a mntn7

-Blorum quote: "This gillish envelope of unseen cogs / Overfoams to shiny sheath, beneath / Sun-fractured fins churn brown-thumbed hands / The air-made puppet gestured from within..."-

I remember not much of my dream last night, and the part I remember would reveal just a little too much of my personal identity to put here. :P

Perhaps tomorrow night?

Anyway, I just came to the computer from eating cherries (astute readers may be gathering by now the impression that the Great Domesticated Desert of Doom^TM is some sort of giant fruit salad full of... fruit. They would be correct). They are in this little white strainer, set on a blue plastic plate, for easy rinsing. The cherries are about ²/₃ of the way gone by now -- "now" meaning when I began to eat them -- and many of the ripe, blackish ones have already been eaten. No matter, I'm actually fonder of the redder ones; I haven't quite the sweet tooth of, say, my younger brother, who would snatch the black ones right off the bat. So long as the cherries are not so bright red that they're bitter, I'm fine.

I grab a green stem and lift up a cherry. Up, then towards my mouth, then delicately between my front teeth it goes. I grip it, teethwise, and yank off the stem. Then the cherry is ready for processing. My tongue licks it backwards and sideways, perhaps to the sharp teeth on the left side of my mouth, or farther back to the right, underneath the crushing molars there. I am not precisely sure why the cherry either goes "front-left" or "back-right"... perhaps the taste buds in those specific areas are specially amenable to cherries. If the cherry goes to the sharp right corner, my teeth whack down and split it, half from half. The tongue then jumps back in to sort the pieces; the fleshy fruit segments are hauled back to the molars, while the pit is pushed forth to the lips, where it dangles for a moment, then plops onto a mound of its speckly fellows on a napkin. If the cherry begins at my right molars, the fruit is gently crushed, and it takes a bit of maneuvering to squeeze the hard pit out from within the collapsed redness. The juicy covering is transferred crablike to the left of my mouth (again, I am not sure why this particular position is always marked off) while the seed skooches forth and pops out, rolling along my lower lip.

Reality check. I think my intestine may complain of how many cherries I consumed, later.