Tag: yellow

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Cool rain commences. It’s Satyrda, August 18, 2025. 72 F, we’re two degrees short of our expected high.

Papi loves this weather. The back door is open and the ginger floof makes it his territory. Lounging there, he can monitor us and the outside, grooming after breakfast.

We’re on final vacay prep. I take my ‘puter, so I’ll post but less often and more inconsistently. We’re there mainly for the ocean’s influence. That’d be the Pacific. Our rental place is a few hundred walkable yards from where the ocean beats the rocks and sprays mist the air. The floofsitter will be staying in our house, as her place has some repairs going on. She and Papi get along quite well. I trust the situation in her hands.

I see that Trump hit the trifecta with wholesale vegetable prices in July. Stories I’ve read say the veggie prices jumped over 39 percent.

What led to this? Well, a trio of issues, mainly. One, unpredictable weather, you know, like the increasingly erratic weather caused by climate change, which Trump claims is fake news because he and his supporters are either too dense to understand it, or they view it as a siphon on profits, and without money, life has little meaning for ’em, outside of hatred.

The second cause for the wholesale price jump was cited as labor shortages. That was predicted loudly and continually by anyone with a brain larger than a pea who has paid attention what goes on in the U.S. These labor shortages are directly attributed to Trump’s ICE disappearance policies and heavy-handed gestapo strategy.

The final nail in the almost 40 percent price increase was Trump’s tariffs. Again, very predictable except to the mango clown waddling around the Offal Office and his simpering minions.

Now, on the right, they like to claim that the labor shortage isn’t that bad. That ‘Murican will take over those migrant jobs. They love fables like that. They also bulk up their reasoning with claims that machinery now does most of the vegetable harvesting. While true that machines are used in many circumstances, hand-picking is needed for anything that’s going farm to table. Machines are used for harvesting veggies and fruits destined for canning and animal feed.

Read the whole article about the wholesale price jump at Wholesale Vegetable Prices Are Skyrocketing. What Does That Mean for Shoppers?

This news came from the BLS. Trump just fired that agency’s leader after the downward revision of labor for the previous two months, information which showed that the economy is going down the toilet. Trump hates info like that, so someone over at BLS is gonna get their head handed to them.

The bad economic news also comes on the heels of the Putin and Trump talks about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Trump’s sucking up and lack of results make him look weak, and Putin ably handled him. Net result: Trump won nothing but praise from Putin for being a victim. Trump loves believing he’s a victim, one of the most unfairly treated people in the world, so he ate that shit up with a large spoon.

Shame, though. All this bad press has diminished the focus on the Epstein Files, and how deep Trump was in with Epstein. His lack of efforts to release the files and irritation whenever Epstein gets mentioned, coupled with his delicate handling of the felon named Maxwell, leads many to think that Trump is bigly mentioned in that file, and not in good ways.

Donald Trump with his buddy, the late convicted sex offender, Jeffrey Epstein.

Today’s music is brought to you by my sister. She mentioned yellow on a social media platform, sharing a post asking, “Who is your yellow?” A yellow is a person who brings joy into your life without trying. When I read that, The Neurons pumped up “Yellow” by Coldplay in the morning mental music stream. So here we are.

Coffee is making itself at home among my Neurons. Getting ready to pounce on another day. Hope peace and grace carry you on to the best days you can live. Cheers

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The Kennedy Dream

I was in the White House. My role there was to escort Jackie Kennedy to an event where President John F. Kennedy was expected to also attend. I was young; they were white haired and elderly.

It was a kind of chaotic scene. We left the formal White House. There were about thirty of us. Using a secret corridor, we went into an annex. White walls and floors, with white lights, it was like a warehouse but it was completely empty. There seemed to be two levels as well.

I ended up chatting with the first lady. Just chit chat. Then finger sandwiches were served.

By then, JFK arrived. He and the first lady walked across the space and embraced. Both were using canes. They looked like they were in their nineties.

We then engaged on our reason to be there: flying model airplanes. One was a sort of large model biplane. Red, with yellow wings. It was slow and easy to fly. We took turns with it, flying it through the large space, around a corner and down another corridor and back.

