Tag: photography

Mundaz Theme Music

Hey, jewels and gems, it’s Munda, August 11, 2025. Today features clear skies and heat. Didn’t cool much last night after we pegged 104 F at my house. Only dropped to 71 in the nocturnal hours. Now it’s in the upper 70s and rushing toward 103 F. Fire warnings abound.

While not too cool, the moon was full and bright. Papi and I enjoyed the moment together. Only sound heard were crickets and the rush of machinery up the asphalt river called I-5, several miles away.

Reading today’s headlines, I’m furious with Trump and the GOP. Ignoring laws and truth, that gold-plated Offal Office buffoon ordered troops into D.C. to restore law and order, a law and order that had no problem, except one of his DOGE boy toys was victimized by crime. It’s brought on a full-throated whole-body GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR out of me. Can’t imagine this going over well with anyone but the Project 2025 Christian white supremacy gang and the most deeply immersed of the MAGAts. For me, it shows Trump’s deep desperation to play king and distract from the growing pile of things going wrong and matters worsening in the United States. He’s also trying so damn hard to keep his MAGAts and everyone else from thinking about him and his relationship with Epstein and the many crimes which may be exposed when that file is released.

Today’s music is credited to thinking about Trump. Precisely: how Jeffrey Epstein introduced Trump to his third wife at one of Epstein’s debauched affairs, the ones with the details in the Epstein File.

Trump partying with sex offenders Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell and his third wife, Ivanka.

Donald Trump, with his new girlfriend and future third wife, and several convicted sex offenders.

As I was thinking about that meeting, Der Neurons rewarded those thoughts with an Eddie Money beat as “Shakin'” from 1982 opened into the morning mental music stream.

She was shakin’ (oh-oh-oh-oh)
Snappin’ her fingers (oh-oh-oh-oh)
She was movin’ round and round (oh-oh-oh-oh)
That girl was shakin’ (oh-oh-oh-oh)

So, this Mundaz theme song is owed to those BFFs, Donald Trump and the late Jeffrey Epstein.

Had some coffee. Off to deliver Food & Friends. Hope your day is awash in peace and grace. Cheers

2

The Writing Moment

A cat came knocking on the bedroom’s slider.

Papi the ginger blade was demanding entry back into the house.

I let him in and returned to bed. The time was 4 AM. I told myself to go back to sleep. My brain wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, I thought about going into surgery on Wednesday. I felt I was close to finishing the novel in progress. It could be done before the surgery if I have three good writing days. I wanted that. Then I ended up staying awake, writing the story in my head.

When I sat down at the coffee shop, I put those words down into the document and realized, the end.

I was inspired by the book, “Gravity’s Rainbow”. I’d read the book in the past and was just browsing, and came across some reference to it. Then I had an idea, and “Gravity’s Emotions” was begun.

Word can tell you some things about a doc. Tells me that this one was started July 19, 2024. 432 pages, 117,480 words. 9218 minutes of editing. Anyone who knows that a day has 1440 minutes knows that’s not a huge amount of time. Just 6.4 days if you do the math. 6.4 days if I’d worked 24/7.

As always, it feels a little weird to be finished. Bit sad. “Like a death in the family” a writer of fame once said.

I worry about it. Don’t know if the plot makes sense or if people will buy into the character. I fret over the ending is too pat.

I told myself when I began writing this thing, just get out of your own way and stay out of the way.

Now, with it ‘done’, at least in this phase of novel writing, I need to remind myself again: just get out of your own way.

3

Thwumpday’s Theme Music

Mood: Melloffee

The choppers continued back and forth, up and down. Thwump thwump thwump thwump. We can hear them in the house, windows closed and all. Outside, they’re much louder. This is day four of their presence.

This is Sunday, April 21, 2024. Or with those choppers going in Sunday’s calm blue silence, Thwumpday.

The helicopters seem to start at 8 AM and go until later afternoon. They’re out there as part of the project to clean up the watershed mountainsides to make the area less attractive to fire. So yes, they are a good thing.

