Trekker

It's the 10th of August of 2025, here on Lulu Island. Just before midnight, I eat a yellow-green apple, whilst reserving the salty sushi-chorizo rice with nori sheets and bitter-melon mung-bean soup in the refrigerator for my morning meal, later. These recent days have been uncomfortable for me due to a bad cold: How anachronistic for such blue-sky sunny days! At Tim Hortons café, I have been joking with Michael the ufologist about Trekker things such as the "Live Long and Prosper!" Vulcan greeting, the Romulan greeting "Jolan tru!" for "May your day be filled with peace!" and the Klingon greeting "nuqneH?" for "What do you want?" Michael liked The Original Series, but none of the new ones, unlike I. He watched also movies with Shatner and Nimoy. Michael doesn't read sci-fi, but pseudoscience about UFOs. He's like my other friend Bratislav who looks for reality in UFOs. I, on the other hand, accept that sci-fi is irreality for understanding reality. Sci-fi in various languages is what I read and watch. I'm still agnostic about UFOs.

My sunny spot or "hidamari" is obscured today, there near under the branching potted plumeria at the balcony. Heavy rain last night and today, the 15th of August of 2025, it has been here on Lulu Island. The Trekker in me thinks that it's like planet Ferenginar, always drenched. In the morning at Tim Hortons, I enjoyed a sausage scrambled egg potato box and an oat-milk Earl Grey. There were two guys from Tashkent; one was more Mongoloid than the other. In the afternoon, back at the café, I saw in the line-up Jack the Chinese man in a brown jacket and Greg the white man married to a Japanese in Hokkaido. / plumeria leaves— / the rain makes planets / out of each droplet