Tag: fiction

Success & Processing: A Dream

Young, I dreamed I was in the military, except it seemed more like I both was and wasn’t. As the dream unfolds, you’ll see what I mean.

I was at my house, in uniform. It was this house where I live in real life, but located somewhere else. I was going through the house, thinking about what I needed to do when I received a phone call. An agent said a publisher was interested in my book and wanted to talk to me — could I come up next Tuesday?

Hell, yes, was basically my response.

Giddy with excitement, I shared the news with my wife. Then I was informed that the general was arriving for a briefing. Scrambling, I put together a PowerPoint slide presentation, finishing up just when the doorbell rang. The cats ran off as the general and his staff entered.

The general was tall, friendly, white, quiet, and very hands on. As I began the slide show, explaining things, he asked for the controls. Then he tried to take over but didn’t know how to work the controls. I showed him. He then ‘left’ the slideshow app and started going through the material.

At one point, the general stopped. Watching him reading the slide and working the controls, I guessed that he wanted to print something. I showed him how, which he quickly understood.

Noticing the television, the general asked if it worked and requested it be turned on. I turned the TV on but with the sound down. The general took a remote and tried changing the channels. This was an odd-looking remote that was like an old-fashioned television dial on rectangle. He turned the dial but nothing happened. I explained that we didn’t use that remote — it didn’t work with this system, and gave him the correct remote. He then turned the channel.

I took the laptop with the presentation on it to the printer area to retrieve the general’s printouts. Another general was there. This one was younger, less rank, chunkier, white, with a balding head, brown hair, and a thick brown mustache. He was also very gregarious.

I saw that this general was trying to make copies of something. Chuckling, he was saying, “I was ready to retire. I can’t believe I got this assignment. It just fell into my lap. This is wonderful.”

He walked off. Glancing at what he was copying — coupons — I discerned that he’d not done them right. Adjusting the machine and settings, I copied them for him, speaking to my wife as she came up. “Look, hon, he’s copying coupons,” because my wife used to be a coupon hound. She left and left that area as the short general returned.

I showed the short general the copies I made, telling him, “I think this is what you were trying to do.”

He thanked me, agreeing that I’d fixed it for him. Then he took a fat marker and circled something on the page. I didn’t see what and didn’t feel it was my business to look.

Suddenly, he said, “Will you go down and sell my house for me? I need to sell it but I don’t have the time. It’s next Tuesday. I’ll give you $10,000 to do it.”

Seeing me hesitate, he cajoled me into helping him out. On my end, I reacting to him but not saying anything. First, an extra ten grand? Hell, yes. Second, next Tuesday? I have something planned then. I’d need to do both. I also thought, look at all this great stuff happening.

Everyone left. I went around, thinking about all that had transpired. While seeing the guests off, I’d noticed that the yard was weedy and trees needed trimmed. I decided to take care of those things. I went into the house first to tell my wife about the short general’s deal.

Back outside, I discovered that the weeds had almost doubled in size and numbers while I was in the house. Well, I needed to take care of that quick, so I went in and got the equipment. Coming out, I began working on a tree. My wife came out and said something that I didn’t catch.

Dream end.

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The Price of the Prize

In an old news story — two weeks ago, ‘old news’ in the smash and grab Trump news cycle — María Corina Machado, 2025 Nobel Peace Prize recipient, gave her prize to Trump.

I suspect she was secretly paid to give her prize away.

An effective front man for the executive branch’s growing lawlessness, keeping him placated is paramount. Otherwise, he began obsessing on losing the 2020 elections again.

Frustration was high. Nothing seemed to lift Trump’s mood. He wanted Greenland but Denmark wasn’t selling, even though he’d threatened more tariffs. His ballroom’s construction was mired down. ICE’s growing violence was driving his popularity and approval ratings to new lows, and the issue about affordability just was not disappearing. Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos were calling almost every day, ranting, “This is not what we paid for!”

“We need to meet,” Vought hissed to Trump’s cabinet. “Something needs to be done before senators and representatives start growing some balls because they’re going to lose an election.”

“Well, I’m out,” War Secretary Hegseth said. “We already abducted President Maduro from Venezuela. I thought that would make him happier.”

“I know,” Noem said. “We’re doing everything we can over in Homeland Security but now judges are growing a spine. Who do they think they are?”

“I agree,” Miller said. “I thought adding Trump’s name to the Kennedy Center would make him happier.”

“I have an idea,” Bondi suggested. “Let’s approach Machado and see what her price is for giving Trump her Nobel Peace Prize.”

Vice President Vance nodded. “A Noble Prize, yes! That sounds like the perfect pacifier for him.”

