Saturday’s Theme Music — Uneasy Distractions

Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 11, 2026.

65 and cloudy, it feels like a comfortable 72 outside. The temperature will rise into the high 80s today in our valley.

It seems to me like Trump has been losing mojo. Just IMO. Gas prices are rising — again, after a brief reprieve while a ceasefire was in effect — and the recession vibe remains strong. People keep talking about it and they’re not pleased.

Although Republicans ‘support’ the war with Iran, it’s not very popular. His objectives are all over the place, as is the timetable. Only the triple impacts of death, destruction, and costs are clear.

Hustling to keep power, Trump is trying distraction after distraction under Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! This week, he rolled out the classic right-wing trope, ‘commies’.

Like many of Trump’s tactics, he’s going after emotional votes, and uses fear. Basic insights tell us that this shift is to attract anyone previously affected by communism, such as Cuban voters who escaped Castro. It’ll also speak directly to those cold war survivors who had the commie threat ingrained in them for decades.

Threat inflation, I believe it’s called, and it’s been used in politics forever, most recently when JD Vance and Trump made up stories about Haitians eating people’s pets.

Trump is hoping that the commie threat will distract us from the tangible and intangible expenses of his war with Iran. He also has his fingers crossed that it’ll be enough of a distraction to lower our concerns about the rising challenge of affordability in the US, extreme weather problems being fueled by climate change, his grifting, and the many other ways he’s broken promises and failed.

That emotional vibe is what keeps MAGAts riding the Trump bus.

Meanwhile, the rural hospital crises goes on. Measles outbreaks have already surpassed 2025’s total, and will get worse. Measles used to reflect the school-year cycle but now, as children attend summer camps, the spread of measles is no longer contained to the school systems as much as it was.

A new vision of Trumpland rises. The wealthy top five to ten percent enjoy life as poverty grows. People outside of the wealthy class increasingly struggle to keep up with needs — food, health, shelter, energy — or the house and health insurance to save them when things go wrong.

Trump keeps juggling distractions: Greenland! Ballroom! Security! Freedom 250! Formula 1 race in DC! Immigrants! Commies, commies, commies! Iran with nukes! The Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. Stolen elections! Election fraud!

Emotional voters will vote for him because he says it like it is, because he speaks to their fears.Yes, that’s a little reductive; others will vote for him because ‘the Bible’ or ‘woke’. More will vote for him because ‘Merica, or ‘Republican’.

That’s what we face to bring sensible change back into the national conversation.

Today’s song came out in 1973. The ballad of the “Uneasy Rider” was by the Charlie Daniels Band — CDB. It tells the story of a long-haired person driving through the south back in the early 1970s when they have a flat tire.

While waiting for their tire to be fixed, the narrator takes refuge in a bar, where he hides his hair up under his hat. But circumstances arise when he must ‘tip his hat to a lady’. He does, revealing his long hippie hair.

Suddenly he’s nervous and in danger. In order to escape, he starts accusing one of the others of various things — playing on fears. Here’s the lyrics that tell the tale:

And I knew I better think of something pretty quick
So I just reached out and kicked ol’ green teeth right in the knee
Now he let out a yell that’d curl your hair
But before he could move I grabbed me a chair
And said, “Watch him folks ’cause he’s a thoroughly dangerous man!”
“You may not know it but this man is a spy
He’s a undercover agent for the FBI
And he’s been sent down here to infiltrate the Ku Klux Klan!”

He was still bent over holding on to his knee
But everybody else was looking and listening to me
And I laid it on thicker and heavier as I went
I said, “Would you believe this man has gone as far
As tearing Wallace stickers off the bumpers of cars
And he voted for George McGovern for President”

“Well, he’s a friend of them long haired hippy-type, pinko fags!

I bet you he’s even got a commie flag
Tacked up on the wall inside of his garage”
“He’s a snake in the grass, I tell you guys
He may look dumb but that’s just a disguise
He’s a mastermind in the ways of espionage”

h/t Genius.com

The narrator plays on fears to distract so he can escape, just as Trump does to ‘change the narrative’.

Listening to the song, I heard a few differences in this version.

  1. He doesn’t mention peace signs on his car.
  2. The original mentioned voting for Wallace; it’s been changed Reagan.
  3. The narrator accuses green teeth of voting for Jimmy Carter for president.
  4. “Mario Andretti would have sure been proud” was the original reference; that was changed to Cale Yarborough.
  5. And the references to their peckers on fire has been changed…

Hope you have a distractionfree day of peace, grace, good food and good health.

Cheers

A Dream of An Uncle

Don’t know what’s in my water. Dreams continue rolling through me. This one featured a deceased but appreciated and missed Uncle. Died of a brain tumor ’bout a decade ago or so. He was one of those people who always demonstrated belief in what I could do and pride in when I do things, a good person to have around when you’re young and feeling your way.

