Notes - last mattress redrafted & an afterthought

         A bit of excitement for Carol this morning in that she was up and awake when the three mile deep 3.8 earthquake hit at seven-fifty-five this morning one hundred and eleven miles away from your Mason address. Stats are according to your iPad app, Earthquake Lite, from the US Geological Survey National Earthquake Information Service at Golden, Colorado. The app asked you to send in a survey detailing her reaction to the quake, which you did.

         It was an interesting questionnaire, quite detailed. There was no structural damage but Carol felt the house move for a few seconds. I slept right through it.

         Mid-afternoon. You traveled thirty miles to your eye doctor as he had moved to the west side of Cincinnati, a place you rarely, if ever, visit.

         I traveled from I-74 up Montana Avenue to eventually find Glenway Avenue where his office is. He used to be connected with LensCrafter’s now he is with Eye World. It is only once a year, and my eyes are still in good shape, so it was worth the ride.

         Why don’t you re-draft the last example you found and place it here so we can get through this scene?

         I was rather hoping four examples would be enough but I did find the fifth, and after checking the word totals for the chapters I suppose I will need it. It is just so all very physical and I am not so good with description.

         A little heads and tails never appears to hurt anyone, orndorff. Besides, realism is where the human spirit dwells.

         I’m sorry, Amorella, but somewhere deep inside I still think of you as the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever deal with, and though a 69 positioning is rather well known, I have trouble with it because I was a teacher once, writing about such things would not be accepted by many of the parents of my students. I wouldn’t accept it of a public school teacher now if my daughter were young and in his class. Like ministers, teachers cannot afford to dwell in such fabrications of society. And, though I am retired, the old ways and concepts and ideals are still floating about in my head.

         This shows how strongly you have been influenced by the culture in reference to teacher behavior, old man. Think about this in terms of what others have to deal with in their own cultures. Surviving death may be liberating for some, but others may take a long time to decipher what is who they are, as compared with what their culture wanted them to be. In here, the cultures of the Dead have their own rules and most are loosely interpreted.

         I don’t think I like that so much.

         I don’t care if you do or not, orndorff. Rules are rules, and the fewer there are, the better. – Amorella.

         Speed limits exist.

         That’s what passing lanes are for. Post. – Amorella.

         It is after twenty-one hundred hours and you have completed this last selection to be inserted tomorrow and we will complete this scene thirteen and chapter six. Here is the last of the encounters in second draft.

draft two of selection of scene thirteen

         Salamon whispers with wishful anticipation, “Shall we circle?”

         Sophia nibbles a bite of ear, and erotically orders, “Work up from between my toes with a bridging tongue and I will shimmer as the mighty Styx.”

Mattress on the floor late evening. Sophia suddenly discovered that she was more conscious of Salamon’s right hand, thumb and fingers spread across the back of her right hip than his unconsciously moving tongue stroking her snuggle warm, semi-erected passion. His right hand is solid. His other hand rests, comforting my outer thigh just above my left knee. Salamon tempts sucking something not fully between and here. A small fleshy flint. Does he remember the taste of feminine moisture on his nose? What is the male enchantment? The born man-child comes head first, is it his plan of subterfuge, to worm his way back in? I give him the two things he wants in the moment. A metaphor. Sharing what I don’t have with what he doesn’t have. As in life, it is the thought of giving the most of one’s private self.

         I sniff too, thinks Sophia, and I lick a taste of memory. I remember the sharpness of watching a man beside himself. Automaticity. I can flatten a man much as a runaway oxen can. I can run him down with lip and tongue. Within arching bodies, in little more than are not breathing, we are what we are, a sharing, naked with the only utilities we have to share, our senses. Salamon’s thoughts and feelings are consciously drowned in this reflexive moment. He is not even here. I am that good, I am as solid as my clasping right hand.

***

         You see, orndorff, you can break your own rules for the books. This is not the first time.

         No. I trust this does no harm, nor the books either. For thinking only, for the few who feel the need to read them. To broaden perspective, to broaden the mind as to what we are and what we can be. Just a few opened windows for myself to peer into. Others can peer into themselves and find similarities, that is my hope. I am my own classroom at this stage of life. I have doubts on surviving death, but if I do I will have something for my mind to hold onto. An anchor of reason in a pending storm. I will be able to say, “I thought it out from within, so this is truly what I am, alive or dead.” My view as a transcendental existentialist.

         I agree, old man. It is from your depths of heartansoulanmind, not my own. – Amorella. 


         A selection of mental nakedness hanging on a line as a clean set of sheets. It is amazing, I can let this go. - rho