Nobody’s Home

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On this same old, same old day, let’s kick things off by discussing a well-known author’s work of spooky fiction.

On an overbooked, American Pride Airlines, non-stop, LA to Boston, red-eye flight, ten snoozing travelers have a rude awakening; namely, 100+ passengers, along with the flight attendants, have all vanished into thin air. Amongst the remaining are the young blind girl, public school teacher, stoner chick, violinist prodigy, mystery novelist, blue collar worker, narcoleptic businessman, high-strung high financier, sinister mercenary, and (fortuitously) a deadheading it homeward American Pride pilot.

Upon muscling open the cockpit door, to everyone’s horror, they discover the entire flight crew has also disappeared. Things go from bad to worse when their substitute pilot’s repeated, increasingly heated, radioed Mayday declarations fail to get any air traffic controller response, at all. Upon diverting for a landing at the less traveled, Bangor International Airport, the plot thickens further; due to the terminal being little more than a nobody’s home, ghost town.

Those two paragraphs, above, synopsize one of Stephen King’s most fertile, flights of fancy; be his literary masterpiece printed out on the pages of his collection of novellas, titled Four Past Midnight, or played out in the made for TV, three-hour film, The Langoliers.

I’m rehashing this plot, for, no matter how many times I experience it, “anew”, this never fails to inculcate creepy feelings, right down to the very core of my being; REGRETTABLY, NOT UNLIKE how I feel each and every time I mask-up and force myself to re-enter my homeland’s creepy society; the very one dominated by the triple threat posed by impending climate collapse, relentlessly mutating coronavirus variants and sycophantic MAGA maniac insurrectionists.

Factoring in how few Democrats have the “stones” to (figuratively) peg any problem solving stones at any of these life threatening issues… well… I hafta say…

In spite of a populace of 7.9 billion, globally, and 330 million, Stateside, I cannot help but feel like I’ve been holing up within a godforsaken, gawd awful worldwide / nationwide ghost town; where, obviously, nobody’s home.

Granted, there are still plenty of us well-intentioned people, but, seeing how we’re not making any significant headway, anyway… well… nobody’s home still applies.

And tho my closing Q will only resonate with folks familiar with the above literary work, I’ve gotta ask this anyway…

Where the hell are King’s ferocious, growling, flying all over Creation, swooping down, razor sharp toothed Langoliers when we really need ‘em for a much needed, long overdue clean up of our mucked up society?

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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Then One Foggy Christmas Morn (Part 1)

 

Just before yesterday’s daybreak… my appetite for reconnecting with Christmases past… in a manner more tangible than mere memories… far outweighed my hunger for sustenance. Donning my jacket, I hit the trail for a short trek through my lifelong hometown.

Destination: My boyhood neighborhood.

My excessively sentimental… bordering on delusional… expectations were that, beneath the dismal, grayish blue overcast and amidst the enshrouding, chilly, misty light fog, I’d wind up…

• at the very least… getting a glimpse of the very home, which I had deemed the center of my universe (throughout the first seven years of my life) and, perhaps, even spotting a fully decorated, lit up Christmas tree in the living room window (right where I would’ve seen it through my 60 years younger eyes).

• at the very most… getting caught up in some sort of freakish, Stephen Hawking or Stephen King postulated cosmic vortex? A space/time rip, which would send me hurling back, Back, BACK? To start out my life, anew? My, perhaps, even retaining enough of my accrued wisdom / foreknowledge to alter my now younger self’s decisions… all leading up to a better life?

Alas… obviously… I’m still here… unchanged…

No window showcased Christmas tree. No window of opportunity time warp, either. No amount of wishful thinking could possibly overcome a known, orderly multiverse’s implacable reality. All of that even gets backed up by more down to Earth realities… namely…

• Lyricist Kim Gannon’s reminder: “I’ll be home for Christmas / If only in my dreams.”

• Author Thomas Wolfe’s adage: “You can’t go home again.”