Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The signs of aging pile up,
Promising on some days to beat you up.
Hair losses, hair changes, where the hell does it go?
Why can’t I get it to look right, why won’t it look just so?
Sometimes you ponder the person you had been.
You think you see them staring back, hiding from within.
Other times you wonder, if you ever were that way?
And if you were, what can you do to look that way again?
The weight you gain, how the body thickens,
Everything sinks and sags and generally looks in ways that sicken.
Then someone tells you how great you look,
and you wonder, is that a joke?
If you think I look good today, you want to say,
you should have seen me back in the day.
I was something else.
Taylor Swift endorsed Kamala Harris for President of the United States in 2024.
The GOP candidate, Donald J. Trump, reacted strongly, ‘truthing’, “I HATE TAYLOR SWIFT.”
That reaction is symbolical of Trump’s maturity and life approach. Such behavior probably posts Ms. Swift’s case for not supporting Trump.
What prompts me to think about it and write about it is another writer asking via a headline, “Opinion: Why is Trump picking a fight he can’t win with Taylor Swift?”
Matt Lewis is the author. He writes a reasonable column about a reasonable question, if the subject, Donald J. Trump, was a reasonable person with reasonable self-control.
But Trump has shown himself not to be a reasonable person. He’s revealed himself to be petty. He’s demonstrated that he lacks self-control. The governor on his mental processes seems seriously damaged.
And that’s why he should not be POTUS: because he can’t stop himself from instigating and pursuing petty fights. A petty person is not what we need as the leader of our nation.
Vote Blue in 2024.
It’s a recurring theme for me. I see old people and wonder what they were like when they were young, and I look at young people and wonder, what will they be like when they’re old.
Like her, in the floppy sun hat, green pants, and multiple pastels scarves, short grey blonde hair and wire-rimmed round gold glasses. When did she become that person?
Or take her for example, the blonde early tweener with blue hair and fringe bangs, dressed all in black, with a long-sleeved shirt and tight shorts, white crew socks, and white canvas shoes. She’s a gregarious presence in her small knot of companions. What will she be like in the future?
Weird thing: thirty-five customers by my count in the coffee shop. Four of us are male. Two of the men are working on computers. It looks like the women are all socializing.
Contemplating the dynamics and speculating about people is an attractive way of engaging my mind as I sip coffee and the muse comes to write.
He thought, it must be a sign of maturity when you use scissors or a knife to open a bag of chips or cookies, instead of just biting it open with your teeth.
I had two memorable dreams last night.
The first came to me in red and black. It was all seen in silhouettes. As short and simple as its color palette, I was going for a run. Going less than twenty to thirty yards, I encountered a force field which wouldn’t let me go further. Annoyed, I turned and ran back the other way, past my house, only to be stopped by another force field. Three times this happened. At that point dream thinking burbled up, I’m not supposed to go further. I guess ‘they’ want me to stay home to get better. Wait, am I sick?
After awakening and pondering that one for a few dark minutes, I rolled back into sleep and to another dream. In this one, I wore a blue and white checked shirt with blue jeans. A teenager, I was visiting a girl, blonde, bubbly, friendly. I was attracted to her, so this was essentially the early days of courting to see if she had any interest in me.
She became friendly and flirtatious. We didn’t kiss or anything, but I went home pleased and then returned the next day. At the end of this visit, it was suggested that I stay the night there as a precaution against something going on that wasn’t clear. I wasn’t real comfortable with that but the girl and her Mom convinced me. Stripping down to my undies, I slept on their game room sofa. The game room was essential a finished basement. After spending the night, I dressed, thinking that I’d go back home now. But no, the girl had plans for the day. We stayed at her house but I only saw her off and on.
Now I was becoming concerned about her father. He’d been gone but was now back. I didn’t relish encountering him in the early morning, especially in clothes which I’d been wearing for several days while trying to get romantic with his daughter. Instead of leaving the game room, I stayed down there in hiding. By now I’d convinced myself that I needed to get home and was plotting how to sneak away.
Guests arrived. I eavesdropped, learning that they were neighboring women who were friends with the mother. It was mentioned in passing that I was staying there. I guessed that something had happened at my house and this was a ruse to keep me here. They all agreed that I was a ‘very nice boy, very smart and kind’, and that this was better for me. Wanting to know what was going on, I slipped out and headed home through a sunsplashed fall day where all the trees had already lost their leaves. The change of season was a surprise; I thought it was summer.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 