I’m a terrible fortune teller. See too many possibilities. They’re all happening, none of it is happening, and all the varieties between them are happening. Such is life when the film between realities tear and shrink.
Well, that’s how it feels, sometimes.
Here in the U.S., we’re approaching an election. “It’s yuuuge,” some might claim. The possibilities, fears, and anxieties proliferating cause rolling responses: “Oh. my,” “Oh. no,” “What the fuck,” and “Here we go.”
Third Eye Blind presented us with the perfect song for now. They did it back in 1997. “How’s It Going to Be” has a softly tinged nostalgia, illuminating the questions we all experience. “How’s It Going to Be after x,” becomes an urgent plea before falling to soft, wondering surrender.
Perfect for this special year of pandemic, climate change, shifting alliances, and elections we have numbered, 2020.
The night was lively with energetic, positive dreams. When dreams like these take place, I hope and wish that they’re prophetic. Although I’m an optimist, I believe they’re overflow from my attitude, not the future.
My attitude does fluctuate. I can swing from hopeful to despairing faster than a hummingbird’s heartbeat.
At least one dream featured background music as U2’s “Red Hill Mining Town” was played. A few stanzas were prominent:
We’re wounded by fear Injured in doubt. I can lose myself You I can’t live without. Yeah, you keep me holdin’ on In Red Hill Town. See the lights go down onÖ Hangin’ on You’re all that’s left to hold on to. I’m still waiting I’m hangin’ on You’re all that’s left to hold on to On to.
BTW, did anyone else’s WP give you a change — an improvement, they’ll probably tell you — changing your block editor? Gotta fix it again, not difficult, but annoying. Don’t need another cause for teeth gnashing, thanks.
Here’s the music, from 1991. Not fond of this video. Hadn’t seen it before today, but it leaves me cringing with its sense of studied drama.
Good morning, good day, good evening, and goo night.
Today’s free association link arrives from doubt. Writing doubt plagues me. I injoy what I write but is the shite fit for human consumption, or will someone lock it all away in order to save humanity?
There is also doubts about civilization, the onrushing ‘merican elections, the POTUS’ state of mind, and life, generally.
Many songs, groups, and albums featuring doubt flit n and out of the conscious stream. Only Death Cab for Cutie’s 2011 song, “You Are A Tourist”, glommed on.
The song is like progressive alt to me, which I suppose is akin to autobiographical fiction, magical realism, and new adult fiction. It’s a sunnyish, upbeat song, though, and satisfied my psyche’s craving.
Ben Floofs Five(floofinition) – A North Floofina alt floof rock (flock) trio formed in 1993. Active for seven years before breaking up, the biggest hit was “Flick” in 1997.
In use: ” Ben Floofs Five’s biggest hit was “Flick”, a song about one animal’s deliberate tail flicking in other’s faces. The song gained controversy as the band refused to what species was flicking its tail.”
2020 certainly feels like a new age. Divisions in the U.S. make us wonder what’ll happen after November’s elections. As people shun wearing masks and distancing, in part because POTUS 45 doesn’t mask and weakly endorses the CDC guidelines, signs are growing that the COVID-19 pandemic is going to be here for a while.
Drifted outside last night, called by needs for a break, a change, a morsel of hope that tomorrow might be a little different.
Same as it ever was outside, in the style in which nature seems the same but isn’t. This summer is less relentless about the weather, but we’re looking at 105 degrees F today and 108 on Sunday. Night relief won’t come with lows plunging only into the mid seventies.
I was testing the air for signs of these forecasts. Was comfortable at eleven PM, 76, with a mild breeze. The cats hung with me, peering at sounds I didn’t hear, watching action that I didn’t see. No cars or people disturbed the moment, so I started thinking of the Patti Smith song, “Because the Night” (1978).
Everyone thinks the night belongs to them. My cats thought the night was theirs. I’m sure our town’s cougars and bears believe the night belongs to them, and the raccoons and skunks have made their claims. Look at the stars, though; does the night belong to them?
Everyone’s grasp on the night is as strong and lasting as a quantum wind.
My political ire is rising with the latest trumpshit. First is the jump out the gate questioning whether Kamela Harris is eligible to be POTUS. If you haven’t read the ‘opinion piece’ in Newsweek…don’t. Such garbage. Be a while before my respect for Newsweek returns.
That was just starter fluid for my anger. What’s going on with Trump and the GOP the destruction of voting rights is first class authoritarian play. Further infuriating me is the GOP obstacles arising by sabotaging the USPS. We as a nation have worked to find improvements in the USPS and how the mail is handled and delivered. Here comes the GOP, breaking the fucking system so they can undermine democracy to remain in power. It’s a scorched earth plan for victory. Sickening, sickening, sickening.
As it’s happened in the past whenever a political party dirties a nation, enablers turn their heads so they don’t see. In this instance, they’re burying themselves in misinformation.
Eventually, Trump, the GOP, and their users will follow the natural course to crash and burn. By then, judging from their current activities, the destruction they’ve wrought will be huge. Then people will stand and cry with shock, “Who knew?”
That’s happened every damn time. Then they’ll shed croc tears and protest their innocence, “I didn’t know.”
All that at last takes me to a 2006 Pink song, “Who Knew”. Frothy and poppy in melody, it carries dark lyrics about things happening that’s not noticed until you awaken to events after it’s all over, when nothing can be done. Pink sang,
When someone said count your blessings now ‘Fore they’re long gone I guess I just didn’t know how I was all wrong They knew better, still you said forever And ever, who knew?
That’s where Trump supporters and enablers stand. They believe his lies, and that of his administration, rationalizing his morality as good, twisting logic and facts to fit their spin , and will profess to believe until it all comes crashing down. Then, when the air is filthy again, climate change is crushing our society, and the number of people starving and dying swells, they’ll whine, “Who knew?”
Had entertaining dreams last night that energized and inspired me. As I shaved and thought about them this AM, I thought, “That’s the way I like it.”
That thought inspired my brain to start singing “That’s the Way (I Like It)” by KC & The Sunshine Band. Released in 1975, the song was major background music to my young adulthood. My wife graduated from high school that year, and we married. I was in the military and experienced my first permanent duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base (WPAFB) where I worked in the AF Logistics Command in the Command Post. The next year, I was reassigned to the 3rd Tactical Fighter Wing, Clark Air Base, in the Philippines.
This song was played everywhere in those years, and was a song that drew everyone to the dance floor. Good times.
Floof Stefani(floofinition) – Singer, songwriter, and record producer from the United States who is the lead vocalist for Floof Doubt and a successful solo performer.
In use: “Floof Stefani’s first solo album included the tune, “Hollaback Floof,” a floof hop song which became a number one hit on the Floofboard Hot 100 and the UFA Floofstream Top 40 in 2005.”
From sleep’s murky surroundings with its dream flavors, I found myself mumbling, “We’re going down down in an earlier,” over and over. Glimmers of recognition, “Hey, that’s a song,” fizzled and popped. Focusing on it more — “Damn, I know that voice” — I dragged out, Fallout Boy and finally a song title, “Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down”. Yeah, ’05, because we were moving up here, so the song is anchored to moving moments.
Does it work as today’s theme music? Well, it’s catchy and vacuous in a punk rock style, with inklings of voyeurism, lust, and confusion.
Michael Seidel, writer 