Thirstdaz Theme Music

We’re in a weather triangle, a tangle of seasonal changes. Summer is drifting away, taking its warmth and going elsewhere. Today’s high is 75 F, an eleven-degree scramble from our current posture. Thunderstorms threaten again. Looking back, we had few days over 100 F, a relief from previous years when clusters of such days savaged us. Much more rain is visited upon us than usual, allaying drought worries. For the record, this is Thirstda, September 11, 2025.

So, here we sit, looking back at 9/11 while pondering the assassination of Charles Kirk. I’m in a triangulation of despair about the U.S.’s polarization and violence, lamenting, another gun killing, and dismayed reflection on Kirk’s rhetoric, spewed often, about killing others. Some will say that his death by gun seems karmic; he’s reaping what he ordered for others. We’ll see the question, is this a tipping point for the U.S., often played out. We won’t know until we’re further down the road. What we do know is that Kirk, as we often see from the right in the U.S. in this age, cherry-picked Bible verses to foment resentment, hate, and violence. What we also expect is some spillage from the conspiracy machine, trying to use Kirk’s death as a wedge between us, trying to make a bad situation worse. Unfortunately, that’s how some people now think.

There’s one clear bennie for Trump from this, in that Kirk’s death will be a distraction and take some pressure off Trump about his relationship with Epstein and lessen the drumbeat to release the files.

Meanwhile, from down south in northern California, emerged a story about vanishing rural hospitals. SF Gate reports, “The closure of Glenn Medical Center, located north of Sacramento in remote Glenn County, is expected to happen as soon as next month. It’s one of at least 28 anticipated hospital closures in rural California, which is confronting financial hardship under the Trump administration’s punitive health care policies that include cracking down on access to coverage for patients who are in the country without permission.” The county housing Glenn Medical Center went for Trump 2:1. FAFO.

The problem with writing this off as FAFO and moving on is that thinking people know the reciprocal and collateral effects of rural hospitals shutting down. Beyond the simple impact that those citizens will now need to travel further for healthcare, their healthcare will decline. It’s inevitable. To travel further, they’ll need to take more time off from work. Most will resist doing that, resist making those trips. That’s often how the human mind works. They’ll hold off for whatever rationalizations they fed themselves and then it will be too late for some. Unemployment will climb as these hospitals and medical centers close. The lack of such facilities will make these communities less attractive for living and business opportunities. What company will want to move a factory there, when basics like medical treatment is limited? The ironic center of all this is that they’re Trump voters and brought it on themselves by supporting Trump and his agenda. There’s no joy in seeing and knowing that. Just weariness.

Today’s song is by the Rolling Stones. This is a 1968 beat. “Sympathy for the Devil” focuses on human violence through Satan’s viewpoint. “Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name. But what’s puzzlin’ you is the nature of my game.”

I watched with glee while your kings and queens
Fought for ten decades for the gods they made

I shouted out, “Who killed the Kennedys?”
When, after all, it was you and me
Let me please introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste

And I laid traps for troubadours
Who get killed before they reach Bombay

h/t to Genius.com

So now we shout out, who killed Charles Kirk? When after all, it’s you and me, and our polarized, paralyzed government. Pleased to meet you.

On to a ‘new day’. Coffee has blessed my taste buds. May grace and peace find us all. Cheers

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

I was ravenous. I carry sufficient emergency energy stores (fat) on my body that starvation didn’t come up as a serious concern except for my stomach’s urgency to refill. It bellowed complaints like an irritated wooky. Much of this is diet limitations. I’m on low salt for hyper tension, and still remained constrained by my oral surgery. It’s healing well but missing molars and recovering surgical sites disrupt the biting, and chewing, and swallowing routine. It’ll be over in four to six months, so that’s just a temp thing.

I’ll be pleased to see June 2025 finish. Frustrating, disappointing, wearying, and just plain sad, that month holed my energy during its 30-day reign, and my soul is despondent. Personally, June of 2025 will remain a strong memory because it was memorably messed up. I’m putting high hopes on July and the rest of 2025. July’s first week features two dental appointments, my annual physical, and natal day #69, so the beginning is loaded with potential.

For the record, I think Natal Day #69 could be good song title, with the right music behind it.