They’re driving my wife a little crazy, she claims. Always there, rising and falling in volume as they thwump about.

I don’t mind them. Reminds me of being on military bases. Makes me a little nostalgic.

Beyond the choppers, blue is the predominate impression with my outward gaze through the glass. Clouds are resting on the horizon but over me is sunshine and blue skies. It’s 48 F at the moment. Some rain is predicted. The high will be about 66 F, a drop from our recent forays into the seventies.

The floof boys don’t seem to mind the choppers. Seem to have adjusted to them. They don’t fly directly overhead. The first days had Papi suspicious. He’d go out there and look and look, as if he worried that they were coming for him. He has a mysterious past, you know. Who knows what mischief he did in his youth.

On to the theme music. As I perused the weather this AM, I mildly complained to myself about the lower high. We’d just been in the seventies. Now —

Want something from the seventies? The Neurons asked.

I was blank and confused. Before I could summon a response, they were playing “Whatch See Is Whatcha Get” by The Dramatics in the morning mental music stream (Trademark trending). The song was released in 1971. I always enjoyed it. It made a comeback in my mind when the personal computer age burst upon is. “What You See Is What You Get” — WYSIWYG — was a big thing with software. The Neurons would play The Dramatics song whenever I saw that on the software box or in a glossy magazine ad.

Stay positive, dress appropriately, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is being choppered in. I hear it coming. Thwump thwump.

Here’s the music. Cheers

0

Teaser

Contrails were etched across the bright blue March morning sky. 

Mark had a couple problems with that. One, this was 1859. He didn’t think he should know about contrails. Didn’t think contrails should exist, for that matter. As far as he knew, they didn’t exist yesterday, when he was cutting his lawn’s grass.

But, hold up. Yesterday, he was walking to town. Like he was doing today. Except, he was thinking about the contrails, byproducts of jet aircraft slicing through the atmosphere. Jet aircraft, commercial and military, with the former being used to travel between airports, enabling people to quickly and easily traverse the country which had taken him a couple years. Jet aircraft, which should not exist in 1859. 

He puckered his lips like he was about to whistle. Should they?

Seeing contrails and thinking about them were the seeds of several potential problems. “Shit,” he loudly uttered. His tongue flicked his lips. Fingers pinched together to smooth down either side of his fat graying mustache. He stamped his big boot once, then considered the mildly worn brown boot, which he knew he’d purchased at an REI. Chances were that REI didn’t now exist. Might have in the past. Or the future.

“Shit. Goddamn it.” Expanding the lungs inside of his huge chest, he bellowed, “Vonnegut.”

Mark looked around like he expected Vonnegut to appear. Nothing — not the wind-swept grasses or the one lone, high bird, or the far, snow-covered mountains — responded to him.

He expelled a sigh and sound like he was blowing the candles out on his last birthday cake. That’d been number sixty-six. Julie baked the cake for him. Such a sweet person. And so fucking smart. Fun being with her.

“Fucking Vonnegut.” Vonnegut was the cause behind the past few episodes like this. Mark figured there was a high likelihood Vonnegut was behind this one as well. 

He looked east. South. West. North. No, he hadn’t been going north. South was also considered and rejected. His orientation was a matter of the coincidences of then and now, and the lay of the land. Mountains north and south. That never changed, though the stuff that occupied the land — buildings, roads, people, and other such bullshit — changed. 

A qualification was appended to his thinking. Depending. Depended on how far Vonnegut took him back in time. Or put him forward. Same thing, different direction. The land changed if he went — if he was tossed, like he was a cat toy or something — into the past or future. He’d experienced each of those once. Once had been more than enough.

His broad shoulders sagged. “Why me?” With that plaintive question beginning an internal dialogue with himself about the matter, he turned and began trudging east.

East would hopefully return him to his own time. That’s how it happened a couple times. But there’d been that once. 

Well, shit. He’d just need to see.

0

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