

Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Welcome to Smoky Satyrda in Ashlandia. The smoke isn’t heavily visible but the smell of sodden wet wood hangs in the air and shifts my sinuses into overdrive to flush the crap back out. Yeah, poor me, right?
It’s 77 F now in Ashlandia with 99 F projected. The local troposphere looks up to it with blue skies gleaming down and a mighty sun raising up. Wouldn’t surprise to break 100 F; that’s the forecast for the valley overall.
A friend has fig trees on her land and gifted us with about five pounds of fresh, ripe figs. These things are huge and gorgeous. I’m married to a fignatic. We just spent $11 for a pint of figs the other day. They weren’t the best of figs but my house’s fignatic was happy to have them. You can imagine her joy from this gift. The figs are also a great addition to my morning diet. Yum. Pairs well with bananas. No so good with coffee.
I subscribe to multiple newsletters about books, writing, and publishing. One email subject said, “New Horror for your Summer”. I was like, no thanks, I have enough of that crap in the MAGALand daily news. For instance, when Trump’s gestapo rounds people up, their pets are often left alone in homes and apartments to die of thirst and starvation. This is Trump’s United States: cruel, mindless, thoughtless, heartless. Should I add greedy? That’s pretty fuckin’ self-evident when Trump brands and hawks new trinkets and consumer goods every month. Beyond that, there’s climate change and growing natural disasters around the world. As a couple nations war on each other and the wars threaten to engulf more geopolitical regions, TACO cuts back on the State Department and retreats.
Trump also announced he’s rolling out new tariffs. Will he or won’t he? TACO loves getting attention from making these announcements. Project 2025 goons installed in his regime loves him to do it, as they continue to operate under the distractions he generates with his blithering dithering — or is it dithering blithering? Trump makes announcements as the world burns and crashes around him, and the MAGAts clap in approval.
All that brings me to the morning mental music stream offering. After a surprisingly restless night and just one remembered dream (but a good dream), I found myself in the kitchen with a specific chorus echoing in the MMMS.
“Never free, never me, so I dub thee unforgiven. You labeled me, I’ll label you, so I dub thee unforgiven.”
Yes, that’s Metallica with their 1991 offering, “The Unforgiven”.
The Neurons were dubbing ICE agents as unforgiven. The entire damn Trump Regime is dubbed unforgiven, as are those senseless MAGAts who rolled this mess into existence. They’re unforgiven.
Have the best Satyrda you can. I plan to do the same. Cheers
After an era of dreaming where episodic and movie dreams that didn’t feature me dominated, dreams about me have punched back. Last night delivered a dream in three parts.
Part One began with me visiting with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend in Florida. Nice evening, etc, as we strolled along a via after enjoying a meal.
Two small alligators ran toward me. Each was about three feet long. I dodged them while warning others about the alligators’ presence. My SIL said something like, “Oh, those are my pets.”
They could be her pets but that didn’t stop the two from attacking me. As I danced and dodged them, one somehow leaped up and latched onto my back. The one chomping on me had hold of my shirt and a little of my muscle and skin.
I didn’t feel any pain, but I was terrified and wanted it gone. Whirling in circles and shouting for help, I tried getting free. The dinosaur-like beast budging.
I saw its partner still on the cement walk. “Oh, that one is dead,” someone said.
Retrieving the stiff dead ‘gator, I used it as a weapon, swinging over my shoulders to bludgeon the one hanging on. The tenacious reptile hung on. I finally shoved myself backwards into a wall as hard as I can. Crushing the alligator between me and the wall with enough force, it released me but then lunged for my neck. Twisting and ducking, I thwacked it with the dead gator and evaded its teeth. Then I ran away.
Slowing up, I found myself inside a sort of strip mall. Someone who I recognized as a brother (but not my RL brother), a large guy with black hair, was in there sitting at a white folding table.
He said, “Hey, they came out with the awards. I won.”
I said, “Congratulations, well done.”
Picking up the paper, he replied, “Wow, it says that you won, and that’s your ninth time in a row. That’s a new record.”
“Let me see.” I peered over his shoulder and read the news as he gushed on about how proud he was of me. He had a carrying voice. Others were soon crowding around, congratulating me. Disliking all the attention, I thanked them all, said good-byes, and hurried away.
Trying to avoid further attention, I ducked inside a darkened auditorium. Letters lit up in amber light on the far end. COLRNG. With a flicker of thought, I said, “Coloring.”
A man in a tux and top hat, carrying a cane, said, “Very good. Would you like to try another?”
Confusion settled on me. Seeing that word wasn’t hard, which I told him. He replied that most people couldn’t and urged me to try another. Try another? There wasn’t any trying in it. It seemed liked the weirdest game I’d ever heard of, but I agreed because I wanted to see this out.
Letters came up in blue neon. COLRNG. “Coloring,” I said. The man gushed about how brilliant I was. It must be a scam, I decided.
We moved on through green, yellow, and orange. It was COLRNG every time. After the orange letters, he informed me that I’d won a first level prize. Would I like to try for more?
“Sure.”
We went into another room. Letters in blue came up. COLRING. “Coloring,” I said.
The master of ceremonies boomed out, “You won! Would you like to go for the grand prize?”
“Yes. Sure, why not?”
He led me to another room. There, in big red neon letters, was COLRNG. “Coloring,” I said.
“That’s right! Congratulations.” The man in the top hat went on about how I’d won.
“What exactly have I won?” I asked. I expected some small and cheap offering.
“Fame, fortune,” the man in the tux cried.
“Right,” I responded, and left.
Entering a narrow hallway, I moved on. People coming the other way gasped and pointed at me in excitement. Bewildered, I asked, “What is it? What’s going on?”
They bubbled on about being big fans of mind, asking for autographs and selfies. Remaining bewildered, I signed and posed, sure that it was mistaken identity. More people rushed up, forming a queue around me. Security arrived to install order.
Dream end.