He recalled the mother of his youth. She was always reading. Michner, Robbins, Jong, paperbacks purchased at drugstores. Movies fascinated her. She always recommended actors, directors, movies.
Now, she doesn’t have time to read. Hasn’t in years. She’d moved from fiction to true crime to nothing. She doesn’t like movies, she says. She wants drama and none of them provide it. Time is spent watching MSNBC, or shows like Doctor Pimple Popper, My Feet Are Killing Me, and Dateline.
It’s not surprising. Everyone changes. He thinks about the episodes, powers, and energies that shaped and reshaped her, rising to a comparison with the planet, and how unseen events work together to reshape the world.
It was hot, dry, and clear. I was on a broad and empty plain. Two riders on horseback galloped toward me. I watched, trying to understand, who are they? Nothing auspicious about them, they resembled cowboys out of a revisionist western. They were approaching at slightly different vectors, dust pluming out behind them. I realized with some slowness, hey, they have ropes. Hey, they’re going to rope me.
Out in the open, nowhere to go, I thought that I’d run toward them, separating the space. Yeah, that didn’t work. They lassoed me. I awoke with a start, heavily sweating, struggling against the ropes. Took several seconds to understand that I’d been dreaming — or maybe experiencing another reality.
Floofex(floofinition) – Existence or conscious reality created or maintained by animals. Although skilled at doing such, human presence tends to distill or distort animals’ realities, sometimes with adverse consequences resulting.
In use: “Having realized human impact on their Floofex, and appreciating the ways in which cats, dogs, and other creatures could co-habit with human in roles as pets, the Council ordered a quantum increase to the number of animals going to Earth in that role in an effort to reverse some current, terrible trends and establish a happier, more pleasant Floofex.”
He encountered a friend and told him, “I like your shirt. That’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” the friend replied.
“Would you sell it to me?”
“What?”
Brainstorm! He’d start a reality game show — “The Shirt Off Your Back” — where minor celebrities would go around offering people money, gifts, or favors for the clothes they were wearing. It’d be sort of a poor person’s Indecent Proposal.
Sunday, Sunday. Another day older and deeper in debt. Perhaps, for some. My friend was giving me grief the other day. I told him that we don’t know what happens when we die. He replied, “When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it. Over and done.” He’s older. An older space industry engineer. I answered with reminders. What we didn’t know about existence fifty years ago. Hundred years ago, a thousand. How our knowledge improves — or we think it does — as our species matures. Develops new tools. New manners of perception. Wasn’t out to convince him. Just amused by his certainty. His response resonates with my beliefs about reality: we don’t know much about it and eat it in very small bites.
Today is Sunday, October 3, 2021. A fall month in the north. Spring month in the south. Someone posted a quote from Kierkegaard and his preference for fall. Here, paraphrasing: “In the spring, you look down at the ground. In the fall, you look up at the sky.” I look up in either but I grok what he’s saying.
Sunset will come at 6:49 PM. Sunshine splashed through our autumn blue sky at 7:10 AM. The trees are changing, and I do love the explosion of yellow, gold, and reds among the greens. For temperatures, we’re expecting a high of around 80 F. No rain. Light breeze. AQI of 1, again. Glorious walking day. I shall indulge.
The morning mental music stream has Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters playing “Walk” (2011) today. Came about while walking yesterday. Perfect in so many dimensions of air, sights, sounds, and temperature, the cap on a day that went well for me. So I pushed to walk hard, fast, far, and back. While out there, I was chuckling. Between smoke, heat, and COVID-19 concerns, walking like this was limited in 2021. Nice to be able to do it again.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, get the vax and booster. Sing a song, laugh, read…whatever. Have a good day. Cheers
It was two A.M. The bladder mumbled something. Didn’t need to hear exactly. Knowing what he wanted, I ambled through sleep and dark to the voiding station. A precipitation orchestra was tuning up. Plink plink. Plink.
Rain. By the time my bladder had finished his business, a solid downpour was underway. The cats and I — my flooftourage had followed me, of course (what’s he doing, where’s he going?) — slipped to a door to enjoy the rain and fresh air. But the smoke remained, thick as oatmeal, scratching at my eyes and nose. Still, it had rained.
Today is Friday, September 10, 2021, the second of four Fridays in September. We will have five Wednesday and Thursdays in September. A tepid imitation of sunrise took place at 6:45 AM. Last night gave us an an almost normal sunset as the smoke cleared enough for standardized views. Who will know tonight? The smoke comes from all directions. If you want to see the sunset in Ashland, look west — outside or through a window — at 7:29 PM.
The Dutch band, Golden Earring, had a 1982 hit called “Twilight Zone”. The song begins with a man talking. Then he says, “It’s two A.M.” The vocalist then begins singing with that line, “It’s two A.M.” He then goes on, “The fear has gone, I’m sitting here waiting, the gun’s still warm, maybe my connection is tired of taking chances.”
Yeah there’s a storm on the loose, sirens in my head Wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead Cannot decode, my whole life spins into a frenzy
Help I’m steppin’ into the twilight zone Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned My beacon’s been moved under moon and star Where am I to go, now that I’ve gone too far Help I’m steppin’ into the twilight zone Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned My beacon’s been moved under moon and star Where am I to go, now that I’ve gone too far
Soon you will come to know When the bullet hits the bone Soon you will come to know When the bullet hits the bone
I’m falling down the spiral, destination unknown Double-crossed messenger, all alone Can’t get no connection, can’t get through, where are you
Well the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind This far from the borderline When the hitman comes He knows damn well he has been cheated
It’s all about wondering who you are, what’s going on. Whether you’re losing your connection with reality. What’s going to happen next.
Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vax. Enjoy your Friday. Fetch me a coffee, please. Never mind, I’ll get it myself. Here’s the music.
Michael Seidel, writer 