Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Welcome to another day in the Disunited States of Chaos, a nation formerly known as the United States of America. I mean, come on; suddenly the Roberts Court is making rulings that will break up the uniform understanding and application of the law. The Roberts Court has consistently ruled in favor of Trump, overturning Federal and Circuit Court rulings based on precedence and previous SCOTUS rulings. Like many things in TACO’s MAGALand, history is being pushed out the door in favor of right-wing ideology.
The DSC, as we’re now informally called in many mouths, can’t be anything but disunited and chaotic. Chaos pleases the Bully-in-Chief, PINO TACO. “Tariffs,” he shouts with a pen. “Wait, let’s put ’em on hold. No, we’ll put some of ’em on hold. We’re raise some tariffs on some nations, depending upon what colors are in their flags, but only on days of the week with an n on them, on alternating even days of the month, unless it’s a strawberry moon.”
Whenever something goes wrong for PINO TACO, he engages in swift non-sensical denunciation of shadow states, democrats — sorry, I mean LIBERAL SCUM — or SLEEPY BIDEN. “So much of this is SLEEPY JOE BIDEN’s fault because he didn’t beat me after I won the election in 2020 FAIR and SQUARE as ANYONE on the dark side of the moon will tell you.”
Part of the toxic agenda PINO TACO follows is whitewashing history, erasing contributions by anyone who isn’t as WHITE, HETEROSEXUAL, and RELIGIOUS AS HIM, and we all know that this person wholly follows and EMBRACES the Bible because he’s held it in his hand and it didn’t catch fire. But it was a Trump branded Bible, wasn’t it? Which, given TACO’s low reading abilities and skills and propensity for scamming customer, probably means his TRUMP BIBLE was probably a coloring book and not the supposed word of the White, Rich God which MAGALand embraces.
TACO’s “One, Big, Beautiful Bill” now being debated in the Senate has been ripped apart as a giveaway to the richest of the rich while shredding Medicare. He’s attacking our nation’s education system and the nation’s universities and colleges. Analysis shows the results of his attacks on the established pillars of our nation will be harshest on MAGALand’s heart, rural areas and red states who solidly voted for TACO. Yet, torching his followers is what PINO TACO gleefully presses the Greedy Ol’ Trump Party to do. It’s almost like he hates them for being stupid and enabling him. In parallel, TACO sues news outlets and which publishes information contrary to his latest declarations, often also threatening to pull their license. He reacts most virulently when the news outlet publishes TRUTH backed with FACTS. PINO TACO reacts to TRUTH and FACTS like a vampire encountering garlic.
Topping off his chaos crazed course, PINO TACO has ordered plans to sell off public lands and clawed away the proections that keep our water, air, and land from being freely polluted. He’s threatening to withhold Federal funds from states and cities led by Democrats unless they acquiesce to what PINO TACO says, all while saying he wants to return power to the states. The knob on his bullshit machine goes to eleven gazillion, far above other machines, which only go to ten.
Yet, this stomach-churning stew of denial, slander, threats, misinformation, and chaos is PINO TACO’s plan to make the DSC a stronger, more prosperous, and successful nation. Republican voters put this lunatic into power. If only they’d rememember what the GOP party founder, Abraham Lincoln told them: “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
Ironically, that’s a phrase from the Bible. Mark 3:25. So you would think that everyone embracing the Bible as the mythilogical foundational guiding document for the nation would not embrace a man preaching hatred and disunity.
But then, from what we’ve seen in MAGALand, history, knowledge, and thinking mean very little.
Dreamed my wife and I went car shopping. I found a sleek new silver sports car. Turned out that it was a Chevy Camaro but it was completely unlike any Camaro previously produced. This car was low, wide, and fast. I didn’t see much of the exterior in the dream except that it was so brightly polished, its silver surface hurt my eyes.
I instantly like it and wanted to sell my wife on it. “Here, babe,” I said. “Take it for a drive.” I had to coax her because she doesn’t trust her driving skills. Finally relenting, she entered the car and got behind the wheel. The car was electric and made little sound. She was amazed. Then she began driving it. After a bit, she said through a big grin, “I really like this.” So we bought the car with dreamlike ease. The whole time, she remained behind the wheel. When I asked if she wanted to keep driving, she replied, “Yes. This is fun.” That pleased me.
