[previously on the 17 point scale]
....still, this lazy summer sigh tells me that a newspaper subscription would change all that. beth would walk into my living room and remember...
[the conclusion of a pg-13 post, where nothing is revealed or concluded, andrew gets strange and accidentally changes tenses, and the clock strikes 12:30am, causing andrew to say 'crap. time for bed' and 'conclude' today's posting]
...the entry-way to my home would be like a portal to her past. out would flop the sloppy tongue of beth's memory: a panting red lolly pop commissioned to sample each and every tassle of my ugly brown carpet. like the tongue of the world's happiest golden retriever, it would gather clues by licking the lamp, couch, and big screen tv.
indeed, the memory is a biological marvel. take a journey through the swirling mass of neurons to beth's memory command center. 'back in two seconds,' reads a hastily scrawled note on the office door--don't snoop around, this brain-borne tongue could complete a scan of my living room almost instantaneously. still, there's time for quick peek: audio visual equipment (tvs, dvd players, live-feed, etc) lines one wall of the command center while honorary doctorates in deja vu and hodology grace the other. and--slippppshulllgluggglugg--that's the sound of the tongue returning from its fact-finding mission (have you ever heard the sound of a tongue sliding down a hall? seriously, it really would sound something like that). with pen and paper in hand, it plays a quick game of connect the dots, attempting to find meaning in a wild assortment of first impressions. then, momentarily satisfied, it slithers to the synapse machine and taps out a quick command to the rest of the brain: n-o-s-t-a-l-g-i-a. beth sighs...
[to be continued...]
andrew david 'breakfast on the beach I' puerto vallarta, mexico.
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