The second model aircraft was a gray B-52. Smaller than the biplane, it zoomed around with a fighter jet’s the speed and agility. It really impressed us all and I had a ball flying it. It was very easy to control.

After a while, we were tired. Boredom got its fingers into us. We ate more and napped on the floor. Then I was awakened. Mrs. K was ready to leave. She wanted me as her escort. The President was already gone.

I walked her out of the annex and back to the White House. Then I left. I later saw her on the street. I waved at her but she didn’t see me.

Dream end.

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Three Pieces of Dream

A long and chaotic dream won the morning memory. There was another dream about having sex with a French woman in a desert after being accused of some crime, but it’s not a sharply recalled.

First I was with a group of friends, all males. We’d been out having a good time in the outdoors and were now filthy. Many of these people were real life familiars from across my stretch of existence and life stages. I was young and it was sunny. Many more groups of similiar people were out there on a large, dusty, gold-sun plain, like knots of bison congregating around a larger herd.

A sudden call to go get a beer put us in motion. We ran along, laughing and eager. We were going to have a beer! “Don’t worry, I have chits from last night,” I shouted, holding up discolored pieces of white paper. I reached a table and sat, still outside, but now on a plateau. My friends were coming but were behind. I pulled out the chits and discovered, they were chits; they were just torn pieces of paper. Some fluttered out of my hand and dropped into the mud as my friends arrived and I explained, “I don’t have chits after all.”

We all set out to go somewhere and were now downtown in what looked like a small city. Without preamble, I decided that I’d had enough and started in another direction. I was soon running in the streets alone but as I turned a corner, I saw ‘my crowd’ running in parallel in the other direction. They saw and recognized me and called out, but I’d kept going in the other direction, alone.

I arrived at my wife’s mother’s house. I knew that’s what it was even though it was nothing like any of her places in real life. My wife was there, along with my sister-in-law. She was sitting crossed-legged on the ground. As I see her in that scene after awakening, she looks as she did as a young pregnant woman in a photo taken of her when she lived in New Mexico. Giving no warning, she pulled her breast to feed an infant. I was a little surprised but then went, okay, she’s comfortable with it, and my wife, beside me, showed no reaction, so I should be okay, too.

I went off because I noticed my mother-in-law was busy digging. In real life, she passed away about six years ago. She was about the age she was when I first met her, mid-forties, in my dream. I spoke with her briefly but don’t remember what we said, and then wandered around the yard to see what she was doing. She’d dug a moat around her house. Then, I thought, she expanded an existing moat. It wasn’t large as moats go, about a yard wide, and didn’t seem deep. Water lilies floated in places. I discovered little tiles. Two inches square, I realized that she was going to ourline her moat with them.

The first one I turned over was scarlet. I put it in place on the moat to see what it looked like. Next, I found one that was yellow. I took out the red one and put the the yellow one in. It was a soft yellow, not as bright as a lemon. Next, I found a sage green tile. As I was going to put it in, I heard a man calling. A tall male stranger, dressed in a tie with a rust colored corduroy and tan pants and large, handlebar mustache was walking up, telling me how much he liked the yellow tile because it was a bold and striking color, and he approved my choice. I was just beginning to explain to him what was going on when another man in a charcoal business suit came up, urging me to go with the first color, the red, because it looked sharp against the water and grass. As these two began talking about the tiles, I turned over a third one, which was sage green. That was my preference, but I also thought that a pattern using all three colors could be made.

I went back to tell my MIL that, which is where the dream ended.

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A Book Dream

A short dream recap.

I was in a room, high walls painted sky blue, tall windows which looked out over a hill which lead to a beach and see, white ceiling. ‘My book’ as I referenced it was on an old but polished dark brown table that I’d been using to write. My book was finished and had a cover which I partially saw: sky blue, yellow, with a red frame around some scene and the title in red.

I left the room and returned, finding the table gone, along with my book. I hurried back into the other room and asked what someone to tell me what had happened. I’d been half expecting the table to be taken away but having my book removed upset me. A tall, angular woman with short brown hair told me that the mover had taken the table and inadvertently took my book with it. They’re realized their error and were bringing the book back. I was looking out the window while she spoke. “There they are now,” she said, pointing out.

