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10 Love Torqued on His Thoughts Lightness stayed with Walker all the next day, until the group meeting Monday night, the next chance to see her. These nights were open to visits from outsiders. There, in small group, Dahlia was crying. It so upset Walker that he couldn't swallow. In the small circle of 5 people forming the small group, Morey, who was sitting next to Dahlia, gently reached out and touched her knee and looked her in the eyes with sympathy. "Hook up," he said, trying to help her stay in focus when Dahlia's attention would wander from exploring the deeper memory or association of her current distress. He'd say. "Come on, hook up." "I just feel like this hungry maw of unfulfilled love," she sobbed. "I had a dream last night, in which I went around with my sleeping bag, asking others if I could sleep with them." Walker was immediately shocked. He thought: She must be talking about how she felt being with me last night. "I could feel a lot of pain," she continued, "and awkwardness. I'm not even sure what the pain was about. Probably a lot of it was the pain I've been creating when I fight my feelings."
It made Walker feel sad, very sad that she was sad. Because if you are hung up on someone, and they are sad, then you are sad. But what could he do about it. He realized the House wanted him to see this, that crying is just an anxiety attack or that crying is feeling the return of ancient pain. Walker chose to interpret her crying as representing an underlying flaw or lack of resolve or belief in the lifestyle of the Loft. He immediately began having fantasies of being the hero to come and rescue this damsel from the commune. It might be that she could use his help. Walker saw himself in a fantasy where he is throwing a three- pronged grappling hook up over the parapet of the old Sears building at Army and Mission and pulling himself up the rope swaying on the side of the building. Then he saw himself carrying off this lovely Lady, swinging off with her under his arm like some barbaric Tarzan on a vine. He'd take her back to his cave and they'd live happily ever after. Realistically he knew that if he was going to have any hope of pulling off something like this plan of busting her out of the brain-washing commune, it was going to take a while. He'd have to stay in town, he'd have to get an apartment and a job. He'd probably have to infiltrate the commune by joining. And that's how his life changing decision to get off the road and settle for a while in the Bay Area was made. Toward that rescue, Walker wanted to present a more professional, acceptable persona to the people at the House. He wasn't ready to join them. Shortly after that he landed an apartment in Berkeley. And a new job teaching private college in Concord, a satellite city east of the Berkeley hills through the tunnel. Teaching a class the first semester is quite a scramble, but one Walker was used to, for this is the function of the Bachelor to stay at least one or two lectures ahead of the students. Dahlia asked Walker up to their land in the Siskyou forest on Mount Shasta. They wanted him to go up North. 'Up North' was a state of mind for them: it was participating in wildness; it was escaping the city which felt totally insane to these very sane people. For Walker this invitation to be part of this feeling community was frightening. It was like they were inviting him to start participating in what . . . What ? . . . He didn't know. The universal orgasm? Walker knew he would have a problem with the authoritarian aspect of their leader Chase. The thought of having Chase call him a tight-ass really bothered him. The thought of spending all that time in close quarters in a couple of large tents in the winter up on some remote land that you wouldn't be able to up and leave if you wanted to with the commune was terrifying to him. He told her he'd think about it. Meanwhile he was in that first semester turmoil. Suddenly he found himself having a lot of lessons and labs to prepare. As he told his new found friends at the Loft, "I left a college town where I was teaching college and moved to a college town, where I got a job teaching college." He looked upon his new job as an opportunity to fulfill his purpose on this earth which was to inspire the overly-practical minds of technicians with the wonders of physics. He couldn't come out and say it to the students of the trade school but for Walker mathematics was the language god blew into maternal matter to energize form. For him physics was somehow like feelings. Magnetism was the colorless color, the color before color, the quiet force bringing things together, but also pulling them apart.
He really had it bad for this girl. And that was good! Sexual fantasies were saturating his mind to the core as he sat under the steady hum in a fluorescent-lit classroom trying to pull together a lesson. He'd imagine Dahlia, as a fresh-faced ingenue student in his class, wearing nylons from the early 60s (before panty hose), legs crossed and looking at him lovingly with her big playful dark eyes. And he'd shake his head trying to dispel the pleasant takeover, thinking: man, I'm fucking high. I'm starting to know all these women. Keep it casual, let it gel, was his mantra. Gonna keep it casual, gonna let it gel.