Keep On Keeping On

Daily writing prompt
What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?

Well, the challenge is to keep on keeping on. I get tired and frustrated. Like, “Oh my God, I have to vacuum the floor again? It’s time to take out the trash? I just took out the trash.” I mean, the tedium of these things… The weariness builds and grows…

My wife is with me on this. It seems like she’s washing clothes every other day. There are just two of us living in the house. How in the world do we use so many clothes?

Then there is the irritating, always-asked question: “What should we do for dinner?”

This is truly a song of the first world blues when you’re complaining about what I have to cook to eat. Like, waah.

Which delivers me on the doorstep of the biggest challenges facing me in the next six months. To keep perspective. To remind myself that things like higher gas prices are minor for me but major for others. To remember that my health complaints are minor and not to get too absorbed about who I am and what’s bothering me. Because let me tell you, brothers and sisters, there are many out there with a much worse fucking life than me.

That’s the challenge to keep in mind.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffstalgic

News stories scan make me blanch. Yes, of course there are feel-good Olympic stories. News outlets thrive on those. They sell clicks and papers and increase viewership. People want to feel good about the world. They don’t want to read of a school bombed in Gaza City with nearly 100 killed. And they want to turn away from the Trumpstorm that is the 2024 GOP campaign. Weird describes their candidates and also describes some of the base, but what describes the rest?

Baby formula recalls, Venezuela, Elon Musk, X.

Here, we’re dealing with wildfires and smoke pollution. Wildfires are being fought not just all over Oregon but California, Wyoming, Washington, Idaho, Colorado…that’s just the tip.

This is Saturday, August 10, 2024. There are less than 90 days until the elections.

It’s 62 F. We’ll see our average and usual high today, 92 F. Good. The air is low moderate again, and I can see the mountains and blue skies today.

A dancing outing is planned for Lake of the Woods Resort. The air is checked. Not good. Discussions are engaged: should we still go?

Time to start a new theme week. The idea of going out dancing brought up a bunch of songs for The Neurons, so that’s this week’s theme: dancing. One of their favorites, now circulating the morning mental music stream (Trademark burning) is a 1983 fast-tempo beat by the Pointer Sisters called “Neutron Dance”. Point of order for The Neurons: this is not “Neuron Dance”. Yes, that is how they hear the lyrics, but that doesn’t change the truth.

Though coming out of the techno 1980s, it’s a song for the current era. Themes like homelessness — “The rent is due, I got no place to stay.” Weariness: “It’s hard to say just how some things never change and it’s hard to find any strength to draw the line.”

don’t wanna take it anymore
I’ll just stay here locked behind the door
Just no time to stop and get away
‘Cause I work so hard to make it every day

[Refrain]
Whoo-ooh
Whoo-ooh

[Verse 2]
There’s no money falling from the sky
‘Cause a man took my heart and robbed me blind
Someone stole my brand new Chevrolet
And the rent is due, I got no place to stay

[Refrain]
Whoo-ooh
Whoo-ooh

[Chorus]
And it’s hard to say
Just how some things never change
And it’s hard to find
Any strength to draw the line
Oh, I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance
I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance

[Verse 3]
Industry don’t pay a price that’s fair
All the common people breathing filthy air
 (Lord have mercy)
Roof caved in on all the simple dreams
And to get ahead your heart starts pumping schemes

[Chorus]
And it’s hard to say
Just how some things never change
And it’s hard to find
Any strength to draw the line
Oh, I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance (Ah, ah, ah)
I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance

[Refrain]
Whoo-ooh
(Whoo-ooh)
I’m on fire, yeah
I’m on fire, yeah

[Chorus]
And it’s hard to say
Just how some things never change
And it’s hard to find
Any strength to draw the line
Oh, I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance (Ah, ah, ah)
I’m just burnin’ doin’ the neutron dance

Let’s all sing it and dance. h/t to Genius.com for the lyrics. Easier to copy than typing them all out.

Stay positive — I now, I’m one to speak — be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue. Coffee and I have met up on a drink day. Here’s the video. Cheers

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: blllleeeack

I’m sitting in the house, staring at that air. Don’t need the air qual folks to know that’s hazardous stuff. Step out and you’re on a beach by a bonfire and a dull breeze is blowing the smoke into your face. We have fires to the south, north, west, and now east. Picked up one a few days ago. Whereas an easterly wind was delivering fresh breaths to us, now the wind from any direction carries smoke.