A helicopter was high in the sky coming toward us. This was one of those heavy lift Chinooks with two rotors. A large white lighthouse with a red tile roof dangled on a hook and cable. “Yes, I see it,” I answered and settled down to patiently arrive, and begin hearing its distinctive helicopter sound getting louder.

The helicopter arrived and lowered the lighthouse. When they finished, I went into the original room and found my book. Unfortunately, it was high on the wall and out of my reach. I searched for a ladder. None was available, so I returned to the other room and complained to the angular woman. She said, “I’ll get it moved so you can reach it.”

I went back into the other room. The book had been lowered. Standing on my toe tips and stretching fully out, I was just able to reach it. With it finally in hand, I opened the tome and began reading.

Dream end.

After I awoke and thought about the dream, I realized that my dream self had equated the book as the lighthouse, and meditated a while about what that meant.

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Food & Diamonds Dream

Didn’t see much of myself in this dream. I was there doing things under others’ guidance. The first part was about taste, eating, and ingredients.

I was given six ingredients and told to make something to eat out of those. I don’t know any of the ingredients at this point. But as I started working on it, a woman came by and said, “If you have any problems, call this number: 220-4076.” Okay, I said, got it. Will do.

I began working with the ingredients to make things. With quick experimentation, began intuiting that the food would guide me. In fact, if I let them, the foods would choose by themselves which ones should come together and that the best results came from just using three ingredients.

People, including my wife, arrived and tasted my food. Expressing astonishment, they asked, “Did you make this?” As I told them I did, they were in disbelief because it was so good, in their words, making me proud and happy. Same asked me for cooking insights and I happily shared what I’d learned, telling them that the food would come together by itself so just come together and let it. They then watched as I told a group of six foods to make something. The food pieces began moving, shifting into groups of three, and then shuffling their proportions by themselves. Everyone reacted in amazement, exclaiming, “You were serious, it does make itself.” I said, “I just need to cook it in whatever way needed. That’s where this phone number comes in.” As I looked at the phone number, something clicked and I said, “But I only need 220, the first part. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Finishing up there, I caught up with my wife. She was jewelry shopping in some swanky store where the sound was completely muffled by thick-pile blue carpet. When I arrived, she was engaged with a sales clerk but turning to me said, “M, I dropped an earring. Can you see if you can find it?” Questions and answers were exchanged about where she’d lost it etc. Getting on my knees with a flashlight, I searched the carpet and found the earring, a tiny but exquisite little silver piece. She was so pleased I’d found it, telling me that she’d been confident that I would, but then told me she’d lost another, so could I find it, too?

I did so with little trouble. She was still shopping so I walked to another part of the store and then out of it. Beyond the store, it was hot, dry, and brown with dust. The dust was blowing in my face, coating my lips and smarting my eyes. Grimacing against all that, I walked around behind the store. Turning back, I saw that I’d wandered a long way from it, and the store was just a smudge on the horizon, and so started making a direct and determined effort to walk back to the store fast.

As I walked though, I bent my head against the dust and wind, keeping my eyes toward the ground. Slowing and shielding my eyes against a particularly sustained, hard wind, I bent down and saw stones. Picking them up, I discovered that there were cut yellow diamonds. From what I knew, they couldn’t be worth much, because wasn’t yellow diamonds a lesser color? Still, they should have some value, I told myself, and picked the diamonds up. A huge cache covered by dust was found.

Wondering if the diamonds belonged to someone, I called 220. Without even explaining who I was or why I was calling, the person answering said, “The diamonds are yours if you want them. Take what you want. That’s why they’re there,” and then hung up.

Dream end.

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The Publishing Dream

Note: this is about a nocturnal dream about being published, and not a RL goal.

It was a pleasant fall day. Walking among a bustling crowd, my wife and I met with my mother and stepfather (SF). All of us were much younger than RL by a margin of several decades, and my stepfather has been dead for a decade.

We were going to watch a soccer game and have a meal. As we met, we came up on a large box. Cast iron, it was painted with black enamel, and contained hundreds of post office lock boxes. SF said, “By the way, Mike, you received some mail at my address.” He made a vague gesture toward the black box.