Feelers were put out to Machado. Their pitch was basic. “We’re in charge of Venezuela now. We can put you into office. Support you with the strength of the U.S. military. Fund your campaign. All you need to do is give Donald Trump your peace prize as a gift. Come on, what will it hurt? You said that you thought he deserved it. And the record will always show that you won. It’s a win-win.”

Officially, they said Machado came up with it on her own, perhaps in an effort to gain Trump’s support.

As far as they could tell, it worked. Other than another diatribe at Davos about losing the 2020 election again, Trump stayed on track.

“It’s still early days,” Miller reminded the rest at the next meeting. “I think we need to do something bigger, something to really put a smile on his face.”

Everyone’s shoulder’s slumped. “Think,” Bondi encouraged. “What can we do? Doesn’t anyone have any idea what will make him happier for a little while, at least until the midterms?

“Arrest Biden?” Miller said with wide-eyed eagerness.

“Too much,” Hegseth answered.

“What about this?” Bessent said. “Let’s have a Trump coin minted.”

Trump’s cabinet and advisors held their breath in thought.

“That’s more tangible,” Miller said.

Eyes bright and large over a grin, Hegseth exclaimed, “No living president has their name on a coin.”

Vought reached for the phone. “I’ll call our legislative lackeys and get them working on it.”

“Make sure it’s gold,” Bessent said.

Vought sneered. “Of course. We know that Trump is a fool for gold.”

“Okay, I think we’re done for today,” Bondi said. “Americans are getting angry. New polls will probably show that.”

Miller scowled. “That’s because he’s so great, misunderstood, and underappreciated.”

“Anyway,” Bondi continued. “We need to get ahead of the curve.”

Vought smiled. “Of course. Let’s get to work on those memorial gates he keeps going on about. We need some kind of TrumpCares program, too. Doesn’t matter what it does.”

“I’ll take that on,” Kennedy replied. “I know how he thinks.”

Relieved, the group filed out, feeling happier about the future for the first time in days. “It’s good to know to have a direction,” Vought said to Kennedy.

Kennedy nodded. “I just hope it makes Elon happy.”

Vance piped up. “By the way, has anyone seen Trump today?”

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday, January 26, 2026, has landed. Frigid cold holds much of the U.S. Ashland in Oregon remains 40 degrees and dry, but partly cloudy, with a high of 57 F expected this afternoon.

Much of my attention shifts between Minnesota, Trump in general, and the winter storm, Fern. My general reflections at this point make me think that the U.S. is in danger of becoming a wasteland, a rich center for the wealthy but a miserable place for the rest. As education and norms are peeled away and freedom is squashed, the future has a bleaker look to it.

For what, many of us ask? We know Trump is the figurehead and has enabled others to act on his behalf. More, the Project 2025 authors are driving it. Their intention seems to be, tear it all down, and then we’ll rebuild in an image of our own making. The image seems to be, believe in our God, buy our goods, and keep your opinions to yourself. In return, we’ll call you free, and remind that this is America, land of the free and home of the brave.

And if you resist, we will vilify, harass, and even shoot you. We will gas you and strip you of your dignity and rights.

To which We the People reply, bring it on.

Today’s music is brought to you by The Neurons. They identified “Baba O’Riley” by The Who as ideal theme music for this final Monday in January, 2026.

Out here in the fields
I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don’t need to fight
To prove I’m right
I don’t need to be forgiven

Don’t cry
Don’t raise your eye
It’s only teenage wasteland

Sally, take my hand
We’ll travel south ‘cross land
Put out the fire, don’t look past my shoulder
The exodus is here
The happy ones are near
Let’s get together before we get much older

h/t to songmeanings.com

So let’s continue getting together and stand up for the United States that we believe in, a nation where we can criticize the government without threats of lawsuits or violence, a nation of elected officials who believe they work for We the People to help us all rise and be stronger, safer, and freer, and not just a privileged few.

Hope it’s a grand, safe day for you, one that helps establish a firm foundation for the needs ahead. Cheers

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Floofmulus

Floofmulus (floofinition) – An animal’s private secretary or personal attendant. Origins: Floofman, from Flooftin for servant. First use noted in print 1854, “The Travails of A Royal Floofmulus”.

In Use: “Two days after adopting a rescue cat, Becca realized she was a floofmulus, scheduling checkups and planning meals while ensuring she’s safe, comfortable, and entertained.”

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Sunpudoze

Sunpudoze (floofinition) – An animal or group of animals, especially housepets, sleeping in a puddle of sunshine. Origins: 1909, Middle Floof floofmanteau, from sun +puddle +doze, initially appearing in Poor Fido’s Floofmanack.

