Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The clouds spread like thick, gray frosting.
Then came the atmospheric cannon fire.
The cats arrived at my feet, leery of the sky barrage.
Then came rain, powering down the sky, sluicing down the streets,
followed by the smell, the petrichor of warm asphalt and cement,
grass and dirt, lingering in the afternoon’s fading embrace.
Finally, there was tentative Robin song, announcing,
The end.
Yesterday, Saturday, July 2, offered us heavy rain, thunder, and lightning. We don’t experience a lot of this in Ashland. As my partner commented, we usually receive a rain like this at the end of July. We do get ‘dry’ thunderstorms, where the clouds pile up over the mountains and then roll across the valley, darkening the sky and dropping the temperature before singing their bass throat music. Far lightning came sometimes be seen. It was all different yesterday, the once-a-year storm that we typically experience.
Today is Sunday, July 3, 2022. It’s cool, just 10 C now, with predictions and forecasts that we’ll reach the upper to mid 70s F. Clouds have blanked the sunshine and blue sky. Mists cuddle up to the tree line on the mountains. The air smells of wet grass, dirt, and bark.
Sunrise was at 5:39 AM. The sun will do its disappearing act about 8:51 PM. Again. That sunset time hasn’t changed since before the solstice.
I went out and listened to the rain, alone, enjoying the smell and sound. Drops hurled down, dashing off the pavement, an unsynchronized drumline in a private public performance. Thunder erratically punctuated moments. As it faded, I enjoyed the silence. No cars, birds, cats, or people. Nothing but me and the storm as it carried its show north and away. The silence was a balm for the day, and I thought, I hope nothing breaks this silence. Just let me have this for a little longer.
Well, The Neurons said, “We know that song.” I replied, “What song?”
They responded with “Don’t Answer Me” by the Alan Parsons Project from 1984. I don’t recall when I’d last heard it. Lines in the song go, “Don’t answer me, don’t break the silence, don’t let me win. Don’t answer me, stay on your island, don’t let me in.” Oh, how The Neurons love playing these word association music games. I think they might be a little compulsive-obsessive about it.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as and when needed and get the boosters as, when, and if you’re able. Time for a morning jolt, you know what I’m saying? Here’s the music. Cheers
Raining again, as the song goes. It’s Saturday, April 30, 2022. The rain is light, the air is chill, the neighborhood is quiet, the children are still. It’s 51 F now but feels lower, thanks to the moisture hanging in the air and permeating everything. Low mists hid the top of the northern ridges’ pine-loaded top, imbuing the scene with a gothic air. All we need is a black castle. The valley’s high will be 59 F, they say, and I believe ’em. The sunshine so far seems as listless as me without my morning coffee. Arriving with a yawn at 6:08 this morning, it’ll depart our area at 8:09 PM, giving us almost fourteen hours of the sun’s presence today. Huzzah!
But wait! Sunshine has punched through! The temperature is now…51 F.
Oh, wait. The sunshine is blocked again.
Rain is falling again.
The neurons have Bonnie Raitt singing and playing in the morning mental music stream, “Nick of Time” from 1989. This song is from an album by the same name. The album was part of my wife’s album rotation back in the 1990s and became ingrained into the neurons. I believe they brought it up today because of the weather. On rainy days like this, she’d declare, “Let’s put on some music and clean, and then we’ll just sit around and read books.” It worked.
Here’s the music. Now the neurons are singing the praises of coffee and suggesting that I go indulge in a cup. Have a better one. Cheers
It began with a dark, rainy night. Walking along on a windy tar road under a tall highway overpass, I was looking for a specific house, one where a French philosopher and musician lived. I had some vision but it was extremely dark and wet. As I walked, I realized an animal was not far from me. I veered a bit to go around it and realized it was a large, black dog. I changed course again, then just shrugged off the dog’s presence and walked past it. The dog ignored me; I looked back and found it was two large, black dogs, but they weren’t paying any attention to me.
