Mindfleet Stardate 2026.112 The Podcast Wormhole

The bridge of the Coastal Voyager had been unusually quiet for approximately four minutes, a new personal record for the Ambassador. If Nature abhors a vacuum, the ambassador detests silence.

"Captain, I've had an enlightening discussion with Five of Five.” He said the words with the measured diplomacy of someone who knows he's about to lose an argument. 

“The AI unit’s deep dive analysis of crew morale may have merit. Introducing a feline presence aboard ship could offset the psychological turbulence generated by our new mustelid crew member. Cats are calming. Statistically speaking.”

Captain Amy didn't look up from her command console. “Ambassador."

“Captain?"

“No; don’t even think about it.”

"You haven't heard the full…“

"No cats." The words arrived with the finality of a photon torpedo. "Not on this ship. Not in this sector. Not in this lifetime or any adjacent one.”

Major Reason cleared his throat from the science station, which, as the crew had learned, meant he was about to be helpful in the most inconvenient way possible. 

"Captain, with respect, the A-5's recommendation is supported by a Purdue University study on the human-animal bond. The data indicate measurable reductions in cortisol levels and demonstrable boosts to immune function in the presence of domestic felines.”

"Major Reason," Amy said, her voice dropping to the register usually reserved for diplomatic incidents, "do not talk to me about human-animal bonds. The ambassador has no restraint whatsoever when it comes to cats. None. Zero. He once had six of them living with him. We’d be overrun before we cleared the Cape Fear sector.”

The Ambassador took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

"Don't," said Amy.

Lieutenant Joy, monitoring crew morale from the communications console, assumed her brightest face and swiveled in her chair to face the captain. 

“Captain, the reason Five of Five raised the idea is rather interesting, actually. Our adaptive intelligence has been listening to a podcast on the subject. A very compelling one, apparently. Let me see; yes, here it is: Happy Cats Wellness, it's called.”

Major Reason's eyebrow arched with Vulcan precision. "Podcasts, Lieutenant? Surely you're mistaken. That medium hasn't been active since 21st-century Earth.”

"Those are the ones," Joy confirmed cheerfully.

A brief silence fell over the bridge as that information settled like space debris through an atmosphere.

Chief Engineer Anxiety, who had been stress-monitoring the ship's confidence generators from his station, spun around with the expression of a man who has just spotted a hull breach. "How is that possible, Lieutenant Joy? Subspace reception is unreliable at distances over two centuries. The signal degradation alone would be… Wait!” He lowered his voice. "Unless the A-5 has found a wormhole.”

"Or opened one," said Major Reason, with the quiet gravity of someone dropping a matter/antimatter device onto a conference table. He turned slowly toward the ventilation shaft where, somewhere in the Jefferies Tubes, Cadet Reginald was presumably reorganizing Comm Officer Joy’s sparkly boot laces. 

"Could it be," Reason continued, "that our new mustelid crew member is not merely a stowaway? Could he be an anomalous lifeform? Perhaps planted here by the Romulans?”

"I want to be very clear," said Amy, raising one hand, "that I am not having this conversation." She stood. "All hands, listen up. This discussion ends now. There will be no further mention of wormholes, subspace continuums, or felines on this bridge.” 

“Ambassador,” she said, “my ready room. Now.”

The Ambassador rose with the dignity of a man who has been summoned to the principal's office many times and has made peace with it.

After the ready room doors closed with a decisive whoosh, Joy looked around at the remaining crew. "What do you suppose that was about?”

Reason, looking intently at the data scrolling down his screen, said, "It would appear the Captain and the Ambassador share a history that predates our current mission parameters. I've noted several glitches in the system’s overrides aboard this vessel that seem to reference the 21st century directly. As though the ship itself has memories.”

Joy considered this. “Hm."

Reason nodded. “Indeed."

Chief Anxiety stared at the ventilation panel as if something there had sparked his curiosity. "You can say that again.”

The moment hung there, ripe and unresolved — right up until the medical bay doors slid open and Dr. Downer materialized on the bridge like a man who had been waiting for exactly this cue.

"Did someone mention a wormhole?" he said. "Because I wasn't consulted. Do you have any idea what an uncharted temporal aperture could do to crew morale? To structural integrity? To me? 

We may have opened a portal to a dimension populated entirely by worst-case scenarios, and I want it on record that I flagged this risk.”

Joy patted her console soothingly. "No danger, Doctor. No wormhole. You can go back to rest.”