In Use: “Eastern sunshine often poured into the pillowed space. Almost every morning, Soaps, Duds, and Laundry jumped up there, spending hours in a sunpudoze, where the dog and cats gently snored, making Suzanne smile in happiness and envy.”

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The White Square Dream

I dreamed I was presented with a white vertical square.

The square floated in front of my head. Despite no evident attachments to the wall, floor, or ceiling, it was very stable.

Twenty-five photos in five-by-five columns and rows were in the square. All were the same photo of a young, bald, smiling black man — no one familiar to me. The picture reminded me of a high school photograph, but this man was an adult.

Puzzled, I investigated the white square and then the photographs, learning that pressing a photograph opened another set of smaller, identical photographs of the same person.

Trial and error led to discoveries that the man was twenty-five years old. Each photograph represented a different year of his life. Pressing on them opened up other sets of photographs. Although always looking like the same photograph, by pressing it, I learned of his past, present, and future for him at that time of his life.

Over that exploration, I realized that I could shift the man from where he was in his life to another place in his life, including his future and past.

Swiping left brought up another set of photos, only four, all the same, a grinning white man with tousled ginger hair in a green plaid shirt. Venturing to press photographs revealed he was only four years old, but that I could move into his future and past through the photos, and when I moved through them, I was moving him.

The experience was repeated several more times before I sat back to think about what I’d encountered. This was a system to move people in time or reality, maybe both.

With that understanding, I sat back, warning myself, be careful with what you do until I understand more about the ramifications.

Dream end.

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife came in, sighed, and gave a book report. She reads a lot — over one hundred novels in 2025. I read but not nearly as much, in large part because I write fiction.

I often hear two or three book reports a day from her. Today’s report launched from a familiar sore spot for her.

“Well, I’m enjoying this book, but. I have nine pages left. I know that they’re not going to wrap this story up in nine pages. Not if it’s going to make sense. That means there’s a sequel, a book two, maybe more. Why do they do this? It should be illegal. It should be a crime. If you write a book, it should have an ending, not another thousand book to read.”

Report finished, she stalked back out. A minute later, I heard her singing and cleaning the kitchen. She gets angry about it but at this point, she’s resigned to the situation. I don’t think it’ll be much longer before she begins confirming that the book has an ending before she begins reading it.

We all have our limits.

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A Road Trip Dream

I was setting out on a trip with three friends. Only one — Ron, an older man — translates to a current real-life person. Ron was just as he is in real life. The others, also males, were known.

One interesting note that emerged and wove throughout were two others, both female. They sometimes joined the journey, and Ron and I discussed whether they would be with us. The two women, both brunettes, one in a red top with black pants and the other wearing a bright blue top, would only appear and not speak directly to me.

We were riding in Ron’s truck. This was beige and big, with a four-door cab and a luxurious tan leather interior. Though Ron was driving, he was in the backseat. I was alongside him. He’d put the car on autopilot, so it was essentially driving itself with him just monitoring what was going on.

I kicked back beside him on the back seat. Stretching my legs out, my foot ended up hitting the steering wheel. That put us off course. Because of the way I was reclined, it took several seconds of jostling to get my foot out of the way. During that time, we went off the road and onto the shoulder but didn’t slow. Ron finally steered us back on course and returned the truck to autopilot, but now he was worried and concerned the police would pull us over.

We arrived at our destination — a huge furniture store. I’d never been to it. The floor was hard dirt. All furniture was antique white. Despite the floor and the limited offering, the store was very busy. The women showed up briefly. The others spoke with them while I went out to another section of store.

The next store section was filled with tables and chrome appliances. The appliances turned out to be food and drink dispensers. Needing to use a restaurant, I did some bowel business but discovered the toilet didn’t have any way to flush. Removing my fecal material with a wad of paper towels, I looked for a way to dispose of it. I found one but they wanted me to pay money to flush it away. I refused, angry and disgusted that they’d monetized flushing away our body functions. I instead found a small white bag, put the materials in there, and set it on a table, telling myself, it would be someone else’s problem.

I then reconnected with my friends. I told Ron that when we went back, I wanted to sit in the front and stretch out and sleep. He looked at me with confusion but didn’t reply. The two women came by. One said she had to go off and find her children.

My friends and I went to another section. People there were seated, waiting to pay for their selections. I stopped before one man and did a giddy tap dance. The man, overweight and big with swarthy skin and a white cowboy hat, ordered, “Stop that.” Laughing, I kept dancing but moved to another section. Another man who I didn’t see said, “Stop that,” but I laughed and danced away.

My friends met up with me again. All were surprised that I was tap dancing and thought it strange. They wondered how I learned it. I replied, “I’ve always known how to tap dance. Nobody ever needed to teach me. I just knew. I just don’t do it much.”

Dream end.

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