Fires to the south, in NorCal, are the most problematic, because that’s rough country. Power was cut to Crescent City, CA, out of worry, so they’re without over there on the coast. Up Highway 101 in Oregon, hotels and motels are full and price gouging is in full swing. Supply and demand.

And there go the trash people, picking up our refuse in this stuff. It’s early for them, so I think they’re hustling through it to get out of it.

Haven’t seen the sun yet. It’s light, so we know it’s out there. 59 F, it’s a chilly morning, post-night rain. No petrichor last night; just wet bonfire.

It’s Tuesday in Ashlandia, where the problems are real and the solutions are few. But that can be said for many places, yeah?

August 22, 2023. We as a people are gearing up for many things but that’s life, isn’t it? Gearing up. Getting ready. Preparing for the next big thing.

Smoke songs had Les Neurons by the throat this AM when I looked out and saw the situation. The morning mental music stream (Trademark iffy) boiled with smoke songs. Give it a second; hear any in your head? No “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”? Or “Smoke on the Water”? “Smoke From a Distant Fire”? “Smoke Two Joints”?

I told Der Neurons, “Don’t give me that stuff. I’m turning away from it.” Which started them on turning songs, like Pink Floyd, “On the Turning Away”. “No; that’s not what I meant,” I interjected. “I want clean air. Sunshine.” “Annie’s Song” began. “Closer. Think beach. Ocean. Water.” The Neurons came up with Jack Johnson, “Upside Down” (2006). I owe this to the line, “I wanna turn the whole thing upside down.” Noble sentiment, isn’t it? A world upside down for us would be a world where we’re working together as a species, caring for our planet, one another, and the animals, indivisible by borders, politics, wealth, religion, race, and gender. I always thought that’s what the US was aiming for, “One nation, indivisible.” Yeah, I left out the ‘under God’ aspect. I don’t put God into government.

Be strong and stay pos. Judging from my own balance today, it’s a challenge. Maybe coffee will help. One, two, three, what are fighting for? Oh, wait, wrong moment.

Here’s the music. Cheers

Sunday’s Theme Music

Warmish and foggy, kind of cool, too. It’s Christmas day in southern Oregon.

Dawn dashed in under the fog’s cover at 7:38 in the morning. I fed the cats and we prepared food to take to our friend’s house for Christmas brunch. Sipping coffee, I looked out the kitchen window. The fog was hurrying away. Sunshine struck the valley’s southern edge, lighting the trees and the blue sky.

I thought about all the matters which have gone well for me and pushed that aside. Homelessness plagues our small town. All those people were out there, looking for places to get warm, to be safe, to rest their bones and minds. I helped a few this week but it never feels like enough. Never. It’s a pattern encountered across the nation, one of the most powerful societies the world has ever seen.

I thought about the misery of people in other states hanging on as snow and ice storms undercut their infrastructures and cut their power. I thought about the military forces battling for arcane logic in Ukraine and the people trying to help one another to stay alive there. Then I thought about all the wealth hung onto by our world’s most fortunate families, individuals, corporations, wondering if they’re the most deserving, and how the sperm lottery affects our existences. I’m flattened often by stories of the wealthy do the most that they can to stay wealthy and make more money. Work harder, others are told. It’s just that easy.

Just Christmas reflections, little different than my recurring daily thoughts. Not original, but worn and tired.

My music today has nothing to do with the holidays. The song came out of dreams and efforts, weariness but hope. Called, “Turn It On Again”, the song is by Genesis. Released in 1980, the song is about a man whose friends are the people on TV.

Have a merry one. Happy holidays to you, whatever your flavor of seasonal celebrating as the common era year slides to an end. Hope you’re warm and safe, with a belly full of food.

Cheers

Old Computer Dream

I’m at a work station. One those stands with a big tan CRT monitor on top, tower PC, keyboard on sliding tray. Something from the 1990s. Whole thing is just wide enough for the monitor. I’m one of many at such computer work stations. Large room. Wide and tall. I’m in the last row, on the end. Fourth one in line. This gives me space to my right. It’s open there and behind me.