For his first week Walker prepared a lab on resonant circuits, essentially a radio tuner. He had set up an antenna conducting myriad radio station frequencies into a tuning circuit: which was a coil, (essentially a ferrite-core electromagnet) in parallel with a variable capacitor. Changing the capacitor changed the resonance frequency to admit the chosen signal. They would be looking at the output with an oscilloscope. All set up and ready to go, Walker was about to flip the switch to power up the circuit when he paused in thought. He admired all the hidden uses of magnetism in his circuit: the antenna has a coil wound around an iron-core magnet making it an electromagnet when touched by the radio waves; there were magnetic cores in the transformers, in the power supplies and those used for coupling and isolating the signal in the scope. The scope's electron beam sweep for driving the display was a pulsed coil causing its magnetic field to focus and position the beam on the screen. The resonance with which his circuit tunes into radio waves, the step up transformers in the ballast of the overhead lights with which to see the experiment. . . What else in magnetism did Walker, electrodynamic being, obsessively attracted lover, knight-with-whom-the-Force-was-strong, further admire? Its universality as one of the four forces of the universe: its mysterious invisibility, working at a distance without touch and through walls: its contrariness, repelling like, attracting unlike: its restlessness in the form of electromagnetic waves spanning the spectrum of radio, power line frequencies, microwaves, infrared, visible light, ultraviolet, x-rays and gamma rays carrying information into all niches and realms of existence (Maxwell's rainbow, surely evolution would have exploited this dual nature of the electromagnetic field, look at how it had the human eye evolve right in the center of yellow of the visible light part of the EM spectrum): its serpentine compressibility to coil up as a potential in a solenoid: its perpetual convolution endlessly exerting force on current and having current exerting force on it: its domesticity in motors, turbines, dynamos, step-up transformers in electric power station motors delivering power to our homes in the great dynamo of alternating current grid: its capacity due to the bi-stable coercivity of its hysteresis to hold in memory, tape, disk, array, brain? the mega-terabytes of information and images contained in words, pictures, movies and sounds, that influence our daily lives: its playfulness in speakers, radio tuners and transmitters, VCR tape heads and motors, CD-ROMs, and magnetic tape: its indispensability in credit card generators and readers: its vehicular ramifications in high speed magnetically levitated trains: its mass moving abilities from little charges in particle accelerators to bullets in recoilless coil rifles to orbiting payloads in mass drivers: its omniscient perspicacity in radar: its modernity generating heat in microwave ovens: its phenomenological sensitivity in converting motion, torque, force, rotation through sensors, detectors and transducers into electrical displays used in gauges (Suddenly Walker found himself looking at all the gauges on all the old cars and trucks and busses he had ever driven and thinking about magnetism giving him information as he was looking out the window at a countryside passing by, as if he was in a world of a thousand eyes all looking back at him.): its agile acumen in its ability to covert signals to motion working in feedback servo motor control: its navigational constancy in aligning all compass points north due to the circulating electric currents resulting from the earth's great molten metallic core 2000 miles beneath our feet sloshing around like wine in a glass converting the earth's rotational motion to moving current which induces magnetism out the poles: its recording in cooling magnetized magma of the expansion of plate tectonics in the spreading in the ocean floor: its gradation of colors in the aurora borealis, which is caused by gas being ionized by a wind of charged solar particles captured at the North Pole by the earths densely packed magnetic field there after they have been ejected from the sun in huge solar quakes belching great looping promontories arching millions of miles out into space : its astronomical currency in spinning electrons, magnetic star quakes, pulsars, neutron stars and black holes and the quantum analogies of this in spinning protons and electrons: its permeability, coercivity, saturation effect on materials: its variability of states in matter, diamagnetic unattractiveness in silver, paramagnetic weakness in soft matter, ferromagnetic strength in iron, an easily malleable and universally available metal (the 'water' of magnetism): its great strength in extremely low-temperature super-conducting magnets: its penetrability creating images of the inner structure of our bodies in magnetic resonance imaging and magnetoencephalography and images of the inner structure of matter with the cyclotron and cloud chamber: its central role in inspiring Einstein to work out the special theory of relativity to explain the reciprocal electrodynamic action of a magnet when seen in different frames of reference (Walker recalled struggling with using relativity in the derivation of magnetism from electrostatics in the Berkeley Physics Book Vol. 2, trying to make the jump in the frame of reference from statics to electrodynamics of moving bodies, wondering if there wasn't just some easy space if you could find the right coordinate system, in units of velocity maybe, or acceleration so that all the equations just looked like simple algebra, like Euclid's and Archemedies' plane Geometry.): its weirdness being a compact effluvial field of virtual photons, the " messenger particles" of electromagnetic field, that are within and without all things: its righteousness in electronic article surveillance strips embedded in books and objects to set of alarms when stolen to fight the perennial war against book theft: its domesticity in the attraction between refrigerators and little ceramic vegetables . . . "Uh, Mr. Underwood?" A student was calling back his attention to the present. Walker blinked his eyes and said to himself: Trade school students say Mister out here in the burbs, I like that. But these people wanted to work with their hands.