We went to a parking garage. As she pulled the car into a slot, a group of young men came up and began hassling us. Annoyed, I told them to go away. At that point, I discovered that my wife had the car’s roof retracted. As I told her to put it up, one of the young men reached into the back and took out a brown folder of papers. I asked him to give them back. He mocked me and walked away with his friends. They began throwing the folder around as they would in a game of keep away. Getting angrier, I found a large orange and a large green papaya. I wrestled with what to do with them. As the man who first took the folder caught it, I hurtled the orange at him, hitting him in his ankle. He went down with a cry, complaining of pain. The rest didn’t know what had happened.
I went over and picked up the folder. A second man threatened me. I threatened him back with the papaya. Another guy laughed and said, “That’s just a papaya.” I hit him in the face with it, knocking him over. As he sat on his ass in pain and astonishment, I returned to the Camaro and my wife drove us away.
Yes, the United States is taking a deep nosedive into being an authoritarian state under Trump.
Didn’t start with him. No. We’ve been on this course almost since the nation’s inception. Growing differences in ideologies fed rising polarization. Voter apathy and a two-party system that often operates more like private clubs threw on heavy and recurring douses of high-octane fuel. One issue voters contributed. So did a professional class of politicians homesteading in Congress, more eager for continued employment and personal prestige and power than effective governing, or even the rules of order. A deliberate decision for several news outlets to blatantly skew news to promote their agendas helped the flames grow brighter and hotter.
Dark money in political donations is a cause. As is the growing wealth divide. That divide has always been there. We’ve had robber barons before. Railroad, oil, and ranching empires. Now we have power-hungry oligarchs corrupting the system and controlling the technology and means of communications. As our founders warned, don’t trust the bankers. Beware of the money men. And, as always, beware of religion taking over the state. Even if that religion revolves around the worship of cash and power.
With these issues, things are frequently simplified and boiled down to semantics. Sound bites. PR campaigns. Streaming and television ads. When does life begin? What is sex and gender? Who has the right to citizenship and due process? What is meant by a ‘well-regulated militia’?
Republicans in recent years have become effective bigfooting facts and the truth. Now they’re attacking science and education as the enemy. Outlawing words, history, books, and ideas. They’ve long wanted to reduce the size of the Federal government. We all know the famous quote about drowning it in the bathtub.
Of course, our eagerness as a nation and as individuals to embrace cults and saviors is complicit. We want order. But we want equal rights. Principled people are requested to make decisions and lead us. But principled people in charge are growing rarities. It costs money to run a political campaign. Big donors want something in return for their money. Bullying tactics are employed. Toe the line or you’re gone. Executive Orders become royal decrees. Doesn’t matter what Congress appropriated; a POTUS gets in office and attaches strings to the spending. My way or no way.
It’s little surprise that threats, bullying, and being obstinate is the usual political tactic of choice. Many of us learn it via parenting, from being parents or being ruled by parents. “Do it like this because I said so.” “Do your homework or you won’t get dessert.” That parenting and teaching style, that management style has been reinforced by popular culture via television shows and movies. It takes place in sports. How many players will simply ‘hold out’ for more money and better conditions? Workers are forced to strike for better conditions because executives and CEOs want greater profits even at the cost of workers’ health, lives, and safety. Being tough and strong means not backing down. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Except that’s exactly what we do. Taking it to the ultimate step, corporations and the wealthy demand conditions to build new factories. Tax breaks. Special rights. If they don’t get it, they’ll take their manufacturing elsewhere. For the affected communities, it’s often lose-lose. It is effectively financial terrorism as a negotiating ploy.
So it goes, a long and ugly downward spiral, the perfect mélange of power, money, capitalism, apathy, ignorance, and greed.