“I did?” I was surprised beyond words. Receiving mail at his address seemed as implausible as a demon army invading.

“Yes, two, I think,” SF answered.

“Can I have them?”

“Yeah you can have them.”

But SF was going on. Mom had already gone on. They didn’t want to miss the game’s start and were impatient. I asked my SF for his mailbox combo. He didn’t answer and kept going.

But I saw a key. I assumed that what I’d received was too large for his lockbox, so they’d put it in a larger one and gave my SF the key for it. Seizing the key, I went and opened a larger lockbox and withdrew a large yellow envelope with my name on it. Tearing it open, I learned it was an acceptance letter from a publisher. They’d accepted my submission, “Beyond the Lines”, and wanted to publish it, and were offering me a contract for three more.

The offer letter also said that I needed to respond by the deadline. The deadline was today. Fortunately, they included a link to type in to accept the agreement electronically.

I was tremendously excited. I’d forgottent that I’d submitted anything. I didn’t understand how my SF’s address was mixed up with it. Naturally, I didn’t want to go on to a soccer game. I wanted to go and celebrate. But my wife pointed out that I’d made committments, so we continued to the game.

Dream end.

The dream surprised me. My stepfather and I did not get along. He was a major reason for moving away from Mom in my mid-teens. He is the father of my two youngest sisters, and I love them dearly, but I have no love for him and had not seen him in decades before he died.

Also, we never went to a soccer game. He showed no interest in soccer. I showed little myself, for that matter. And he never met my wife.

So, I take hope and insight from the dream that publishing help will come from unexpected means and directions. I remain an optimist.

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An Unsettling Dream

After an outrageously fun dream that had me grinning when I awoke, a later dream stamped its imprint, unsettling me.

The second dream was about a friend. Oddly, I can’t recall ever clearly seeing him. I can’t give any description to him except to say he was a contemporary, male, white, and both in our early twenties.

He came to my house and told me that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars. No details about that were shared. The dream and I focused on what I should do, how can I help him? He’d already told me that he’d told others.

He suggested that he needed to hide the money. I agreed, telling him that I would help. Next thing I know, we’re at his house, a suburban home, in a lower level, in a small den. There’s one oblong window at ground level; I keep looking out it. Dusk is falling.

Green shag carpet covers the floor. He lays down on the floor, face down, legs stiffly together and straight, arms out at ninety degrees, like he’s on a cross. He’s wearing a yellow top and red shorts. I tell him that I think he needs to get out of there. He doesn’t answer. I’m pacing, worrying, and tell him the same thing. He seems to have given up.

I start telling him, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you.” That’s when I realize that I stole the money with him, bewildering me. I don’t remember doing that, so how was it possible?

I’ve hidden my share, which was also twenty thousand. I repeat, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you. Where is it?” Sirens are getting louder. I don’t doubt they’re coming to his house. He’s given up, so they’ll catch us both. Even if I have escape, I’m sure that he’d tell them who stole the money with him. He’s already told others. The dream ends with the sirens growing louder, me pacing, glancing out a window, running a hand through my hair, trying to understand what to do, and him still in a cross position on the green shag carpet.

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The Space Snake Dream

I was brought on to help create a new vehicle for people to travel. As I walked with the team, talking outside, I saw a small red and yellow snake. Ideas lit up my mind. I sketched out a plan for us to develop a design based on a snake. Objections quicky rose. Growing more excited, I explained how we would use small segments, giving the snake great flexibility. Each segment would be a living, working or storage compartment, etc. Our travel snake would be able to turn in multiple ways.

They told me it was supposed to be for space. I got more excited, telling them that we can develop multiple small segments, just like the other segments, which would be used for propulsion. They could be interspersed along the snake’s body.

While I was telling these things, the snake was being built. Without a short while, I saw it fly over some brown mountains and land nearby. I skipped through the sky to it. The snake’s segments were much larger than I’d suggested and its overall length blew away my expectations. Someone said, it’s getting ready to go.

By that point the sun was setting. The cloudless sky had grown deep indigo and purple. A few stars and satellites populated the zenith. Looking up, I watched the white snake, people visible in windows lit with a soft yellow-tinted light, climb into space on a blue flame.