I arrived at the house I sought. Children let me in and led me to a bedroom. Her ceilings were low, the walls were wood-paneled, windows abounded, and the lights were soft, yellow glows. After a moment, a woman entered; this was the philosopher-musician I sought. She was short and fair, thin, with a black bob. I explained to her that I had an original song trapped in my head. I wanted to get it out but I wanted to duplicate it so others could hear it. Could she help?
Yes. I sat on her bed on white sheets. She asked me to describe the song. I listened in my head and described soft violins that swelled and fell. She began playing music, asking, like this? That kept on until she had that piece down with my corrections. So it went, with different instruments, until she’d captured the entire song in my head. The children sometimes interrupted, coming in to peek at me or asking Mom for something, but it was overall a very productive but intense session.
She gave me a copy of the recording for my use. I left, retracing my steps through dark pouring rain. Seeing a shortcut through a yard, I ventured to follow it, where I saw a bird riding on the back of the turtle. The turtle went through a pool of water and then out onto the land again. The bird was almost dislodged but resettled. Both looked at me. I wondered if the bird was a burden to the turtle and considered trying to remove it but decided against it.
I went on and came across a large party under sunshine and tents on the grounds of a Marriott Hotel. I knew it was a Marriott because of the big, red letters. It wasn’t raining; I was dry and the land was dry. I saw two of my tall cousins. Going to them, I said, “Hey, let me buy you a drink,” and handed one a twenty. Each already had a drink in their hand but stopped and looked at the money.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s not enough,” one cousin answered.
“Isn’t this happy hour?” I returned.
“Yes,” the other cousin said, “But my vodka is nine dollars a shot, and this is a double shot.”
Dream end.
Dreamed I was walking home alone, in my present neighborhood. Premature darkness dropped as the wind hissed and moaned, thrashing tree branches. I thought it might rain. Turning up the street, I came to my house. One of those POD storage units was by the tall wooden fence in the side yard, smothered in shadows. I did a doubletake when I saw it, then remembered, oh, yes, I’m getting rid of all those things.
I was inside the house. It was dark, without electricity. We were mixing fruit juices. I was contemplating lemon, lime, orange, with cherry and grape. I said, “Those flavors won’t mix.” I knew someone else was there, but I couldn’t see nor hear them. I collected more flavors but didn’t mix them. Then I said, “I must mix them, and then drink them. If I don’t, I’ll never escape.”
But I worried. If I escaped the house, I still needed to face the vampires outside. Surely drinking the mixed juices and escaping had to be the first priority, though.
One candle lit the space. I was in the dining room. A man came to me with a large, flat red box. He wore a black coat with a white shirt. His face was unseen. He presented the red box to me. I didn’t want to take it. “How much?” I finally asked.
Seven hundred, I knew he said without hearing him speak.
I repeated, “Seven hundred?” I shook my head. “That’s not enough. A thousand.”
A thousand was agreed.
I walked outside. Rain was falling but I was protected. I walked down the sidewalk and stopped. Lightning lit the night. The bolts held, frozen in place in the sky. The rain hung, unfalling, lit by the lightning. I could see miles and miles ahead across the dark landscape.
Dream end
I was a young man, collecting and selling information on other people and on events. It started with two young women bemoaning the inability to learn something. I told them that I could do it. Then I did.
When I went around collecting information, it ended up taking the form of a thick hardback book. I showed them the book and then told them I’d sell it to the highest bidder. They were taken back — they’re the ones who suggested the information was needed, according to them — and thought I should just give them the book. I disagreed and said that wasn’t going to happen.
Rain started falling. I decided I needed a safe hideout. I found one side of a wooden crate leaning against a hillside. Pulling it aside, I saw a hole. I crawled through and found myself in a small living space. It was where I’d been living, I realized.
It stopped raining, so I left, taking my book with me. I went around, showing others and generating interest in it. People began offering me money. I wasn’t ready to sell.
My father appeared on the scene, telling me that I had to go to court. I wasn’t bothered by that, I would go to court and win. Dad was walking through a creek at that point. The water was low, just covering his feet, but muddy. The original two women were with him. I was back in a military uniform, following Dad. Note that in RL, he’d had a twenty-year career in the military, then I’d done the same.