We are not the first nation to face this challenge. We were one of the first nations to attempt a democratic rule of the people, by the people, for the people. Catchy slogan, isn’t it? As always, who should be included as part of ‘the people’ is in disagreement. Women weren’t originally included. Blacks were marginally involved. Indians? No. Gays, lesbians? Never thought of. Many still don’t want to think of them. Claims that it’s against science. Or their religion. Or it personally offends them. Myths about it all are created and circulated. “Blacks are dumber.” “Gays groom children.” Anecdotal tales are held up as absolute truths. See Willy Horton. See ‘the welfare queen.’ Or for a more modern example, see ‘DEI’. Now many live in fear of the servant of the people, the current White House resident, unsure of how he’ll wield power, unsure what it’ll do to our lives, unsure what we can do about him, afraid of the economic and political forces he’s accumulating, afraid of him acting as a power of one.
We’ll probably survive this threat posed by Trump and the spineless GOTP and their base. But we’re not likely to address the structural deficiencies which brought us to this point. That’s hard work. Challenging. We disagree on too many elements to come together and fix it. Or many wealthy people want more wealth. Wealth spells improved comfort. More security. Greater freedom. So, aided by the wealthy, indifferent, and uninvolved, we’ll keep devolving until even our name is a mockery of who we pretend to be:
The United States of America.
I dreamed my wife and I were setting up a business. But we needed a place for that. Someone overheard us and said that they have such a place available: their house.
So, we, with the couple who owned their house and several of their friends, went to the people’s house. My wife and I walked around it. Beautiful place. Several levels. Large, off-white, a modern design, resembling something Frank Lloyd Wright may have designed in the way it used light, space, and materials, it was well-appointed with expensive furniture, appliances, and paintings.
My wife and I were impressed. The owners showed us a central rectangular room where they’d set up a small factory. My wife and I agreed, “This would be perfect for us.” Yes, others agreed. The way they said it cause some suspicions. Realizing that, the others tried reassuring me. My suspicions remained but I inquired about buying the house. It was agreed that we could buy it right then and move in.
The original owners had another house on their property. We were now neighbors. People had to go through our property on foot to reach the other house. My wife and I invited friends over for a small gathering. Our cat was with us, exploring the new home and giving its approval. We sat with our friends in the living room, talking, having drinks.
A man burst in through a door. Large, middle-aged, he was armed with several knives. He was also drunk. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his side. Then I wrangled him onto a sofa and shouted to my wife to grab the knives while I held him. She came over but did nothing. I repeated what I’d told her but she barely responded. Finally, exasperation seizing me, I held the man’s wrists and pried the knives way.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked my wife. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
She moved away and sat. It seemed like she was in shock.
I held onto the man’s shoulders and told him, “Don’t even think about running away.” Drunkenly grinning, he agreed. I told others to call the police.
The man looked familiar. A friend said, “Don’t you recognize him?”
I asked the man, “What’s your name?”
He said it, and my friend said, “He was an NFL quarterback.” I asked for confirmation. Beaming, the drunk guy replied, “That’s me.” Then he jumped up and ran out of the house. I started giving chase but stopped, thinking, WTF?
A large number of people were outside, moving like ants toward the other house. They were expensively dressed. I asked one, “What’s going on?” She explained that they were all invited to a party.
They were a quiet crowd. I guess several hundred were there. I organized them into a line along the path, although I don’t know why I did that. The bottleneck was the front door of the other house.
Dream end.
I awoke in the dream in a bed. As I sat up, I realized a young cougar had walked in from outside. Before I could do anything, it jumped up on the bed and came to me. I was freaking but urged myself to relax and stay calm.
My wife entered the room and gasped. “That a cougar?”
“Yes,” I quietly answered. “Don’t move fast. It’s pretty chill. Don’t do anything to upset it.”
The cougar was sniffing me and sometimes licking me. Wasn’t real big, about the size of a small large dog, if you follow. It wasn’t threatening me.
My wife said, “I’m going to back up back into the bathroom and close the door.”
“Do it slow,” I replied.
She did. The cougar spent several more minutes with me and then left through the door. I gathered from what I saw in the dream that I was in a living room sofa sleeper and the front door was open on the other side of the room. When the cougar left, I hurried out after it with an intention of warning others. The cougar meandered along the sidewalk, literally sniffing the flowers, along with other things, and then went down a hill away from the place through thick foliage.