We were at a celebration. Seemed to be a family birthday party. My uncle was hosting. He was young, energetic, and charming, the perpetual image contained in my memories of him, sunglasses covering his eyes, teeth clamped on a cigar. Don’t know who the party was for. Seemed like cousins were there. Weird thing is, it seemed to be held in a Japan or Mexico.

It came time for the cake. That was prepared for a local bakery. My uncle asked if anyone could pay for it. Yes, I volunteered; I can. I scrambled to find the money, just $25. Impatiently, he left, and went to get the cake. Finding the money at last, I rushed after him, encountering him as he left the store. “I have the money,” I told him.

“Too late,” he replied. “I paid.”

He seemed sad, disappointed. I suggested that I could pay the shopkeeper and he could give my uncle his money back. The shopkeeper, watching and listening in this tiny establishment, agreed. No, my uncle decided. It’d be too complicated. What’s done is done.

End

Old Friend in A Store: A Dream

I woke up with an old friend in mind.

Was he still alive?

Would he still be my friend?

We were high-school classmates. Graduated in 1974. I haven’t seen him since 1979, when I was home from the military. He was a good friend for the times, at the time. But we have all changed, haven’t we?

I dreamed I encountered Keith at a store. Don’t know what kind of store. We were both the young people we were in high school. Someone else was with him, hanging back in the shadows, behind him. I don’t know who they were. Keith told me he was running for office. I was very surprised. Keith, reserved, a little shy, with a sharp mind and a dry sense of humor, didn’t seem destined for politics. I asked why he was doing that. He gave me a detailed response about problems he’d had with several local businesses. He’d felt cheated but everything the businesses had done were legal, so he was running for office so he could change things. As he gave his response, he showed me his phone, where there were records and newspaper and media articles about the businesses and Keith’s issues. I said something about him using his phone as evidence. He replied, “Good lord, no. I have too much porn on it to ever show anyone my phone.”

Dream end.

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve been hearing a little voice in my head. Well, there are actually a few. I live by a committee of voices in my head. Some are writing advisors, editors, and muses. Others are DIY budgeteers. Several more very vocal citizens and progressives are in there, often spitting mad with exasperation and disgust as the Trump wrecking ball obliterates democracy, decency, and morality in the United States. Besides them and voices of memory who like to bring up things I have done and enjoyed, I also have a couple health consultant voices, a few therapists and exercise coaches, and relationship advisors. On the whole, they’re mostly civilized, respecting the other voices, only speaking up when the others are quiet.

One thing I’ve learned from all of these is not to ignore them. As time has threaded past, I’ve repeatedly been re-educated that the little voices often know a lot more than me about what’s going on and what I should do. When I ignore them, things will go bad, as they predict. Naturally, they then say, “I told you so. You should’ve listened.”

So I’m vowing to them again, “Okay, I’m listening.”

Naturally, one snidely replied, “Sure.”

The voices are a lot like me.

The Writing Moment

I completed revising and editing the novel in progress. Gravity’s Emotions.

I wrote the novel I wanted. The story I wanted to read. As ‘they’ always advise and suggest. ‘They’ are the establishment. The writers who made it. The teachers who teach it. The editors who edit it, the publishers who print it, the agents who represent it. Of course, once the writer writes the novel they want, ‘they’ all take their turns on it. That’s the art, and the business. Then it gets to the readers.

Woo, boy.

My doubts have been kicking me, heaping scorn on my effort. Those doubts are always ready to jump on me. Doesn’t matter what’s going on. They are what they are.

“Your idea of inconsistent consistent inconsistency is ridiculous,” they growl. “It’s too complicated. Too surreal and too far out there. And the book is too big. That’s also a stupid title.”

“Thanks, guys,” I answer. Because there is no arguing with doubt. Let it come, beat you up, expend its energy, and walk away. Don’t engage your doubt. That’s what ‘they’ say.

The doubts do present legitimate points. The manuscript is an epic monster. 700 pages. Umpteen billion words. Lot of fun to write, edit, revise. Amazing that I wrote that thing in a few hours a day. I started it in July of 2024. I often ponder, HTF is that possible? It neatly slots into my thoughts about duality: it was at once hard work and a long time and a lot of hours, and not much time, not too difficult, and a lot of fun.

Meanwhile, the draft is being distributed to my small core of private readers. See what they think. Decisions will be set regarding their feedback. Then, into the submission maws.

While that’s all happening, another novel is already underway.

The Writing Moment

I entertained myself over the last few days with novel writing. Unexpected directions and ideas were advanced. Muses introduced settings, characters, and moments I’d not anticipated.

Then, last night and this morning, panic. OMG, how does this all fit together? Some of it comes across as a little friggin’ nuts, as in crazy, insane, and maybe…cringe…ridiculous.

