Wednesday’s Theme Music
We’re into the middle band of the rainbow of days, a prism that never ends. That’s right, it’s Wednesday. We’re also into the final seven days of August, this being the 24th, and over halfway through the memorable year of 2022.
It’s 71 F right now and we expect to be in the upper nineties by day’s end, although we’re not anticipating passing 100. Not in the cards today, fingers crossed. Air quality isn’t bad today. It’s gone up and down by the hour in the last two days as the winds ebbed and flowed. Nighthold was broken at 6:28 this morning, but the darkness will be restored after sunset at 7:58 PM. “Night is coming,” people whisper. They’re talking about the long night. Others mock them, but those who understand these things are preparing for the long night.
“Lay Lady Lay” by Bob Dylan from 1969 has won the morning mental music stream over. The Neurons allowed me to see the progression made from thought to song today. It involved some writing so I’ll not say anything else. It’s a superstition of mine. The song was a favorite of mine for a bit. It came out when I was thirteen. There was a girl in school who showed interest in me. Sweet Vicky loved this song, so when she asked me about it, I loved it, too! We held hands, went to dances, malls, and movies, necking in secret for a few months, before going toward different lights. I have good memories of her and this song.
Stay positive, test negative, and take care of yourself, family, and community. I’ve had my coffee, thanks. Feel free to have some yerself. Here’s the music. Cheers
1988 Dream
I kept encountering an error message. Sometimes it was written on a printout: [Error 1988: Michael does not exist]. I saw it in emails and text messages. Sometimes it was also spoken in the same voice my Roomba makes an announcement: “Error 1988: Michael does not exist.” As this happened, I was hurrying down hallways, looking over my shoulder, and pushing on doors, trying to find one that opens, hunting for an exit.
But, in one sense, it was understandable. On vacation, a person who needs isolation and solitude, who enjoys writing as their escape and therapy, who is forced to spend almost eighty percent of their time with other people, will end up dreaming about escape.
Right?
The question is, why those numbers?
The Writing Moment
No silence. None for thinking — certainly none for writing. He’s with two people who verbalize their thoughts. Their thinking moves with the linear certainly of hail showering off pavement. Play by play is given: “Where did I leave that? Have you seen my *purse *hat *shoes *keys *contact lens *computer cord *books. I thought I left it — is that it over there? Oh, that is it. How did it get over there?” Laughter ensues as they explain to you the process that they just went through.
Variations exist. “Oh my God, I’ve lost my tricorder.” It’s not a tricorder, but a key, a pair of glasses, a credit card. Panic rising, they verbalize their fears that they’ve lost their item, searching and searching, providing updates on the search and expounding on their exasperation, worries, and anxieties.
But then, success! They have found it.
No place to hide from this. No place to write. Yes, writing it out is an exercise in self-pity and frustration. It’s been an exhausting day of vacation.
The Writing Moment
He felt like a historian or investigative reporter, ascertaining what had happened so he could write it up. Now on his novel’s second draft, he was still just learning the story, but it was even more fun than the first time around.
Wish I Wrote It
“Capitalism is a feral beast but I love her when she works for me.”
— Easy Rawlins
From Blood Grove by Walter Mosley
Michael Seidel, writer 