I went back and dressed, and my wife and I walked down the sidewalk to the dining room. My sisters and brothers-in-law were there, so we told them about what had happened. As I finished telling the story, my older sister came in and listened. Giving a hand wave, she said, “Oh, that’s just Leslie.” She explained that Leslie was a young cougar who lived here. He never bothered anyone.
I was mildly indignant that she was so blase about my cougar encounter and that she’d known about this cougar and didn’t say anything.
Dream end.
Mood: Montastic
Spring has set up here in the Rogue Valley, home to Ashlandia, where professionals from California come to rest. Mountain snow remains on the mountains in places but blossoms, blue skies, and sunshine seem to have settled in. 69 F and sunny now, we’re climbing fast toward today’s 76-degree F high.
Now this warm weather does bring worry, worry that winter didn’t gift us enough, worry that March is too warm too fast, worry that summer will be stratospheric hot. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, it’ll be a moderate summer and give us a respite for recovery from the last several years.
The cats are happy as cats in sunshine, although Papi has become ridiculously restless. Out to in, in to out he goes, what he’s searching for, nobody knows. Methinks he’s hunting for some fun.
I realized from a photo that he’s been with us at least eight years now. Scheckter, one of my original Orange Boyz, passed away in 2013 (cancer) at too young an age after being with us only twelve years. Papi remarkably resembles Scheckter. Seeing Papi on the fence before he joined our household always surprised me because he was such a mini-me Scheckter.
That’s only in markings. Papi is about eight pounds less than Scheckter. Scheckter and his mate, Pogo, were large, muscular cats. Scheckter came in at 19-21 pounds while Pogo bested him with two more pounds.
News reports in the US are cycling around DJ Trump and his latest inflammatory rhetoric. Does he mean it when he declares ‘some people aren’t human. What does he mean people ask when he talks about bloodbaths if he loses.
The headline for David Smith’s article in The Guardian posits that Trump’s 2024 political campaign is about vengeance. ‘A campaign for vengeance’: critics warn of a radical second Trump term.
Smith writes, ‘Detention camps, mass deportations, capital punishment for drug smugglers, tariffs on imported goods, a purge of the justice department and potential withdrawal from Nato – the Trump policy agenda is radical by any standard including his own, pushing the boundaries set during his first presidential run eight years ago.’
For some reason, this is what former POTUS Trump thinks is what will fix the United States. He believes this is what Americans want and what the world needs. I believe he’s wrong. The majority of economists believe his various tariffs had negative effects on the US economy or did nothing. Few believe the tariffs did any good.
As for detention camps, mass deportations, and capital punishment for drug smugglers, such draconian measures belong to a less civilized era, one in which violence and brute force were employed to achieve national objectives. Although we’re waaayyy too armed as a nation, mostly because of the Military-Industrial complex President Dwight D. Eisenhower — a Republican — warned us about in 1961.
It’s depressing that some will follow Trump and pursue these warn out ancient ideas as modern solutions. I don’t believe the majority do. I just hope the majority votes and ensures these ideas don’t become our new national policies.
Shifting from politics to music, The Neurons have “In Bloom” by Nirvana in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). “In Bloom” came out in 1992. It’s come to mind for me today because of that chorus, “He’s the one who likes all the pretty songs, and he likes to sing along, but he knows not what it means.”
I think it applies today because of DJ Trump. He says many things. But he really doesn’t understand what they mean or how incongruous they seem. He tries to spin other meanings, making shit up. And that becomes the new truth for the followers in his cult. They, and Trump’s compliant Republican supporters and right-wing press, spin and insist, “That’s not what he means.”
Outside of the cult, outside of the right-wing media bubble, and outside of the empty GOP, the rest of us understand what he means. We understand the implicit violence of his promises and declarations. We see through his garbage and recognize that he doesn’t give a shit about the United States or the U.S. Constitution and its ideals. This is all about him and his vengeance quest.
Okay, back off my box. Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote, please. I’m indulging in another serving of coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
I began with my wife, in our home. This place was a townhome which reminded me of our RL HMB townhome where we lived 1999-2005, but with some odd differences.
I was in the living room because I was certain I’d heard a noise. I was investigating to see if someone had broken in. As I walked around, checking to see if anything was stolen, I realized the door to the garage was open. It wasn’t before.