"I wasn't resting," Downer said, with the mild offense of a man accused of something perfectly reasonable. "I was listening to a podcast. The Conan O'Brien Needs a Friend podcast, if you must know. Very illuminating. He also appears to need a friend.”

The bridge crew turned as one.

“Podcast?" they said in unison.

From somewhere inside the ventilation shaft above the science station came a single, muffled: “Dook?"

The 80s Are Back; They Never Went Away

This morning, the Universe decided to stir me up by mixing music and memory; in other words, she hit shuffle.

It began, as these things often do, with a perfectly innocent intention. I had no plans beyond coffee. That’s the danger. When a man enters the Circular Journey Café with no plans, the universe tends to assign him some.

The morning was behaving itself; sunlight filtering through the windows as if it had read the handbook, the hum of conversation low and agreeable, the espresso machine performing its sacred rites without protest. Ms. Wonder and I had just settled in beneath the trees on the outdoor terrace and  I’d just opened my phone to check messages when the first note hit.

Not from the café speakers. From somewhere deeper; like a radio signal from deep space.

My memory has its own sound system, and it had queued up the 1980s. Not the decade, exactly, but the 1980s as a force, a synth-driven, emotionally sincere, slightly overproduced force. And here’s the curious thing I’ve noticed: the 1980s didn’t stay in the past. They keep coming back to remind us of our glory days, and when I way remind us, I mean remind me, of course.

As the songs played on the sound stage in my head, I started assembling a Spotify playlist: six songs, all from the 1980s, all Billboard Top 10 hits in their day—and all of them, through some cosmic loophole, finding their way back onto the charts in the opening of the 21st Century. 

1. “Running Up That Hill” – Kate Bush (1985)

There are comebacks, and then there are resurrections. This song from 1985 reached No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100. But then in 2022, due to its unforgettable appearance in the Netflix series Stranger Things, it did more than resurface; it rocketed back into the Top 10.

I was just beginning to appreciate the wonder of this when Ms. Wonder herself returned to our table, set her coffee down with the quiet precision of someone who had something to say.

“You look like you’re about to explain something unnecessarily complicated,” she said.

I responded by mentioning how the hit songs of the 1980s never seem to fade into the past. “That’s not simply nostalgia, Poopsie. That’s time travel with a synthesizer.”.

She took a sip of her latte. “Or,” she said, “it could simply be a popular TV show, accessorizing with a popular song.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That too.”

2. “Africa” – Toto (1982)

There are songs you remember, and then there are songs that refuse to let you forget them. 

Africa reached No. 1 in 1983, and for decades it lingered in that pleasant corner of memory that I reserve for songs that I sing badly but loudly, driving down Ocean Highway with the windows down. I recounted it all to the Woman of Wonder.

“Then, in 2018," I continued, "Weezer covered it, and here's an amazing thing about that. Apparently, it was initially intended as a joke of some sort. I can’t quite get my head around that, but there it is. At any rate, joke or not, it was suddenly back on the Billboard Hot 100.”

Wonder took another sip from the cup but remained quiet. Like Nature, I hate a vacuum, and so continued enjoying the wonder that is pop music.

“A resurgence of pop culture like that is collective unconscious expressing itself through ironic appreciation that becomes sincere over time. And when I say collective unconsicous, I'm talking about the consciousness of the collective.”

Ms. Wonder didn’t even look up. “It's a nice song. People like to sing along with it,” she said.

3. “Fast Car” – Tracy Chapman (1988)

If the 1980s had a quiet corner, a place where sincerity sat without irony, it belonged to Tracy Chapman. Fast Car reached the Top 10 in 1988 and became one of those rare songs that doesn’t age so much as deepen. Then in 2023, Luke Combs covered it. 

He didn't reimagine it; didn't reinvent it; he just respected it. Bam! Another Top 10 hit.

“That proves something I’ve long suspected,” I said. “Authenticity, just like good coffee, doesn’t go out of style; it just waits for someone to appreciate it again. I'm sure your maritime photography will do the same.

Wonder took another slow sip of her latte, “Good songs remain good songs.”

4. “Livin’ on a Prayer” – Bon Jovi (1986)

This No. 1 hit in 1986 has resurfaced repeatedly in the streaming era, reentering charts and remaining culturally relevant.

“This song is about resilience,” I said. “It's musical persistence embedded in the cultural psyche.”

Ms. Wonder stirred her coffee. “It’s about people singing loudly at cultural events,” she said.

5. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” – Bonnie Tyler (1983)

There are songs designed for special moments, and then there are special moments that seem designed for songs. When the solar eclipse of 2017 swept across the United States, this song, which was already a No. 1 hit in 1983, returned to the Billboard charts.

Because of course it did.

If the moon is going to block out the sun, you might as well have Bonnie Tyler narrate the emotional implications. I remember that day. People stood outside, wearing protective glasses, staring at the sky. And somewhere, inevitably, someone pressed play.

“That,” I said, “is the universe aligning symbolism with sound.”

“That,” she said, “is marketing and opportunity getting together for a jam fest.”

Closing Statement: The Coffee Was Never the Point

After discussing that fifth song, I realized the sunlight had shifted. The terrace had filled with the quiet hum of people living their lives in real time, unaware that the past was gently playing all around them, if only they chose to tune in.

I felt something stirring in my limbic system, somewhere in the vacinity of the amygdala, that’s when Princess Amy appeared. 
She seemed to be musing, giving something a moment of consideration. I was about to ask what arrested her attention, but I didn’t get the chance.

Ah, she said. I see what's happened now; you've had temporal leakage. I hope it's cleared up now, I've heard enough about music from the decade of decadence.

“It’s only passing nostalgia,” I replied.

“Did you say something?” Wonder asked.

“Only that the 1980s aren’t gone forever,” I said. “They revisit me, when the conditions are right, and remind me of the glory days.”

Ms. Wonder finished her coffee and set the cup down.

“I think they don’t revisit you,” she said, “as much as they haven’t ever left.” 

No one can put a period at the end of a sentence like Ms. Wonder. There's nothing like her. She towers above mere mortals.

Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech

For a college physics assignment, I once set out to design an alternative to the Big Bang theory, not the television show, but the explosive origin of the universe. Our professor explained that an international organization had established strict criteria for such proposals: any student theory that met those standards and avoided the usual mathematical pitfalls would be added to a prestigious compendium of plausible explanations for how the universe began.

I believe these collegiate projects are necessary to keep international organizations off the streets and out of trouble.

I’m fairly certain my theory was published in the Journal of the International Society that year, if only because I cross‑checked every variable against their requirements with the kind of obsessive precision usually reserved for airlock maintenance aboard the International Space Station.

I never heard from the organization, but I did get an “A” in the course. So I’m convinced my theory is now gathering dust on a shelf somewhere, probably in that secret chamber buried beneath the paws of the Sphinx on the Giza Plateau.

I'm sure you've seen the Google video. According to 2025 INXS scans and radar surveys, there are undiscovered chambers and tunnels beneath the Great Sphinx, particularly near the right paw. Yet the site remains untouched, because the Egyptian Antiquities Office refuses to allow any disturbance.

Rumor has it that the refusal is a personal directive from Zahi Hawass, the former Minister of Tourism and Antiquities. And I know why he refuses; I know him like the back of my knee. Haili (my nickname for him) and I have been locked in a long‑standing feud ever since my remark about Queen Hatshepsut. I’ve moved on, but Haili nurses a grudge with the tectonic weight of a pharaoh. 

So my theory simply waits to be discovered, patiently biding its time until Egyptian Antiquities finally gets over the historic “relocation” of their treasures by European collectors and allows a proper investigation of those chambers.

When my paper is finally unearthed, a posthumous Nobel Prize in Physics is, of course, a mathematical certainty. To streamline things for the future committee, I’m already drafting my acceptance speech.

Stay tuned, and you’ll be the first in your neighborhood to read my speech on The Circular Journey. BTW, I've written about craving my very own Nobel on another post. Read the rest of this post before you click this link. You can read it later: Nobel Prize, Possibly?

If you live long enough to attend the Nobel ceremony, feel free to tell the people you meet there that you knew me. The fact that you don’t actually know me is irrelevant; human memory is a faulty holographic projection at best. Even when you aim for honesty, you’re not reporting the past; you’re simply replaying a glitchy simulation. 

Under those circumstances, lying won’t be any less accurate, and as sure as Isis loved Horus, it will be far more entertaining.

You might as well embellish it to make the story more entertaining. That’s what I do.

Multi-media Cat Friendly Empire

I was back at the Circular Journey Café, staring at my saltwater taffy latte and wondering what I was thinking when I ordered it. Today, the foam art looked less like the Strait of Gibraltar and more like a cat napping in a sunbeam. 