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854 Cars Dream

One of the weirder dreams experienced last week stayed with me. This was from last Wednesday.

I’d entered a large building on some business. I was in a hurry and a little annoyed when someone hailed me. The young man in a suit confirmed my identity, increasing my annoyance, and then said, “I wanted to ensure that you knew your cars were here.”

People hurried around us. “What cars?” I asked. Given with great impatience, I waited for the answer so that I could explain that I’d flown in. It also seemed odd that he said ‘cars’ instead of ‘car’. On the other hand, maybe someone had provided me a rental.

“Your cars,” the young man replied, as if that explained anything.

I told him that explained nothing.

He looked at me like trees were growing out the sides of my head. “Your cars,” he responded and then spit out with haste, “Your cars were shipped here.” He spoke like he didn’t believe that I didn’t know this. “You have eight hundred and fifty-four cars.”

I repeated that number back to him. It was a ridiculous number. When he confirmed it, my mind looked for explanations and figured, oh, he means model cars or Matchbox cars or toy cars, something like that. Smiling, I asked, “Where are they?” I’d see them and then I would pursue understanding of how I’d come to have eight hundred and fifty-four cars. Someone was behind this, doing it as a joke. “Can you take me to them?”

Joy lit the young man’s expression. “Yes, sir, right this way, sir.”

We were in one of those convention centers attached to hotels, or the other way around, and had to cross a wide space. We entered a garage filled with cars and stopped. I waited.

“There are your cars,” the young guy said.

“Where?”

“There.”

I knew the guy meant all those cars in that garage. My vision roamed. Chevies. Ferraris. Fords. Mazdas. Mercedes. Jaguars. Porsches. A Jeep.

The guy asked, “Is everything alright, sir?”

I explained that I was surprised. I didn’t think these cars were mine. I thought there was a mistake. The other kept insisting, these are your cars, you are the right person and explained that they’d gone through great lengths to verify who I was. “Who did that? Who is they?” I naturally asked. No coherent answer was given.

The young man and I walked among the rows of cars. I verified, eight hundred and fifty-four. He confirmed that and then went on, cataloging the cars’ abilities, amusing me. He said, “You have fast cars and very fast cars, new cars, and old cars.” He was pointing at cars as he spoke and I was turning, gawking at the collection, stunned beyond further thought. Many famous and rare models were present. I eyed pretty green Mustangs that I was sure were in movies, silver Ferraris, and red Ferraris, blue Porsches, and a yellow Jeep. A low and wide Lamborghini and a stately, dark Rolls Royce. Old cars, new cars. All were in great shape.

The dream ended with me standing in the garage wondering, where did I get all of these cars and what was I going to do with them?

Reading this after capturing it all doesn’t give insight into how rapidly this unfolded. The dream was a torrent. I guess that’s the mind, rationalizing explanations of the scenes and images, trying to develop something cogent, and failing. Cheers

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A Sick Dream

First, I was introduced to a security database. It was locked up in a yellow train car that was permanently parked on railroad tracks beside another rail car, red, that was a cafe or restaurant. After being shown it, I was taken to where I lived. I’d be working out of my house. It was an apartment or condo on a plaza’s ground floor. The living room had a large window. From it, I could see the yellow car which held the security database. That pleased me.

My wife had gone out. I was feeling sick. The bed was right off the living room in the house’s front. I had a cold, and my vision was teary and blurry. I also had seven cats. “ALF”, the ‘alien life form’ from the U.S. sitcom shown for several years in the late 1980s, a show I was aware of but rarely if ever watched, was present to help take care of the cats. One cat was sick; I told ALF to give it a shot. He fired buckshot at the cats, and then told me, “I think we had some miscommunication.”

My wife arrived home. I told her I was sick and noticed she was, too, but with milder symptoms, and then told her what ALF had done. My illness seemed to be worsening. Two of my wife’s friends arrived. They sat down to have coffee and tea and chat while I climbed onto the bed to try to rest. I didn’t have any blankets or sheets and kept shifting positions, trying to be comfortable. One of her friends asked my wife, “What’s wrong with him?” My wife replied, “Oh, he’s just sick.”

Dream end.

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