Fascinating courtly intrigue and bloody power games set on a generation ship full of secrets―Medusa Uploaded is an imaginative, intense mystery about family dramas and ancient technologies whose influence reverberates across the stars. Disturbing, exciting, and frankly kind of mind-blowing.” ―Annalee Newitz, author of Autonomous

Monday, August 26, 2024

Michael's Chronicles: Thursday, Aug 22


I haven't had much time to do blog writing these days, as anyone who wanders onto this page will quickly notice. My brother Michael is a heck of a lot more prolific with the writing these days than I am. He travels all over the country selling hardwood drums and playable furniture at high-end art fairs. He's got stuff to talk about, so he's up and I'm not. Maybe that's for the best? Anyway, here's the newest from Michael Thiele, Hardwood Music craftsman. 


Thursday Aug 22
Monterey

I drove here for this particular morning. I needed the fix: the marine layer. To those who live here it is a ho-hum thing. Familiarity I suppose……but for me, whose exposure is at best occasional, it is anything but passe’ - old hat. I am smitten. Unapologetic.

By mid-day the sun will insinuate itself onto the scene and warmth will displace this morning coolness. Photogenesis will be further served. Ho-hum, huh? Not being a beach-goer or a sun bather, I’m not holding my breath for the change. Don’t get me wrong………I’m good with sunshine. My “weather tent” is large. Lightning is beautiful in my book. Just not now and not in this place.

People around here are walking appreciative dogs, at least two of whom (small ones, of course) have taken time out of their busy day to yap out a warning bark at me. A woman is trimming rose bushes as she chatters at them, lovingly, as if words would ameliorate her snipping intrusion. A light breeze, too minimal to rustle leaves, has endorsed the beautiful morning coolness adding an inaudible decaf to the moment.

The morning will fade away as it always does. Time is indifferent to our love of the moment. The grace and beauty in memory is in having been there, in that moment.


Writing about it feels thin. Artifact at best. Think I’ll just shut up, close my eyes and breathe. It is why I came here.

Later 

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