Everyone is doing through thing. It’s a hubbub of clicking, clacking, talking, laughing. I’m doing my thing, reviewing files for a dead friend. The computer files on the screen on red. They fill the screen. When I print things out, the paper and folders are red. I suppose, when I’m wondering about the red while I’m dreaming, that the red is supposed to be symbolic of something. I don’t get it. Urgency? Warning? Don’t know. I’m also wondering why I’m going through folders about a dead guy. He’d been a friend but he died a while ago. My rational side intrudes: it’s your birthday. You’re sixty-five. Dead guy was a year older than you. Never lived to be sixty-five. Collect the dots.

Aha, dots probably collected. My wife is pestering me for specific information. This annoys me. She flits in to demand I look at something, sure that it’s important. I already looked and moved on while she wasn’t there. But she keeps coming back, asking to see specific files that I already read and closed.

Many others are behind me. Two women and a man are among them. The women are attractive. I gather that they’re foreigners. Maybe British and Scottish. They’re friends. I think one is with the guy. He seems American. He comes and goes. I keep catching snatches of the women’s conversation. They’re speaking of going someplace, doing something. I’m familiar with the areas and offer some unrequested advice, which they shun.

“Keep yourself to yourself,” I tell myself, sorting files on the computer. I’m testy with my wife as she comes and asks for information on a specific date and event. Without responding to her verbally, I search for the appropriate document, drilling down through information. She doesn’t realize what I’m doing and hectors me. I snap back with an explanation. She then goes away.

Meanwhile, the British and Scottish women have become friendlier. As if they sensed they rebuffed me and now want my friendship — or something — they step closer. I’m aware that they’re surreptitiously attempting to see what I’m doing. They make a subtle show of patting me on my shoulder, touching my arm.

It all confused and wearied me. I move off the dead man’s files. Why should I be involved with them? I find myself instead working on the files for another who worked for me. Investigating this person makes no more sense than checking the dead man’s files.

I understand it all when I awaken. The sense of dissatisfaction, frustration. The searching in myself for answers about directions and desires.

Another Self-Flagellating Dream

No whips of any kind were in this dream, except the brutal emotional ones most of us employ on ourselves. This was a classic mélange of frustration and anxiety.

It began as a military dream. Whether this is true, I remembering being partially awake and telling myself, “Not another military dream.”

Then I wasn’t in a military dream. I was instead outside, with others. We were all all students and were scheduled to give an all-important final presentation. We’d already done one. Using feedback, we were supposed to go back and improve it.

But here I was, not at all fucking ready. It was time to go and I wasn’t dressed. I hadn’t changed my presentation, either.

I told myself, I can do this! Others began leaving for class. One reminded me that I needed to be there on time. The doors would close and lock at eight. If I wasn’t there, I would be failed.

Sure, I wasn’t worried.

Knowing that I needed to change clothes and my presentation, I went in the opposite direction of everyone else. What was I going to wear? How was I going to change the presentation.

I didn’t have answers. Time was running out. I decided, I’d wear what I had on – a red sweater with black pants – even though I’d worn those yesterday. And, by not changing clothes, I could make changes to the presentation.

Time was running out, and I’d wasted so much of it. I rushed toward class.

A bell was ringing.

I wasn’t going to make it.

I partially awoke. Thinking of the dream, I decided, I can change the outcome. Go back, dream again, and change the outcome.

I’m usually not bad at doing this. Today was a failure.

I went back. Time was running out. I would take a short-cut to get to the room. Rushing down a long flight of stairs, I came to another hallway.

It ended.

It was the wrong hallway. I couldn’t reach my class room from there.

A student and a security guard were sitting there, talking about another, but the details reflected my own situation. The student asked, “What if they’re late?”

The guard replied, “It doesn’t matter. I close the doors and lock them.”

“But what if they’re really trying?”

“Doesn’t matter. The doors are locked, and they fail.”

I started back up the hall to head for my class room. I found myself there.

The door wasn’t locked. I opened it and entered.

Everyone looked at me. The teachers (two) looked at me. A classmate said, “You’re in the same clothes. You didn’t change.”

The dream ended.

Cocoon

I’ll hunker down against the news

and hide inside from the weather;

living life in my cocoon

just makes the time feel better.

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