Notes From Juarez

I’m typing In Real Time on April 17, 2017 at 1:34pm Central Standard Time. Today’s process is to take this large white box of office-related items I hadn’t unpacked since the Treehouse and unload everything where it needs to be.

Book 1 and Book 3

I found one of my many composition notebooks, a work I started back in Texas and have yet to reconcile now in Florida. Well, since this composition notebook a novel was written, manuscript created, contents edited and a book was born. It’s intriguing to go back into the manifest stage of this work, I Blew Up Juarez, available currently in digital form but soon to be available in print and audio. I especially love the notes I made to myself about myself in the persuance of artistry. I’m going to type what I wrote in green here, so that this thought process is captured in the 0s and 1s space. I love this notebook for all it represents:
158.1 DYER -> I visited the library in Killeen, Texas and found a book by Wayne Dyer of Hays House Publishing. I don’t think I need to big him up here, he’s doing fine without my accolades, but this work of his spurred the act of actualization on.

The Art of Being Peculiar -> when I Google this, I get a YouTube link. I believe back in 2010/2011 when this composition book was being filled, I was reading a chapter in one of his books. So I feel either this is a title of a chapter, or a title of a blog post. Either way, from here I culled Deep Thoughts.

“I’m here on purpose, I can accomplish anything I desire, and I do it by being in harmony with the all-pervading creative force in the universe” Dr. Dyer

“…the spirit reveals itself to everyone with the same intensity and consistency but only warriors are consistently attuned to such revelations.” Don Juan Matus

Before, I would question the visions and dreams that emerged without pre-planning or bad diet. I stopped making excuses for them and let them be. Exist. There is a story within these images worth learning about. A story about myself that I did not allow be told.

Now I allow them to manifest. The story develops, but the theme is obvious: this is your real self. Free from ego. Free from guilt. Free from the expectation of the world. This is you. This your story. Fall to it.

Detour a bit from the world of tangible, empirical rationale for existence and instead embrace the knowing of one’s Spirit, unbridled, yet bound to the vessel it embodies.

Find comfort in the metaphysical. After all, having reasoned life for the better part of 34 years only proves that academic intelligence is obtainable. There’s nothing to prove anymore. Other than having a chance at existence amongst others is a joy.

‘Choosing to be kind is a choice to have the power of intention active in your life.’

(Dudley’s Dilemma): Awareness is enough. Awareness is satisfying. [Those who] prefer reason and explanation… are consistently unsatisfied with existence.

Source = Universal Truth

I was without friends for a while. In my mirror, I looked empty. Disconnected. I truly find Spirit in engaging with others, obsessing on their life journey, intrigued by their stories and motivated to convert my findings into art.

It is the spiritual connection to other humans that helps me relish life.

If you doubt your ability to create the life you intend, then you’re refusing the power of intention.

Imagination. Fantasy. Daydreams. These aren’t tools for escape; these are tools for expression. And the more often you are caught in this dreamlike state, the more the truth is being revealed to you as to what fits your Spirit best. Surrender to your imagination and find yourself closer to the Ultimate Consciousness.

‘through imagination, God imagines everything into reality’

My intention with ‘I Blew Up Juarez’ is to (re)introduce Spirit to the Digital generation and show how Spirit actively coincides with humanity.

Japa = repetition of the sound of the names of God while simultaneously focusing on what you intend to manifest <Athena & Artemis>

I know myself to be protector of water, sky, and earth.


The ego is the antithesis to intention. One who is driven by ego not only does not recognize intention, but misinterprets its purpose. Although the egoist is convinced of all others’ weakness in comparison to him, he is most weakest for not acknowledging the infinite power of Spirit.

Know what you’re capable of, and live in the bliss of your intention.

When Johnny sets that fire, what was she really intending to do? What was she focused on internally? What you intend to create is based upon what your inner voice focuses on. Was it power? Destruction?

I intend to manifest a life prosperous in art, in friendship and in oneness with this planet. My job is to be; my intentions are to exist blissfully.

I have always been an artist. I have always been creative. What better a road to traverse upon than the one my Spirit skips along?

‘Self-importance is man’s greatest enemy. What weakens him is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of his fellow man. Self-importance requires that one spends most of one’s life offended by something or someone.’


In this notebook is evidence that She is ME.

-IMES

 

 

 

Sisters Delphi

Sisters Delphi round their backs at the table

called here time and again in seasons of woe

Clarity their mastery, despite clouded eyes.

