A dear old friend, probably one of my three dearest friends, who I didn’t even know was reading my posts even though I regularly send them to him via texts, sometimes too early in the morning, because you see, me starting a blog never ended my incessant texting, it just added a new dimension to it.
You are so lucky if I don’t have your cell phone number!
Anyway after my last two posts entitled, “My Last Requests . . . ” and “If She Goes First . . . ,” my friend texted me out of the blue and without much context either, “You surf til you fall off the board. Stop yakking about it.”
I wrote back, “Did I hit a nerve? I don’t always write about death, you know. Sometimes I write about having sex on the ceiling with a she-devil vampire.”
My friend texted back one word, “Preferable.”
If you want to read about me having sex on the ceiling with a she-devil vampire which was based on a real dream that I once had after I had just given my heart and life to my possibly imaginary Friend, Jesus Christ, when I was twenty years old and far away from home, I incorporated it in a chapter of my yet-to-be finished book, “The Last Confession.” It’s appropriately in Chapter Thirteen of the book, entitled, “Dream Lover.”
Even in the dream, just as in my real life, I didn’t actually have sex on the ceiling with the she-devil vampire, I was just rolling around with her while we were both naked, which could have been misconstrued for having sex, I can understand. No, I was much too busy trying to fight her off of me before she could sink her fangs into the jugular vein in my neck and suck the lifeblood out of me, which she was as earnestly trying to do as I was earnestly trying to prevent her from doing it.
All of this once youthful dream, as well as me writing about it when I’m now sixty five, has some Freudian significance, I’m sure, but I’m too afraid to go there.
By the way, as I’m writing this post right now some stray cats are having sex in our front yard right outside my home office window which sounds like demons yowling in the night!
If you’ve never heard stray cats having sex, it’s both a deeply disturbing and, even, terrifying sound, but also sounds like maybe your own very best sexual experiences pale miserably in comparison to what the cats are doing!
The damned cats are probably going to wake Karen who will see the light on in my office and ask me in her still sleepy, the-cats-woke-me-up voice, “What are you doing?”
Thanks a helluva lot, Kent? See the trouble you’ve caused me with your fear of death!
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