Science Fiction and Free Love? What a Concept!

Dear Subscriber,

Now, for some good news! Since my science fiction novel Life in 2050 is a dystopian pastiche, I thought I’d remark about a recent development. My old employer Caltech/JPL is finally doing something in space that can get us off the oil and Musk (electric battery) tits! Far the fuck out!!!! Unless the Government harnesses it and turns it into a weapon, that is. In fact, back in the 1980s, when I was Supervisor of Management Development, Caltech/JPL had the solar technology to turn our automobiles into very usable and oil-destroying methods of getting from point A to point B. You guessed it? Yes, like that old film Flash of Genius about the high school science teacher who couldn’t get his automatic windshield wipers used by the big automobile makers, the oil companies put the brakes on any solar powered vehicles for the mass market.

Perhaps the big energy folks will finally listen to science? Stay tuned. They sure as hell don’t listen to the Climate Scientists, so there’s that.

Now, for poetry corner, here’s my poem about meeting a visual artist who is much younger than you are. This poem resulted. We can’t question types of love and who we love, if it’s real. Psychologist Erich Fromm spoke about the different types of love, and it’s very fascinating that we can parse love so well, but we’re having a hell of time accepting it in its fantastic forms and shades in reality. Erich Fromm wrote about the varieties and magnificent tapestries of “love.” It seems we’re due, as a civilization, to foster those feelings again, to prevent all the antagonism going on, the strife, the hatred, and the killings.


She paints, in a half-lotus, channeling her unconscious.
I write, in a staring haze, channeling my preconscious.
Hearts entwined, we gaze inside ourselves, lost forever.
In our moments.
What makes art sing with joy? Existential sharing?
A longing for respite and surprise from this other?
This opposite. This love. This languorous infinity.
The lightning strikes.
Devoted together as our eating slowly melds our life together.
Staring across the table in candlelit reverie.
A cross-eyed stare, not fully realizing she and he are one.
Until the touching begins.
Across the abysmal pains of the past, inward we peer.
He is suggesting dream cycles and shadow dances.
She is suggesting eternal nows and morning kisses.
Until the gong sounds.
Time, that vicious and monstrous Being invades their holy light.
She gets surreal again, pouring into the paint and pain.
He writes another horror story for the dead of night and sight.
Until the love begins. And their common sobriety reins.
2023 by J. Musgrave
Have a wonderful Wednesday, and hump that work for others, as well as for yourself.
Kind Regards,
James Musgrave
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