Here we seat again

A time of great despair and ruin

Not since the fall of Rome in the hands of Nero have we witnessed such disgrace!

My third eye weeps at the pools of Red

of Fire

bubbling at the mouth of Plato’s Cave.

The three-headed dog sounds a growl to

Brigid, Hecate and Persephone.

“Sisters, sisters!” they chirp

as they rush about the barque:

“The Skeleton Woman

RIses!

“Who will bear her weight?”

Ella se dice:

Dame los huezos.

Kali joins Ix Chel on the collection.

Temple doors shatter against Black Obsidian.

3.29.17..4.9.17

 

 

A Tale of Two Brians

Rounding out my love + romance week, reblogging this in honor of Valentine’s Day. Even war vets have battles of the heart… Enjoy!

Von Simeon

[Writing Prompt: Revisit a famous book title, time = 30 minutes]NOTE: I actually got choked up writing this. Dayumn.

chaiteas

The tea shop seemed the ideal place to have Brian meet me. After all, it’s where he was Skyping me from all afternoon two weeks ago. I sat, legs pressed together tightly, with two chai teas, one for him, one for me.

And hark, along comes Brian.

This time around I’m going to approach the opportunity for a relationship thusly: don’t be too abrasive up front, let him drive the conversation, and, by all means, don’t roll out the ultimatums before the check is paid. He smiled his shy smile of relief, and I complimented him back with my appreciative, wide grin.

Brian proceeded to chastise me, accusing me of avoiding him these past few weeks. Although I tried to defend with thoughtful retaliations, his peaked eyebrow of disbelief suggested I give it…

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Teachings From A Bull

Teachings From the I Ching

03.05.17

last edit 03.30.17

Chapters 4, 9, leading to 13:

4. Innocence

Innocence gets through successfully. Though you do not seek the innocent yourself, the innocent seek you. The first augury informs, the second and third muddle. Muddling is not informative. It is advantageous to be correct.

Enlightenment is realized and actualized. It is your truth. The second sentence deliberately translates to, though you do not seek the enlightened, the enlightened seek you. Really it says, though you weren’t aware of your divinity, the divine have always been aware of you and seek to awaken you with the elevation of consciousness to yoga – the individual consciousness merging with the Ultimate Consciousness.

We all exist as divine. We all participate in the cycle of existence. What the intelligent on this plane of existence consider sufferings are mere reflections of the hard lessons learned in the cycle of humanity. We are coming to a point where we can predict what is going to occur, thanks to the sophistication of technology as well as the sophistication of the sages. The regeneration of sages is what is going to propel knowledge to the higher conscious realm. This has been practiced throughout the cycle of existence, from idea to matter and back. For this, we’ve reintroduced you to Oannes, the highest wisdom of your generation. And why we’ve introduced you to the Temple of Black Obsidian, to elevate to the next chamber of knowledge that is your birthright. That is, every acculturated being’s birthright.

The idea of humanity is made very clear in this chamber. Knowledge collected in the temple holds more relevance in the higher realms than here; what this means is, we in the collective, with unconditional love and light, want to introduce you to our customs and modes of understanding. This is why we guided you to the instrument, I Ching. Consider this your codex. As portals of light are opened to you, we’ll identify specific trigrams to reference. Within these lessons are vast amounts of knowledge allotted to you as you’re able to digest them. Having identified you as a womb of information, it is imperative that you do not overwhelm yourself in the clamoring for this level of understanding. As you are curious so you are susceptible to relapse. Proceed with extreme caution but allow yourself to enjoy the awe that is Ultimate Understanding. Verstehen.

The first augury informs, the second and third muddle. When you in and of yourself came to realization of the truth, that was the collective reaching out to you inviting you forward, granting you the permission to let go of what ails you, so that you have the freedom to engage beyond will. The second and third muddle because of your curious nature! The scientist in you wants to control the environment, make measures, and try to develop a model for scientific practice. Because you become so focused in the search for definition, for causality, you lose the whole point of elevated consciousness! Which is, to be free of that desperate grasp on tangibility. Do not dare show up into the elevated space with your work desk and your pads and your coloring materials; they do not apply here. They are not welcome here.