I realized that I didn’t have a military hat, that I was outside and ‘uncovered’. That’s against reg and disturbed me. I asked Dad if he had a cap I could wear. He didn’t hear me, and I repeated the question several times before he said, “No,” and then told me that I didn’t need one.
Rain began falling anew. The two women started looking for cover and saw the opening to my place because I’d left my protective cover off. I didn’t want them to go in there. They were going enter but decided that it was too small. I then changed my mind and invite them in. I went in first, and then invited them in and showed them how large my space was. They agreed and then made me an offer on the book of data. It was a very large offer and made me grin in delight.
Dream end
Good Friday to you, Earth dwellers and guests. Today is November 19, 2021. Sunrise, when the sun brightened the marbled rain clouds for us, arrived at 7:06 AM, lifting temperatures to 46 degrees F enroute to a projected high of 50. Some solid rain fell an hour ago. Now everything is just soaking in it and relaxing. Sunset cometh at 4:46 PM in the sliver of time and space known as today, Ashand, Oregon.
We slipped out to see the lunar eclipse last night. The clouds parted enough to titillate us for about five seconds before sliding closed and dropping some drizzle on our upturned faces. Rain and moon thinking fertilized rain and moon songs in my morning mental music stream. Moon and rain feature heavily in the pop/rock era lyrics. Without trying, at least two songs of each arose for the occasion. No, really, it was about a dozen of each hardwired in my head. A youthful favorite took the top post and cemented its place as Friday’s theme music.
Here is Led Zeppelin with “Fool in the Rain” from 1979. Hope you enjoy it. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, stay hydrated, and get the vax and booster when you can. I’m off for coffee. Later, gator. Cheers
Technically, Saturday, 9/18/2021, began at midnight. But we don’t usually acknowledge those morning hours between midnight and rising as part of that day, do we? Well, we do, in a way. It’s a confused state. Because most don’t think of the day starting until they get up. Even though it’s often started hours before.
Smoke played with the sunshine yesterday, lifting the color of a champagne mango’s skin into the space over our heads. Not today. This is Gray Day.
Sunrise struggled to bring anything this morning. Clouds and smoke skewered the sun’s efforts into graylight. Happened about 6:54 AM. But. Rain began at 6:59 AM around my house. I know. This weather change had infused the cats with a youthful, exuberant energy. They were dashing around, going in and out through the pet door, meyelling at one another. Then they wanted food. So I was up to feed them when the first portent of rain came, tink, tink, tink, on the exhaust fan metal protection up on the room.
The initial rain session was a mildly hard one. First I went out to gage it and smell the air. Still smoky. If rain begins as a mist and we assign that a one, and a monsoon drenching is a ten, this was a fall shower, about 3.5. A fall shower is a lot like a spring shower except it smells different.
I returned to bed after that, listening to the rain while warm and cozy. The rain stopped at 7:31. Then started again at 7:35. Wasn’t as hard though. Been going at it until tapering off to stumbling sporadic drops after ninety minutes. Nice having rain in this parched, drought-plagued and fire plagued area, but we really wanted something about a five or a six on my imaginary scale.
Highs today are projected to be in the upper sixties. Might fire up the fireplace, you know? Sunset is planned for 7:15 PM.
But of course a rain song has mindjacked the mental music stream. A 1986 venture by The Pogues, “Rainy Night in Soho”, came up. It’s odd, though, how the brain works. I was hearing the rain. Then remembered conversations. Which prompted me to think of phantom conversations. Things I wished had been said. That kicked in the line, “I hear you talking in my head.” Stopped me in my mental tracks. That was a song. Some rummaging through the cranial zones finally dragged it fully in.
I like this song because it’s different. More like an essay with music. Shane McGowan’s voice and delivery are introspective and blasé. It’s actually a great song when we’re with others having a drink after a long day when rain is pelting down. But it does serve as foundation for thinking about the day, what was, and what will be.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Now, where’s the coffee? Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 