Oh on an April month

Oh on an April month...

It is odd and a bit of a function that she sat outside that coffee-house somewhere around the 1700s London. She was poor and outside the important society. But really! She had ways to gather the incoming information from the seven seas from seven continents.

Men came to her bedroom that was a place for a clever prostitute. Ann was her name and she was also writing books. How rare. She held a golden treasue when it came to her diary, writing about each and every change from day to day. She had a very British mind that was oh how really prone to pick up incoming stories and tales from other places. Stories had begun to change with the speed of the wind and water, and this changeable moments she had to describe.

Everyone thought she could not understand other cultures, as she was born poor with a mother who was not able to go to work. But she wanted to change the life of her daughter and became an honourable actress in the bed with men from high nobility. Everything she learnt when it came to politics, literature, scientific revolution she learnt in a bed-wise way. And as soon as Ann was sixteen she had to play the sex game herself What was poverty to do?

She changed her mind each and every second as some women do. Well, imagine! Living outside powers meant that Ann had to be flexible with each person she met on her daily roundabouts in the city.

A crazy low person was nothing to think very much about, and this double identification gave Ann another kind of possibility to gather every bit of information that came to her mind.

One month in April she heard more gossip than usual. And she had learnt how to write from her mother and now her diary wrote down all about France. Every chopping head fell to the ground with a splash that had to be important when it came to justification. Being equal or -no?

That April Ann had another opportunity to whisper words of change into the ear of high born men, as she made love with them. All this changed her mere spirit. Like she in the end had to figure out how many options she had to make love. She also became confused like a professor. Gathering knowledge about ideas or knowledge about men – Where did things begin to spin and turn and change the habits? That very April knew.

Every bits of changing information came and went. Bits of informations through this lady who had to act in several different ways. But this April month had changed in yet another way…

Ships and cargos from abroad meant that the value on that April month had turned the option of the London people in many and one several manner. They changed with the four seasons, but now it seemed as foreigners came here to see why the colonialism had options that changed the information. On god damn every street…

All at once Ann had change her mind. It was a luke warm day as she gazed out on the streets. She had an eye for her victims. That is high born men with more values.

But with the cargo there came a black man one day. That is how the month of April fell down from the skies just to change a habit of a luther-woeman! Love at first spot. Love broke into the prostitute´s heart and the breaking into the two-chamber heart changed her to become political. Political perhaps of no reason at all. So she changed her clothes that day.

She went to a secret place, a whore-house where they dressed up some woemen in a man´s suit.

So dressed now like a man, having made up her mind. Her gender was transmittable and become something other. Changing the gender issue was given to her destiny right now.

Like this she walked towards the coffee-house. Turned left, turned right in the next corner and came to a coffee-house close to the Parliamentary building. She had to become a politician to change love at the core of its own heart...

She stepped in, wig and all on top of her head. Her hips no longer belonged to her, but was an object that had to change the matter of sexual revolution. She lowered the tone of her voice, giving it a note of something boyish.

She adressed the men and still stumbled to the waitor whom she asked to serve her a beer...(In a coffe-house one might wonder?) She sat down...and

She saw him right on that place and the black man from Kinchasa came up to her. He had been a king in his region, no not a chief, but a king! Now he had resigned just to convert himself. He went up to Ann, took his seat at the table, as he was used to back home.

Please tell us that she could do well as a man, please please little plot, don´t go too advanced into it. Her voice uttered words, the chords in her throat made a knot on the trembling sound...oh if she had been an artist instead. She could not try to change that man´s way to look at her…or?

Well, for sure they began to chat, in a most natural way, as kings have to pay attention to his people all around. He had brought that habit with him. Her heart was changed.

So many stories she had heard from white men of how wifes misunderstood this and that and a revolution in the kitchen, and all jazz and blues..(was it even invented back in the 1700s?)

Dreaming about foreign woemen had made sailors roam the seas to get rid off the white blondish power. Off and away...to other shores and other whores!! And a dream planted down the mind´s garden made all sorts of white men go abroad to see if woemen were better than the nagging sort at home. Oh, how could the men at that very coffee-house underatand, that living outside the political structures made woemen turn into gossip-makers and nagging sorts. Type a type or a charachter out of the blue... and some men really had reasons to begin to take fancy in the rude hag. She had to change his heart, reaching his mind with a giggling war. Odd but pure in the end.

Ann did well as a man. They did not let others come into their severe debate, although some tried.

On that April´s day he asked if she would like to come with him as his company, as he was on his way to Boston. It might have been the luke warm weather, it might have been a love that had changed her being. He had talked to her in a polite mood and that was it!

The story has to end not letting the readers find out what was to happen in Boston. He had come to London as a free born man. On the ship of the Atlantic ocean they had the same goal. To figure out political matters of why some where to be treated and sold, and some other had to sell goods as goods were economy´s latest treasure.

But perhaps the following could happen in Boston: That the king of a tribe had to find out why he was a treasure...A London luke warm day had changed his spirit. And now he had to grasp for both Plato and Pluto up in the skies. The seventh sphere of what ever!!!