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From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: Taxi Murders Novel Chapter #103  -- Confession: "I am Real."
Date: Sat,  8 Feb 2003 19:10:06 -0500
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If you have missed any parts of Taxi Murders
the Novel, they are archived on ASSM -Google
and at my web site. I welcome feedback
in email. Sfarragher@nj.rr.com .

Chapters 1-80 are available at my site.
Updates will be posted at least weekly.

Thanks,
Sean

http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook

Taxi Murders the Novel -- Chapter 103 --
(c) 2003 Sean Farragher   sfarragher@nj.rr.com


http://www.seanfarragher.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss
http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook/


By Laurie Fallon from Notes:
TxM6: Taxi Murders Novel Chapter #103  -- Confession: "I am Real."


There is nothing to say anymore. I am silent. Why the fuck should I be
silent. Tell me.

Why am I grave?

I am confirmed by the lines and depressions, gullies and promontories that
my body digs in the sand. Hey get that ... my tits and ass are mountains.
Like the earth I am fact in every crystal grain that silicon sets down. No
my tits are real. No silicon babe. Get the fuck out of here, Laurie. You
mock yourself too easy.

Doesn't that prove it. I am real. See the stain my body makes, how the oil
and fragrance color the sand with what I have become.

You are not real. WHAT THE FUCK, I am not real. Of course, I am fucken
real. What makes you say that?

You mean because I have no flesh. Feel it. It is here. These are my tits.
You shit. Feel them. touch where I am wet, where I ache to be realized.
Feel the inner folds of my lips, no not those, yes I love to kiss, but the
ones inside me, no not my sex, those other lips, where I breathe my own
self and smell that fragrance, oh how I love CREED, yes, I am my own CREED.
My belief is the aroma of sex, and its tingle. Feel where I am coming apart
as I am living, wiggling there, yes, my ass wobbles, FEEL it you fuck, and
do not push me away, because your eyes tell you I am not fucken real. I am
here inside your skin. Do not brush me off your shoulder, my hands are
there, feeling my fingers opening and closing on you, can you feel that
erotic oil, and the massage and the squeeze and how when you separate me
with that particular motion I taught you, you are there inside with me
churning when I stop to breathe, and then the aftershocks, I cannot control
them, and then when I am done, NOT YOU, fucker, and I roll away as you push
closer, and I am there, no back, pulling you back, I was teasing you,
letting you know how it feels to be rejected. I am inside your mind. WHY
WILL YOU NOT ACCEPT ME? ARE YOU DAFT and blind too?

You will. God. How did I bring you?

You did. You felt it. My birth. the child's life starting in that first
piercing of the ovum, and only one stroke, and the chemical changes. We are
real darling, yes, -- we are actual. Aren't we. Henry, we are real. Right.
We are the warm skin and the tangle of our wings inside bellies.

Can you feel how my nipples are soft after I come? It takes a few moments.
I feel that now. I do. I am conceived in my own fucking. What does that
make me. I am real. HENRY, I am real. So are you. We shall shout it until
the hands descend and pull us through the vulva into the world. One last
gasp, Henry, yes, we will be named life, are we? Adam and Eve, as the myth
they conspired to write and we turned that one away. Who am I then. Who are
we?

I am Laurie. Yes, look in the dark black specks of light in my eyes, in the
meandering of my gaze on your body as you groan and come in that splash
like oceans and waves and sandbars that erupt through the lower tide, and
we coalesce in that instant.

You and I -- hear it fucken darling.

I am real as the skin moves apart and the daylight sinks, and the motion of
your cock between my wet cunny, as the lips spread apart and we are looking
at us fucking in the mirror, and there on film, you and I dear Henry, alive
churning one more fuck, more than real, as we come both in that place out
there as skin and muscle and silent screams, and inside here, in the act of
imagination. "In my act of imagination -- not yours Henry. It is mine. I
make us real."

Desire is that finger tip that made us come. Dig inside where the belly
shifts as the roll, drying in the sun, feeling the sand as it brings us to
our feet as the flower is born, not pausing, our inertia, yours and mine,
yes, dear fucken Henry, -- the mind makes belief, know that our skin is
like the child we bring into the world, just started, as the crocus,
pushing into the air and not accepting any obstacle. Yes, we are that life
that precedes us. We are the after calm, shock and the motion our ass makes
in the sand bars, as in memory, as in the longing for great sex, as in the
merging of our right to life with the tactile waves that string us through
the sea shells into not fucken heaven, of course, but real life. REAL life
is never perfect? Is it? Fuck no. But I want this chance to be imperfect,
to be even dysfunctional and alive.

It is all your mind after all. Mind is, remember that, all of you.


STAGE DIRECTIONS:

Laurie turns to the camera, opens her eyes, flirts, cuts through the
bullshit and materializes. Yes, she pops into the real world. Right there
she sits. You see her. Six foot, auburn hair, long legs, filled with six
months of child, trying to curve her legs under her ass, to disappear she
says when she is pretending to drink. She would never do that pregnant. But
pretending is part of the disguise. Don't you think?


For more TxM6 Taxi Murders the Novel http://www.seanfarragher.com


END

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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