Exhibit A

Notes from the daily life of a medical student in Cork. 92.5% fact and 7.5% fiction.
From the perspective of being drawn: Conversation was difficult, my mouth was smushed against chest wall muscle and my ear was filled with his reverberating words punctuated by a slow heart beat. We would eventually give up three way conversation. The flies made circuits of the lamp shade though the light was off. Habit? We turned to testing the boundries of whispers. “Helene? Can you hear this?” She watches us and we watch her. Her clothes always fit oddly, today it’s a loose draw-string dress and bare-leg combo. My father once said that Helene always looked like a home-made paper flower. She has become more professional in the two years that I have spent with my clothes on. The embrace is a frequently assumed one, Helene wants me to spread my fingers on the chest but the effect is less intimate and natural, the twig and ink know it. We chat and peck and whisper nice things, and forget all about Helene. She is free to become the voyeur she wants to be. These moments last for just moments. We remember her and then my partner becomes excited by the audience and pushes the boundaries of acceptable public behaviour, he jiggles my boobs and laughs. Helene looks sternly on and we get back into position. The shadows get longer, we’re idyllically sleepy. We forget that Cork is still another three hours away, because it doesn’t matter.

From the perspective of being drawn:

Conversation was difficult, my mouth was smushed against chest wall muscle and my ear was filled with his reverberating words punctuated by a slow heart beat. We would eventually give up three way conversation. The flies made circuits of the lamp shade though the light was off. Habit? We turned to testing the boundries of whispers. “Helene? Can you hear this?”

She watches us and we watch her. Her clothes always fit oddly, today it’s a loose draw-string dress and bare-leg combo. My father once said that Helene always looked like a home-made paper flower. She has become more professional in the two years that I have spent with my clothes on. The embrace is a frequently assumed one, Helene wants me to spread my fingers on the chest but the effect is less intimate and natural, the twig and ink know it.

We chat and peck and whisper nice things, and forget all about Helene. She is free to become the voyeur she wants to be. These moments last for just moments. We remember her and then my partner becomes excited by the audience and pushes the boundaries of acceptable public behaviour, he jiggles my boobs and laughs. Helene looks sternly on and we get back into position. The shadows get longer, we’re idyllically sleepy. We forget that Cork is still another three hours away, because it doesn’t matter.

(Source: linocut)

  1. b-e-l-i-f reblogged this from linocut
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    being drawn: Conversation was difficult, my mouth was smushed against chest wall muscle and my ear was filled with his...
  4. kitey said: awh, shucks!
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