Princess Amy sat across from me, her tiara refracting the light into judgmental laser beams. In my head, her expression said, I’m listening, but I’m already prepared to correct or overrule you.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, pushing the sleeves of her Mindfleet uniform to her elbows. This episode isn’t about Mindfleet; she just likes the importance that comes with wearing a Commander’s uniform.

“Doing what?” I asked, carefully sipping the cat’s left ear.

“Striving. Seeking. Building a ‘media empire.’ It’s a bit much for someone who just wrote a blog post about the spiritual benefits of doing absolutely nothing. What’s it called again, Oooh Way?”

“It’s Wu Wei, and it’s the Daoist art of effortless action.”

“Whatever,” she said, fussing with her sleeves again.

“And it’s not an empire,” I protested, apparently loud enough to cause a woman at a nearby table to glance my way and pull her croissant closer. “It’s a cross-platform synergy of wellness,” I added, more softly. “I’m connecting the dots, Amy.”

“Dots,” she sighed. “You mean the various ways you’ve found to talk to yourself in public?”

“No,” I said, leaning in. “This blog is where I document the messy reality of living with a mood disorder. It’s my boots-on-the-ground report from the front lines of my own mental health. But the secret weapon,” I dropped my voice, “the thing that keeps the ‘check engine’ light from blinking 24/7 is the Chatsford tribe.”

Amy tilted her head, as if trying to see the argument from a new angle. “Cats? You mean those small tigers that live in your house and treat you like a mobile treat dispenser?”

“My bond with them is a biological anchor for my anxiety," I protested. "When the world feels like a glitchy streaming service, a purring cat is the only thing that's rendered in high definition. That’s why I started Happy Cats Wellness in the first place.”

“Now, I see what you’re doing with this episode,” she said, royal skepticism dripping from every word. “This blog post is nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda to promote the Happy Cats Wellness podcast.”

“It isn’t propaganda. I’m certified in Pet Preventive Healthcare through Partners for Healthy Pets. I’m a Cat Champion with credentials. I teach people how to use the latest research in preventive care to keep their cats healthy and sane, and in return, the cats can help keep their humans sane. It’s a closed-loop system of mutual survival.”

Amy sat back, fingers toying with the Mindfleet badge on her uniform. “You’re shameless, Alley Oop, you know that, right? I’ve seen the drivel you feed your Substack followers. The new article reveals ... what? The science behind the purr?”

“Princess, don’t pretend you don’t live in my head and know every thought that runs through my mind," I said. “That essay is where I dig into the fundamentals of the human–animal bond and how it helps us cope with mood disorders. 

“And you think people can follow this trail of breadcrumbs?”

“If they like cats and enjoy a laugh, they’ll follow it anywhere,” I said.

The toddler who enjoys throwing food at me wandered past and dropped a half-chewed gummy bear onto my table. I took it as a cosmic endorsement of my multimedia project.

“Fine,” Amy said, standing and smoothing her tunic. “Nice dream, Bucko, but even emperors do their laundry at the end of the day. Here’s a tip: write more Mindfleet episodes, they’re the only posts that go viral on The Circular Journey.”

“And this is coming from someone who inducted a ferret into the Federation cadet corps,” I said, my exasperation slipping through.

And so, at the end of the day, the circular journey continues. Sometimes it’s a podcast, sometimes a deep-dive Substack article, and sometimes just me and my inner critic sharing a cold saltwater taffy latte. 

Werewolves of Wilmington

If you once thought that number 2 pencils were designed for rewinding cassette tapes, then The Circular Journey is the place for you. Welcome back.

Wilmington is a perfectly civilized place and a top destination for Set Jetters. But every now and then, the moon rises over the Cape Fear, the vape clouds gather, and somewhere in the distance an engine revs in a convenience-store parking lot.

That’s when you know: 

The werewolves of Wilmington are out again.

 

A Study in Urban Feralism 

I first spotted the phenomenon in the Cargo District. It was raining, and the vibe was moody indie music. 

He walked through the rain clutching a coffee menu, asking for directions to Egret Caffè, desperate for twenty ounces of lavender-and-sweet-cream frappé.

Oh no! I thought. The werewolves of Wilmington!

The Habitat and Territory 

These creatures aren’t confined to our trendiest blocks. They’re adaptive, migrating with the shifting supplies of Monster Energy and Red Bull. 

He’s the tattooed gent in Walmart with the patchy neck beard. Get near him, and he’ll start explaining something. And beside him, always, "she" is there, smiling at the person he’s just inconvenienced, touching their arm and saying, “Sorry, he’s just…” and then never quite finishing the sentence.