I walked that way. My wife stormed out of the bedroom where she’d been sleeping. “Someone broke in,” she said. She went to the garage door and rushed down the steps.
I followed, overtaking her as we left the building. We were at its rear, all grasslands, with a few trees, bordering a river. My wife said that she didn’t see anyone and went into the house. I kept looking, picking up a large stick as a weapon, because I might need to protect myself.
I spotted two couples on the riverbank. Teenagers. I called to them. They ignored me. I headed their way. They moved off, careful to never look at me. This kept on for sometime before I gave up.
Darkness overtook the land. I was more than a mile from home. Rain was falling. I decided it would be easier to get to the street and follow it home.
I reached the street. A small brown dog was trying to cross it but was afraid of the traffic. It wasn’t much but I understood the dog’s fear. “Come on, I’ll help you,” I told it.
It came to my side. As we looked, it started across the lane. I saw a car’s yellow headlights coming toward us from the left. “No, not yet,” I said to the dog. “Come back.”
The dog did. We watched that car pass. There was a median strip. I told the dog, “Come on.”
The dog and I crossed to the strip. It stayed with me as we waited for traffic to pass and then went on.
I trotted along in the rain, the dog beside me. I saw no collar on him or tags, and talked to him, asking questions. As we crossed one street, he suddenly turned left and took off in a run. Going home, I guessed.
I turned right and crossed the street. I was home now. It was daylight. The rain had stopped, and I was dry.
I went into the house and armed myself with some hard plastic tubing. My wife was making dinner. I heard a noise from the garage and went to investigate.
A Filipino man was there. Seeing my plastic tubing, he became withdrawn and acted like he was leaving. I asked him, “Who are you? Why are you here?”
He said he had something to give me and held out a hand. I recognized a manuscript. “No, thank you,” I said. “You need to go.”
He took my hand and pressed the manuscript into it. I sighed. “You want this published?”
He nodded with eager smiles.
I repeated, “You need to leave. I’ll go with you and show you how to get this published.”
We went to his house. His family were waiting for his returned. They crowded back when I came in. Getting on his computer, I explained how to self-publish and the query process and how to submit to publishers and agents. He nodded, indicating that he understood.
I returned home. My wife asked where I’d been. Dinner was getting cold. Putting the tubing aside, I explained what had happened as I sat down to eat.
Dream end.
Five dreams are remembered this morning. Takes a while to process them. I usually do this in bed, eyes closed, pulling out their sequences. What normally happens is that I have a dream and wake up with it in mind, process it, and return to sleep. Then I dream again and repeat the process. Later, I sit and freehand the dreams. Sometimes, when the dreams become larger, more involved and remembered, I type them up. And sometimes I post that result, usually without any insights I acquired, just presenting the raw dream. In this instance, because there were five sharply remembered dreams, I just wanted to share intriguing aspects of two.
I was with my father. It was Christmas. His third wife was there, too. I’d brought twelve gifts meant for my cousins. Several of those cousins are dead. I knew that in the dream. When I showed Dad what I’d bought for who, I actually said, “Even though he died,” when I introduced their gifts. Dad laughed at that and I responded, “They’re dead but they still deserve a gift.”
Gifts included beer, pastries, pasta, and books. I explained to Dad when describing the gifts, showing them to him, why I selected each present. Dad seemed particularly surprised by the beer, which was a German Pilsner with a flippy top, which were common in Germany when I lived there.
What happened next is that I went off for a bit, returning to find that Dad gave away several of the presents to the people because he forgot buy them. So instead of a gift for my cousin, Jeff, for example, Dad gave it to his nephew, Jeff. That left me speechless. In Dad’s usual style, he laughed off my protests and explained that he just said it was from both of us so what difference does it make? The people received the gift, which is the intent of the gift being bought.
I didn’t fully buy into Dad’s position but decided yes, the person getting the gift was most important, so why be an asshole about it?
He later asked me if I had other gifts to give people, because he didn’t buy gifts for others but he thought he should receive a gift. I laughed at him, mocking his lack of preparation and planning, but took him to a white chest freezer and began pulling things out. He asked me why I put them into the freezer. I answered, “Ask your wife. She gets it.”