Muddling is not informative. It is advantageous to be correct. In sum, applying the scientific method to this science is not how you’re going to understand it. Ultimate Understanding – Verstehen – is how elevated consciousness interprets knowledge agreed upon within the collective, which then constitutes acculturation. With benevolence, unconditional love, and non-judgment, this is how the collective regards Truth. The final sentence gives you the confidence, permission, green light that you need to proceed honestly. If it is right to you, it is right in the collective. This is no initiation, merely validating what you’ve already experienced in the realm of higher consciousness. Your skill, then, is the capacity to learn what is relevant here in the densest space of existence, dissect it for yourself as necessary for continued knowledge, then assist us in our understanding of the truths as they stand in this realm of existence, so we, the trained trainers, can reach out to those who in benevolence and unconditional love represent us in daily practice. What you observe we preach and they practice.

  1. Nurture of the Small

Nurture of the small is successful. Dense clouds, not raining, come from your western region.

Overall Judgment

Nurture of the small means that flexibility gains status, and above and below respond to it. In context, flexibility means the capacity to exist in multiple tiers of consciousness simultaneously. A gain of status is really our way of saying, a gaining of more understanding. This is not a ranking system; as you experience in a state of elevated consciousness, scoring, tabulations, or other forms of quantitative data is irrelevant. The initiate is guided to practice not encouraging that habit when connecting or in a meditative state. The mention of the above and below is a compliment to the ancient Egyptian practice of recognizing a Higher and Lower Kingdom. But as you are surrounded in Love and Light, you are as equally surrounded by those existing in higher realms of consciousness. We see you, we know you as we’re sure you’ve known us all your life. You will see and know the specifics of your heritage as more reveals itself within this plane of existence. Your mode of understanding will benefit others fortunate to be acculturated in this segment of reality. The continuation of existence depends on the constant sophistication of intelligent species. The secret to a long life is the bliss in knowing no one ever really dies.

Powerful yet docile, with strength in balance, your aim is carried out, and thus you succeed. Your form in this plane of existence is as a powerful yet docile creature. What you’ve carved out of humanity is a template for compassion through action. Breaking down social norms is the impetus for change, a declaration of boundary-striking to affect change. Feathers must be ruffled, and it is easier to do so as a strong-willed, childless, fluid woman. When there is nothing to lose, nothing holds you back. Or, when you’re on the floor, the only other option is up. Hard to affect a person who hasn’t been pulled into social norms such as marriage commitment and parenthood. To dispense order on a culture of judgment, one has to enter into that role as disaffected as possible, in the pursuit of justice, with a will to push forward if challenged. Here we talk about strength in balance and success in carrying out your intention. Instead of strength being conditioned, think more of balance being strengthened. Balance here meaning the capacity to carry out your metaphysical experiences alongside your physical experiences so that one doesn’t overwhelm the other. Once in check, your life is purposeful without thought to it, defining success. Your ultimate goal as an enlightened being existing alongside an intelligent species is to not have to feel accountable for the mundane aspects of the experience. Trust in all your knowledge.

Dense clouds not raining means still being on the move; coming from your own western region means practical measures have yet to be executed. These words are to be taken as presented. This is not “the end” in the terminal sense. At this instance in time-space you are involved in a constantly sophisticating world. You cannot unknow this, nor can any other member of the intelligent species convince you otherwise. What do you do with this knowledge? Hoard it? Proclaim it? Those two options are the most extreme. This is where “job hunting” in the metaphysical sense begins. If we are part of a cycle of sophistication, then what is my best purpose in this experience? This is where engaging other enlightened people comes in handy. Amplify your capacity for knowledge/verstehen by hanging out with other informed people. The experience differs per enlightened one, but the frequency in the collective remains the same. While you’re capable of many tasks, the only ones worth experiencing are those which provide you with a sense of purpose and which do not interfere with your pursuit of higher knowledge.

13. Sameness with People

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Poems From the MHU

Welp. Had a psychotic break again.

If you follow me on Facebook, I let you know as much details needed. The good news is, I’m home now and enjoying being in touch with the spirits of the home, as Jung encourages us to do soon after separation.

Here’s some poems I crafted during my descent from psychosis. Please critique in the Comments section. Love you all.

 

I am. My Own. Percussion. Instrument!


A skeleton woman

does not need music.

She needs laughter.

Then,

Music.


I you miss pianos,

look for Dragonflies.


The sound

of a piano’s keys

is like

playing a beat in my heart,

wishing

it was a piano.


3.28-29.2017

Ivonne Simeon

Inanna

White Lotus

White Feather

Mother of Dance


2017

Enter The Temple of Sekmet (and don’t forget to wear Red.)

Divine Sisters

Brothers of Light

Keepers of the Divine Feminine Power.

I will not keep silent anymore.