Time came for Walker to let Dahlia know if he was going on the trip, and he was too paranoid and distracted about keeping up with the new job, and he told her he couldn't go and the situation snowballed into emotional distance. He just didn't feel comfortable make the trip and had too much to do at work. But at work he found that his mind would just lock onto her and he couldn't stop day-dreaming about her. For example, a couple days later his discussion on hysteresis was on the verge of becoming hysterical. He'd be instructing them in the use of the load line, and hysteresis and he'd imagine her sweeping her elegant hands across the desk to lick a finger and turn a page and suddenly No Time. Forget Time. How he longed to have her work on him with those hands. During an illustration of the knee of the Demagnetization Curve: he'd see her in his imagination sitting in one of the empty desks. She'd open her knees in her little one piece wooden desk and he could see frilly panties at the top of those legs beyond even the tops of the nylons. He'd be putting up equations about the Flux of Magnetism through a core. Letters from the Greek alphabet: mu permeability, and epsilon coercivity began to march across the field of discussion like fluxions creeping of their own accord, like drunken characters in an Alice in Wonderland movie. Quickly he'd turn back to the board and fire off a few more axioms and come down like thunder onto the black board, making his equations bristle with indices. But it would come out: The magnetic susceptibility gives the ratio between the angle of the dangle and the heat of the meat which increases the angle of repose. Or: When a cowboy is placed in a magnetic field, its atoms respond to the magnetic flux by either getting aligned and adding their own magnetic fields to that of the applied field going along with the flow, or by opposing the field and subtracting from it. There is an overall increase in magnetism in the loved being. As the days wore on, he dove into the lectures like a madman, trying to forget that she was there in front of him every day. But of course, he couldn't. The attraction he had for her was due to his high permeability; she was saturating him with her presence. He even got a film of the Crab Nebula to illustrate digital pulse technique with the biggest pulsar of them all.
He wrote Dahlia the letter and instead of acting in the heroic deeds he had imagined had to settle for words.
Dear Dahlia,
It is half-past midnight, beginning a new Monday and I am thinking of you as I seem to be doing more and more since we have gotten to know each other over the last month. You are away, up at the Land, to which you kindly invited me, and I chickened-out, as I started a new job and felt pressed to get my image together. There is much I want to say to you, especially since we parted without saying good-bye at the end of Monday night in the loft. Seeing you cry that night made me sad, and I couldn't eat for I didn't understand that these were tears of compassion for the world and the way it has made us. I see in you a most compassionate being, one who is truly far evolved, one who sleeps comfortable at night and has a clear open face because you live in the truth, one who breaths easy. You have devastated me with your big sad dark eyes, got me wondering what made them look so gentle and deep and so filled with compassion for your good brothers and sisters there at the loft. I don't understand the forces of personality, but you are so beautiful and I thank the forces that have drawn us together. Hearing the sense that you make in what you have said to me and seeing you cry, those tears have fallen like gentle rain from those big dark eyes into my world, and you have made me grow for you have shown me how there is great strength in the fragility of your compassion. I am starting, just beginning to get in touch with the being in me, the self that is beyond the programming, the shadows I flee and fear, and the masques I present to the world. What I want to say is that I desire for us to always remain friends for there is long life ahead, and all the time in the world, and maybe someday when we are old, maybe we can go away and take a vacation amongst the stars, where your name is surely written as one of the great compassion artist for you create compassion in people and send them back with keener sensitivity and the ability to know their own feelings. I felt an incredible lightness with you, the night in the loft, and a bone resonance in the auming that I never even imagined before. This lightness and strength I must pursue. Go lightly on my fragile being as I open to you. I trust you beyond all others, and worry about you, for taking on all these feelings but know it is good for us. I open and close at your touch like flowers to the sun and rain in their seasons. Let us have this season, and many more of the turn of the earth ball around the sun ball. Please excuse this mushy letter, I have always put my faith in writing, I'll try to be cool in the future but as you go through the days know that I love you and watch over you as you have done for me. See you. Love, Walker
