing up, I said my goodbyes to her but wasn’t done socializing. I’d noticed a young couple. She was wearing a One Piece sweatshirt. My wife and I are One Piece fans, so I had to pause to compliment her on her top, and then we talked about the television series and enjoyed some laughs.
Probably just something in the air for a few days. I’m back in my cocoon today, ready to get to it.
I was in charge of a small law enforcement unit, part of a national agency. We were all casually dressed, not even up to casual Friday standards. The people I led were young and inexperienced but eager. We’d been working on a case. Now we were closing in for the arrest. I was cautioning them, “But we don’t want to arrest them too soon. We are still gathering evidence in other aspects, and we want them to think that they’re one step ahead of us. In reality, we’re one step ahead of them. But we need them to be overconfident until it’s time to make all of the arrests.”
We were arresting a small gang of middle-aged individuals. No idea what their crime was. At this point, the dream evolved into us arriving at a place, waiting for the criminals to arrive, then ‘accidently’ revealing ourselves, letting them get away, to our feigned frustration. We did this five times before the other units announced that all traps were in place, and then we sprang our trap and arrested them. Only then did their leader realize that my team had been conning him. The look on his face was priceless.
Today is Thirstda, October 16, 2025. Fall sky and trees are in concert with sunshine and a spectrum of leafy colors to play against blue. Kind of visual that shows up on postcards and travelogues. Chilly 47 F but dry. Sun and air will take us to the upper sixties.
Met with my supplier last night. “Here,” she said, offering a brown paper bag. I glanced around for police or witnesses before accepting the bag. “Thanks.” She smiled. “Enjoy.”
Back in the truck, I told my driver, “Hit it.” Only then did I open the bag and peer in. Grins spread over my expression at the pretty collection of late-season figs.
Bad news for us on the ‘No Kings’ front. Ashland’s rally for this Satyrda was canceled. Couldn’t get a permit. We’ll attend the one in Medford instead.
The Epstein Shutdown has consumed over half of October of 2025. We’re still well short of the longest shutdown. That would be the Trump Shutdown of 2018-2019, which lasted 35 days. Large differences between the two include what DOGE did to the government before this shutdown, gutting the Federal infrastructure, mobilizing national guard units before this shutdown, and the deepening darkness of what’s going on with Federal spending as those functions have been kneecapped or muted. Also different this time is the capitulation of so many mainstream media outlets, aided by billionaire ownership who donate and support Trump. Last, of course, is the notorious masked ICE. They weren’t the unleashed paramilitary group they now are. Led by Kristi Noem, this force has demonstrated an eagerness to violently assault anyone who might by the wrong skin color, is in the wrong place, speaks with the wrong accent, or rolls their eyes at them.
The unsurprising news was delivered to us today that Mom’s boyfriend, Frank, passed away this morning. He would have been 96 in January. Love and light to Frank.
When Frank had his fall that precipitated his hospital stay and passing, he didn’t want Mom to call an ambulance or take him to the hospital. Told her that he was fine.
Today’s song is for Frank. Frank was a rock, dependable, reliable, steady, consistent. Not surprising that The Neurons placed “Carry On” by Fun in the morning mental music stream when the news came. Sample lyrics.
If you’re lost and alone
Or you’re sinking like a stone.
Carry on.
May your past be the sound
Of your feet upon the ground.
Carry on.
Carry on, carry on
h/t to AZLyrics.com
Time to carry on after a few more gulps of coffee. Hope peace and grace finds us and lifts us up, and does so pretty damn soon. Okay, here we go. Cheers
I was the new guy in a small group of males. Basically smartasses and lower class with leanings toward crime and goofing off, I don’t know how I met them but was hanging around with them. They kept discounting me and making fun of me. I decided changes were needed and thought the way to do that was with my hair. So off I went to get dreadlocks.
A stylist eagerly did as I asked. I emerged with long black dreadlocks when I’d had brown hair before, with the crown being literally a crown of short dreads.
I went back and joined the group at a short track where a car race was scheduled to take place. All were surprised and taken back. One or two made fun of me for it. Then we split up. Most headed in to watch the race but one other and I stayed back, sort of watching the group’s belongings in a small corner by a counter. Catching my image in a mirror, I was horrified. “I look terrible,” I said. “Ridiculous. What was I thinking?”
The other guy, a short, white almost bald fellow said, “Well, I admire what you did. Took balls. I respect that.”
“Really? But it looks like crap.”
“Yes, but you did something.”
I met a woman who wanted to go into the track but wasn’t certain how to go about it. I asked where she wanted to go in there. “By turn two,” she answered. “Come on,” I said, “I’ll take you there.”
I took her in through the crowd. As I did, a young black woman paused to tell me with a wide smile, “I really like your hair.”
“Thanks,” I answered, pleased, amused. Showing the woman to turn two, I moved back through the crowd to the outside. Another young black woman accosted me, saying, “Nice hair.”
I encountered a white female friend as I left the race track. “What did you do to your hair?” she asked.
“I know,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going to see if it can be fixed.” But I was thinking, it’ll probably need to be cut. Then it’ll take a long time to grow back. While this went through my head, a young black woman said, “I’m sorry but I overheard what you said. I hope you don’t change your hair. I think it looks really good on you.”
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 