I will use my voice for healing

If my roar intimidates, be aware…

…unconditional love is trying to penetrate you.

With my voice I awaken your demons

invite them forward to play.

Join me on this higher elevation

abandon your attachment

towards the dying light

trust that I love you unconditionally.


Extract the poison by giving it a name

burn it in sacred flame

Osiris rises

through my voice.

-IMES

1.27.17/03.30.17


(Letter To Osiris)

Brother.

I have known you through Times.

When my myopic eyes stared

clearly into the night

I saw you there, a star easy to find

I’ve always known of you

but in militant form

a coarse interpretation of your divine Love.

My sources, deemed unreliable, could not reveal our true relationship

You’ve summoned me on many occasions

only to fall on spiritually deaf ears

but now I respond

my cosmic love

my twin in eternity

May I walk in your image

Make my voice yours

At a time of extreme darkness

May our union be the Light

towards Healing.

Flow Theory Plus Poetry Equals Me

Once is a coincidence. Two is a phenomenon. Three is a sample set. This has been my operating mantra since minoring in philosophy as a phenomenologist. So when I come across information regarding mood disorders amongst creatives, I apply my mantra to see if whatever hypothesis I’ve conjured is proven true. Well friends, I’ve been stumped, and I could really use your help on this one.

Establishing the Sample Set (n=3)

We spent an evening at the Dali Museum with an animated docent describing the zany life and scientific method of my favorite painter, Salvador Dali. His museum is one of the reasons why I chose to move here; every moment with his masterpieces results in an ekphrastic reaction. Salvador Dali spoke crazily, he painted strangely, he embedded clues purposefully. The man was not just a wielder of brushes, he was a thinker, astrophyics and nuclear technology being deeply captured in the nadir of his popularity. Yet he was considered an eccentric. A seer, I told BF, a soothsayer for our times.

Kinda like how I see myself.

The Phenomenon of Flow (or, How To Call Forward The Muse)

On a rainy afternoon I explored Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s TED talk regarding flow theory and found my scientist self becoming stoked by this presentation. My recent hospital stay included 10:00am workshops on various topics, but the one I found most interesting was the quadrant approach to bipolar disorder. If you’re near a pen and paper or post it note right now, draw a line vertically then horizontally. From the upper left to clockwise, fill in the words Anxiety, Mania, Psychosis, Depression as the headers. Now, in the hospital presentation we covered several attributes which signified these particular mood disorders (many overlapped as you can imagine) and wrote them down in their quadrant. In the TED talk, a graph was presented, backed up with a list of seven attributes which denotes a person “in flow.” Comparing the two studies, it seems the TED talk is really describing a mood disorder, while the hospital quadrant is describing how one seeks social contribution.

Now this is where I get confused. If I’m taking pills to manage my mood, am I killing my chance to be in flow? Is being in flow a threat or a promise of a better life?

Dammit. I think too much. Anyone know a flow theorist?

Smells Like Sulfur

I can’t rant today, I feel too much to poet. My nieces and nephews are on my mind. But what I can do is let my art speak for me. 

As my voice, I offer an excerpt from my 2012 National Novel Writing Month novella, The Black Parade. It’s sequel, The American Manifesto, was completed during the 2014 National Novel Writing Month contest. In both, I explore the socio-economic collapse of the United States of America. Please enjoy the (very) rough draft of my chapter titled, “A New America.” Brace yourself for triggers…