The other dream had a segment involving a vase. I was in a dim warehouse sort of building, metal, with high, dull lights. Items were stacked on shelves, creating a labyrinth, and lots of shadowy places.
White and tall, with flowers and dragons painted on it, the vase had several cutouts. I noticed the vase and remarked on its beauty. When I did that, one of vase’s cutouts yawned wider and issued a black cloud. I jumped back, pushing the others with me back to avoid it. We discussed, “What is that?” Several, including me, believed it to be poison. We wanted to get out of there fast but there was only one narrow path out. The vase was up on a shelf at head level along the path.
We needed to pass the vase to leave, we found, because we found every other way blocked. Two attempts were made to race past the vase but it moved each time, growing larger and growling at us. Finding a hammer, I attempted to attack it. The vase counter attacked, growling more and growing larger again, issuing more scary black gas. The vase’s cutouts now had teeth.
Someone said, “You have to get rid of that vase.”
“I know,” I answered. Swinging the hammer, I knocked the vase onto the floor. It rolled toward us in a rush. I hurdled it, but it was trapping others. I rushed the vase. It spun around me. Jumping back, I dropped the hammer. Teeth bared and roaring, the vase charged me. Dodging it, I pulled a shelf partially over, stopping it from getting me. I spotted an old black, portable television on a shelf. Grabbing the television, I lifted it over my head and slammed it down on the vase. The television and vase both broke. Enough of the television remained for me to hit it again with the television.
The vase pieces were trying to come back together. Someone threw the hammer to me. It bounced on the cement floor. I seized it and hit the larger pieces of the vase. The vase hissed out wisps of the black cloud. I started kicking its pieces around, shouting at the others to run past it and escape. After the last of them had gotten past, I picked up the largest piece of vase, threw it across the warehouse, turned and ran.
First, I was with other men. I was younger than now but can’t say what my age was. We’d been inside doing some unspecified activity. Finishing, we headed to elevators and exits. I was with one guy. White and young, I estimate him at six foot five and two hundred fifty muscular pounds. His hair was short, brown salted with gray.
We spoke briefly about the thing we just finished, alluding to its recurring nature. I said, “You know, we meet all the time to do this. We should get together outside and do something.”
He replied, “I’d like that.”
Now I’m at my place. Some rednecks are trying to rob me. I’ve become aware of this. They’re armed. We’re outside. I’ve hidden weapons outside. I drift around under their eye until I’m by a hidden pistol. Grabbing it, I start firing. It’s a plastic pellet gun and sprays yellow balls all over the place. They pull up similar weapons and fire back. We run around like that.
Others arrive. I realize that with the others there, the rednecks aren’t going to do anything. I’m not sure how many rednecks are present. At least two, including one with a thick and glossy black beard who seems to be their leader. Other people mill and chat, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. A redneck or two constantly follows me about, keeping me under watch, but I slowly grasp that they’re not going to rob me. Still, they make me uncomfortable and I want to leave.
I go into the house. A few people are in there but I notice that no rednecks are present. Going to a window, I climb out and run down the street.
I pass through a large activity room. People are sitting at tables. I think at first that they’re playing bingo, but they’re not. I hear Mom’s voice on speaker. Mom is on stage, moderating something. She’s in her mid-forties, about forty years younger than now. I’m surprised that Mom is moderating this. I listen to her asking and answering questions. Sometimes she laughs, but she always has a smile, red lips around white teeth.
Going on, I reach a crowded bus complex and join the queue to get on a bus. It’s a bottleneck. People are trying to go several different directions. Noticing this, I step back and let people go by since my line isn’t moving. Others see what I did and do the same. The bottleneck is cleared up, freeing me to enter the bus. It’s a huge one, like something companies use for tours or cross-country travel.
The bus starts up and begins moving. We’re driving down a steep hill. I’m in the back of the bus and Mom is driving the bus! I think, Mom is amazing, when did she learn to drive a bus? Someone back by me calls her name and then asked, “Did you ever figure out the GPS problem?”
Mom, laughing and steering, braking the bus at the hill’s bottom to turn, replies, “Yes. There’s a funy story there. Let me tell you.”
Just as Mom always used to do, except she never drove a bus. This is where the dream stopped.
Michael Seidel, writer 