A brave contingency of being spoke up, trying to soothe me by reminding me, don’t worry, don’t overthink it, just get out of your own way and let it happen. This is good that you’re uncomfortable and nervous about what’s happening. They cited numerous writers who claim that if it’s going too well, it’s probably bad, ergo, feeling bad about progress is actually good.

Yes, sure, I try to accept that. Tell myself, swallow hard. Keep going. Don’t judge it until it’s done as one piece.

Easy for you to say, the neurotic doubters retort. Then all agree, let’s just go write like crazy, at least one more time. See where it takes us.

And away we go.

End of World Dreams

I’m covering two of my three end of world dreams from last night. First, these dreams had very dark settings. Most of the first one took place underground or at night.

Another aspect that fascinated me about the dreams was how it combined elements of my military career with my IBM employment. Trippy mind work going on there. And now, the dreams.

I was working for IBM and it wasn’t going well. Exhausted from working and trying to save our division, many of us were sleeping at work, going twenty-four hours to try to save it. But we’d run out of time and knew the division was going to be shut down. Worse, and more surreally, we realized that the world was ending. How and why it was ending, the dream never covered. But this was something I knew, and was continually in the back of my dream mind.

To start, I’d been sleeping on the floor in my work office. It’s totally dark. I have a few private possessions and clothing, and that’s it. Voices awaken me. I listen and recognize our division director dismally describing the situation: world ending, division ending, shutting down. We were hanging on to our jobs because it gave us some hope that something could be done to stop the end of the world. Now he’s saying, we failed.

His comments stir me into a restless fit. I pace, trying to brainstorm about what we can do. Crazy ideas emerge but nothing sensible. I want to go talk to him about it, so I dress and head out, tracking him down.

The office area is built on a rock-strewn coastline. I clamber over rocks to find the director. He vaguely knows me. I throw out some ideas and he thanks me but tells me, they’ve already shot down those ideas because we don’t have the resources. It’s all dark doom and gloom.

I wander into another section and find an unused office. Turns out, the IBM offices are built on top of an old military base. The office used to be a missile control center. Finding a key, I put it into a dusty receptacle and turn it.

From elsewhere, I hear alarmed chatter that there are lights on: a missile is firing. I’m horrified to discover that I’ve turned a key to launch a nuclear missile. I’m also shocked; apparently, this one was overlooked when the nukes were removed. I frantically attempt to turn back the key but fail. Finding the director and other people, I try to reassure them that the nuke won’t detonate because it wasn’t armed, but I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain that high explosive are in the warhead and will detonate. I speculate that could cause the nuke to go off.

I run out to watch it. The missile launches into the dark sky. Huge ocean waves are crashing into the buildings, tearing them down. Shouting warnings to others, I climb the slippery rocks and escape.

Time slips past. I’m now surviving with three other men in the remaining office complex. We walk around setting small fires to keep warm and looking for food. We’ve found a cache, so we’re not too worried. I’ve also found a radio and keep tuning it, attempting to pick up radio stations and get some news. I worry about some of the fires they’ve set because they’ve put them under wall calendars and posters, which are catching fire.

“So?” Others ask. “What’s going to happen? We’ll burn down the building? It’s the end of the world.” Although I understand what they’re saying, I’m thinking that they have a bad attitude about surviving.

We drift out of the building to find other survivors. We end up in an underground tunnel in a yellow taxi. I’m driving. The tunnel is dully lit with dim yellow lights. To proceed further, we need to stop at a toll gate. There are three lines. Two lines are hugely backed up. The third has no one waiting. We pull up to the gate for the third ine. I get out to talk to the gate attendant, a short, swarthy guy, and ask him, “Can we use this gate? We don’t have any money — “

He interrupts me by showing me a finger, wait. As this happens, a blond woman in a green skirt comes up and reminds the gate attendant that the gate we’re at is to only be used by VIPs and emergency personnel. She leaves and he turns to me and says, “Now you can.” I understand him to mean we can use it because she’s gone. I thank him and asks, “But how much does it cost?” He replies, “No charge.”

I awaken and think all that through. Falling back asleep, I have another dream about the end of the world. It’s burning, and I know it’s ending.

Another dream begins, and I’m with the other three men again. We’re just leaving the toll gate and enter a building. In there, we find some other people and plentiful supplies, including alcohol. We basically decide to drink and get drunk. Why not? The world is ending.

We’re sitting around drinking and hear the outer door open. Investigating, we find four woman entering. They tell us they were looking for someone to party with since the world is ending. We tell them that we have alcohol and invite them to join us. They agree, and men and women pair off.

My companion is a short, chubby woman. She and I begin making out but she becomes morose about the of the world and starts crying. I try consoling her with hugs and some positive statements but she goes on about how so many people are gone and it’ll all be over soon, which is why she and her friends were looking for someone to party with. She and I go back to the main room, where the others are also arriving. All have had the same situation, that the women are sad and crying. They live.

Dream end. I awoke and realized with surprise that it was part of the first dream because of the background situation, my companions, and the setting.

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