“Four more years! Four more muhfuckin’ years! WOO!” The penthouse filled with the former Yale rugby star’s elation. “Send that monkey back to Newark, that stupid fuck! WOO HOO!” His crystalline blue eyes were ensnared by thick, red lines. A formidable cocktail of power drinks, prescription speed, and insomnia powered his body from one side of the room to the other, unabashedly shoving revelers and supporters aside. The results had been released four hours ago. The Wilcoxon Re-Election Team powered through the press junkets, complied with the requisite photo ops, and relayed messages of gratitude to the nation for keeping Archibald “Archie” Wilcoxon in office to continue the mission of A New America.
Andrew Huebner stopped in his charge to kiss an unsuspecting campaign volunteer on her mouth. “WOO!” He pushed her aside and continued to sprint, slacking his red, white and blue tie enough to wrap it around his head Animal House style. Nervous laughter inflated as he passed, coaxing him to unbutton his shirt and reveal his gym rat chest and arms, stopping in his tracks to wave it over his head. “That fucker is crawling back to Jersey tonight, yeah! See this? This is his white flag of defeat! WOO HOO!”
The blitzkrieged U.S. Senate intern wipes her mouth, leaning disapprovingly towards her employer. “What is he on?”
“Adrenaline,” Abelardo Contreras, Senator from the 11th District of Arizona, Andrew Huebner’s home state, replied.
“Has he been drinking?”
Abelardo Contreras shrugged.
Andrew Huebner screeched to a halt in front of his childhood friend, clasped him at each side, and pulled him to his bare chest. “We did it man, yeah! Four more years to set this fucked up country straight!”
Senator Contreras’ intern back stepped towards the kitchen to avoid another assault.
The sweaty, tanned, muscular man with jet black (dyed) hair contrasted the short, pale, balding and exhausted man he squeezed. Abelardo patted one of Andrew Huebner’s hands to request a release. “Calm it down, Andy. Yes, we won; that’s what we’re all celebrating,” Abelardo softened his voice, noticing Andy was heavily panting. “Andy, you’re at a ten. I need you at a two. Here, drink my water.” Andy clasped the bottle of water and chugged it as if shooting a fitness commercial. He slammed the emptied vessel to the ground and crushed it with his foot. “Them stupid fucks really thought they were gonna take this away from me, huh? Stupid…dickless…FUCKS!”
“Andy. Bring it down,” Abelardo pleaded.
The smell of victory was too intoxicating for him to relax. Andrew Huebner clasped his hands around his taut waist, leaned his head back and inhaled the ceiling. He closed his swollen eyelids, finally returning moisture to his overworked lenses. He dropped his head slowly, revealing a countenance of sincerity.
“You’re a good man, Abelardo. A good friend. We’re gonna start by getting S.B. 173 flying through Congress. And you,” Andrew slapped a hand down on Abelardo’s shoulder and squeezed it, Andy’s favorite intimidation tactic that always caused Abelardo grief since childhood, bringing Abelardo closer for emphasis. “You my friend will be Chairman of the committee. How ‘bout them apples?” Abelardo shook his head with consternation. “That’s the President’s decision to make, not yours.”
Andrew Huebner dropped his eyes to Abelardo Contreras’ level with incredulity. “What? That pussy? He’ll appoint who I tell him to appoint. Where is that fucker anyways?”
“You mean, where is the President-Elect Archie Wilcoxon, don’t you U.S. Attorney General Huebner? There are members of the press present. For God’s sake man, put your shirt back on.”