He imagines the lovely Dahlia as his TA, (the world's second oldest profession.) She is in a little plaid miniskirt with pleats, when she is standing you can see her lovely long legs all the way up to where the miniskirt hits her leg way above the knee. She's got a white slip top with thin straps. She is sitting on the edge of a desk. Lolling her lovely legs back and forth. She leans back on the desk and brings one knee up, cupping it in her outstretched hands. She leans back a little further and he sees all the way up to her cute little panties. She smiles. Her legs look shapely, and her feet are in clunky superfly pumps that say fuck-me-with-these-shoes-on. Her hair drapes back and she shakes it and it shivers loosely down past her bare shoulders. Her straight-across strong shoulders, and . . .and that cute way she had of scrunching her shoulders into him sometimes. In his thoughts she was present there with him and she enjoyed teasing him, opening and closing her legs. She swings down off the desk and says, "Here, I'll clean the board for you." She stood with her legs apart in front of the black board. She leaned forward so that her miniskirt just draped over her lovely round ass, and she moved the eraser slowly over the marks, her haunches moved independently of each other, and the thin strap on her T-shirt fell down off her shoulder. She had taken her shoes off and her legs were bare, and she stood on her tiptoes showing her insoles and higher up in the shadows, her asshole up under the little miniskirt. (Wow she's taken off her panties too.) With these wonders of the universe she made him stand erect in the dark shadow at the center of her being. As she reaches up to the top of the board, she is looking over her shoulder at Walker, and slowly licks the ball of her thumb, then puts it between her lips and give is a big wet kiss. Sucking her thumb ever so seductively she looks at him with her big dark eyes. She stared at him from the blackboard with eyes that knew the secret knowledge he didn't have, something that the base animal in him was clawing to get at. She didn't just know magnetism she was it. Where she walked, her animal magnetism made all cocks stand erect like compass arrows and point to her true north. She scrunched her shoulder and tossed her long hair which moved back and forth on the bare skin of her shoulders and back. In her eyes was an abandoned and fiercely burning look. She is scrubbing the board with big movements rotating her lovely white thigh and bum. Then flopping her wet rag into a bucket of water and ringing it out really shredding it, she gazes up at him inquisitively. Walker's cock got so hard it was about to bust out of his fly. His core being is being aligned by the field effect of her presence. If he wasn't at school he'd have to whip it out and whack off. As it is, he made sure he was sitting down behind a desk when this fantasy came upon him. She comes over sits on a desk chair with her legs spread apart, opens his fly and his cock flings itself out bouncing to a statuesque stand still. She reaches up and hangs the bucket of water on his erect penis. His boner is so hard and full to bursting, that it doesn't even dip down with the weight. "My," she says touching him at the base of the monstrous thing, running her hot hands over his hairy balls, then definitively letting the palm of her hand pick up the aura radiating from its hot head. "You are truly the woman of my dreams," he moans. She takes the pail off and sets it done on the desk. She turns back to his member and bending over near it she lets her hair down to fall over it and shaking her head so her hair dances on it, and she reaches out to pull down the stiff cantilever member, ever erect and pointing, but can't. She stands, and putting her hand on top of it pushes down hard like you might push down the spring loaded toaster slot. And the cock is so ridged that when she bends it down, instead of going down it lifts Walker's legs off the floor! "My that's torque!" They both laugh. He loved to feel that girl, snuggling into his big hug. He could spend an age slowly drawing his hands over her belly and slim hips and thighs. He sometimes grabbed her hips when there were dancing. They were really the most powerful part of a girl. But you had to like her little white breasts and he liked how he could see them down the slit of her blouse sometimes. They had the most supple nipples, no matter how hard he knocked them down with his tongue they would spring back up erect again. But it was looking into her big sad dark eyes that got him. He became lost in their compassion. She really does have that rare quality among women: true compassion for man. But what would that mean. It might mean that she was able to have only a fleeting interest in any one individual man? Or it might really mean that she was a front angel used to lure men into religious cults and make slaves of their mind? What he wouldn't give to have his lips close to her face now. He liked to kiss and rub up against her smooth cheeks and then move the trail of kisses above to her forehead. He could banish cares, unfurl angry crinkled brows, kissing them smooth, and the mind behind it. It was heavenly to nuzzle into her long black hair hanging down, to uncover the nape of her neck into which to nestle and nibble. Yes, he definitely had it bad for this girl. |
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