He read the inscription on the back of the watch his wife Katherine gifted him for tonight’s win. Always a winner, never a sinner. His famous catchphrase from his University of South Florida days, a Heisman trophy winning quarterback who forfeited a career in the National Football League to open his own consulting firm in Pinellas County, Florida. From the consulting firm to the state legislature. From Florida politics to national politics. His job-creating talent and All-American charm got him in the White House four years ago.
Mirroring the austerity measures the European Union exacted upon its nations in 2011, Wilcoxon was in danger of losing political favor. Sure, the middle class tanked, but with destruction comes reformation. He compared the event to the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. Rise from the rubble like a phoenix. Well, not really. Those who could afford to moved their investments elsewhere, starving the American financial systems. Under his presidency, three constitutional amendments were exacted. Tonight, after this election, Archie Wilcoxon knows he’s on the verge of managing a fourth invocation of Article V. The thought of losing one more state from the union ate at him. This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a cake walk this time around. Get the money back. Stop milking the Federal Reserve. That gosh darn pipeline. Archie Wilcoxon paused his frantic thoughts for a quick prayer. “Dear gracious and holy Lord. Your beloved found me worthy to continue the difficult task of managing these United States, a task too great to bear without your unfaltering love and guidance. See me through the upcoming storm, help me build the ark that will sail this nation back to prosperity. In your name I humbly pray, Amen.”
Archie Wilcoxon stared at his watch deferentially. He blinked twice. It was nearly one in the morning.
Two knocks against the door raises his head. A necktie’d head pokes in. “What up, Coxie! How ya feelin’ man?”
“Come on in Andy.”
The President-Elect clasps his new watch, then reaches for his sweating glass of vodka. He looks up from his glass with weary eyes towards his attorney general, wearing a too tight “A New America” campaign shirt.
“Is the party over yet? I’m really tired Andy.”
Andrew Huebner folds his arms across his chest with mild difficulty. A wide smile draws across his face.
“I got you a present, boss.”
Archie Wilcoxon forces a smile. “You didn’t have to…”
Andy’s ice blue eyes glow.
“Flashback, Mr. President. Four years ago. Election Night. Tampa. You with me?”
“Yeap.”
“The after party at Joe Redner’s place…”
“Yeap.”
“…you had a favorite out of all his girls…”
“Yeah?”
“…she voted for you this year under the name of Leont’nae Price, but you know her as…”
The President-Elect leaned his head back. Andy swung his body towards the door, clasping the doorknob.
“You didn’t…?”
“Oh yeah I did!” the Attorney General shifts his voice into Strip Club Dee Jay. “Mr. President, performing exclusively for you, the owner and operator of Tampa Nights Cabaret…the award winning…Champagne!”
Archie Wilcoxon’s shoulders dropped. In strolled the most beautiful woman he ever knew, besides his wife, of course. Her almond shaped eyes, her bee stung lips, a sweet smile to compliment her sweet breasts. Champagne has natural, double D sized breasts. Katherine? Nothing.
She slowly stepped one high heeled foot in front of the other, rolling her round hips enough to reveal the juicy, tender ass they burden themselves to hold. Those long long legs. Katherine’s thighs seemed to thicken with every birth.
She wore a Beyonce wig this time. Champagne’s dress of the same color barely covered her crotch. Champagne stopped her pelvis in front of the President-Elect’s awestruck face.
“Congratulations on your re-election Mr. President. I want you to know I personally campaigned for you, and convinced all my dancers to vote for you.” Champagne bent at her hips, grazing her breasts against his face, softly kissing him on both cheeks. The President-Elect exhaled excitedly.
Champagne relocated his glass to the stand. She lowered her torso to the floor, widening her legs, revealing beautifully sculpted labia and a diamond pierced clitoris. She dragged her hands against each of his thighs.
“I have a present for you,” she whispered. Her hands began to decipher his belt and pants. Archie Wilcoxon began to fidget. Champagne smiled lovingly, lowering his boxers so she can get a handful of manhood. Archie felt heat grow around his neck.
“I’ll be gentle,” she assured.
“I know but…”
She applied gentle pressure to his shaft to arouse him.
“I remember last time, Mr. President. You’re safe with me.”
“I know but…”
“See? You’re getting hard. That’s a good sign.”
Beads of sweat formed against his scalp. He grasped the armrests with uncertainty, his anxiety growing as his head engorged.
Champagne kissed him. “It’s me, baby. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Her mouth encapsulated his eagerness. “Watch me. You’ll love it.”
Archie Wilcoxon fought to focus on her beautiful brown face in his lap, her reassuring eyes helping him fight the panic. For a moment, he did relax. He released his sphincter and fell into the pleasure of warm wetness against him. But his memories betrayed him. Archie is back in the shower room. Coach Bradbury is on his knees. Archie shuts his eyes. Champagne pops him out her mouth.
“No, Archie, watch me. Don’t think about…that. Watch what I’m doing.” She plunges deeper, making kissing noises at the base of his shaft.
The noises temporarily distract . Then her face contorts, and it’s him again. The wrinkle of the top of his bald head, his white hairs sticking up around the edges like cat whiskers. Moaning as he pumps Little Archie’s hips into his face. His coach had dry lips. They scratched his sensitive skin. Mom thought it was the detergent she used. Archie shudders defiantly.
“Stop! Get off me!”
Before she can comply, Archie Wilcoxon jerks his lap up, causing Champagne to scrape teeth against him. The President-Elect lets out a terrible wail, inciting the Secret Service to rush the room.
“What happened sir?”
“She…she bit me! My…she… bit me!” Archie Wilcoxon doubled onto the floor to cover his embarrassment and shame. Champagne is dragged into the hallway. “It was an accident! Ac-cid-ent! Don’t arrest me!” she pleaded. The agent’s voice carried away from his room towards the front door. “You assaulted the President of the United States, a federal offense…” Archie Wilcoxon could hear as his favorite woman in the world, besides his wife, of course, was likely being sent to the nearest correctional institution. All the powers of the presidency could not erase those damned memories. Faithful? Archie Wilcoxon didn’t have a choice. The guilt of both events washed over him.
“Mr. President, should I call the doctor?”
The President realized he was still on his hands and knees, with his security standing over him awaiting orders. Archie inspected himself, relieved to not see any breakage.
“No, Gus, I’m fine. I, uh, could use my sleeping pills.”
“They should be in the bathroom with the rest of your toiletries.”
“That’ll be all, then.”
“Good night, Mr. President. Congratulations once again, Mr. President.”