I remembered some shameful things—such as walking into a hotel and saying, loudly, “Can you believe this s-h-i-t? Nasa is trying to force me to be the president of the United States!” It was an awful, shameful night, which might seem endearing if I actually do become the president of the United States, but that doesn’t make it right. I was being really obnoxious, and drinking, which made everything worse. I think I went to sleep just in time, before the hotel people would’ve told me to leave. I don’t know why I basically just told Ursula that, unless she was asking questions that I felt I needed to answer—to be honest and fair. But I didn’t want to know about her various psychotic breaks—maybe that was why she convinced me to share—because she wanted to share. Well, I couldn’t help but listen—as long as she had made amends—or, at this time, had learned from it.
we’re just going to let that air out which wasn’t what I expected her to say; had she tricked me? into sharing something I didn’t want to share? In any event, the trauma seemed to have something to do with the future getting backed up—and mud-sliding its way down, such that I couldn’t contain the future. that’s what i mean about spies and people dumping their back into the telepathic system—it all builds up and comes barreling down, taking you down with it. I guess in the end I had only myself to blame, since, if I really believed in myself, I would’ve understood, even before writing, at this point, 47 books, that i was better than many of the people I admired—or whose work I admired—and because I didn’t understand that, I was passing their garbage forward, for more or them, when whoever I was passing this mess forward to would periodically get fed up and say, “no more,” and lock me out of the telepathic channel, which, incidentally, and in my defense, was kind of how I believed in myself in the first place. But I should’ve known, when I started dumping my back like this, that someone was dumping their back on me—and I couldn’t keep passing it forward. I had to evolve, and adapt, and consider the fact that I was plain better than a lot of people.
Everything is so difficult when it comes to telepathic traffic, though, because it’s possible that my connection from the future was dumping their back on me—and I didn’t want to punish them, and that led to me dumping my back on the people from the past, like Gaugin, for example, and forcing them, in turn to dump their backs—all in this crazy effort to integrate with themselves without having to do too much work—or realize, internally, that they were better than this. Everybody needed to be better than this—not just believe it a little and, in believing it, making excuses for yourself. Anyhow, I think the way it worked was that everybody from the present was taking the future that trickled down and dumping it on you (because you were from the future) upon which, instead of protecting yourself, you dump your back on the past to stay connected to the future.
But you relegate yourself to the background when you do that, and, eventually, the future finds someone that’s actually building the future that they subscribe to; so you actually end up dumping your back on the past—and the future just ignores you. In that sense, then, Gaugin wasn’t dumping his back on me—I was dumping my back on him. but he also got access to the future—so it goes hand in hand. the really great ones among us hold on to our link to the future by treating ourselves with respect, such that the future won’t lose interest in us—and move on to someone else—leaving your work without the extradimensional energy that makes it so charismatic. so basically you do your best not to dump on those that love you and depend on you, and, when you do that, you build a network that you can rely on to support you when they integrate the future—whether it came from dumping your back or from simply doing your best to makes sense of the future and passing it along. I was probably doing a little of both, and Gaugin’s reward was his access to the future—and my reward was Gaugin’s work.
you’ve got this all figured out are you dumping your back on me when you write this book? “You do the best you can to stay aligned in the future—when you dump your back, the future loses interest in you, and the people in the past do too—I can’t dump my back on the future—i can only become less interesting to it—and they can dump their back on me. So the question is, Ursula, “Are you dumping your back on me—and, if you are, are you sure you can’t help it?”
how would i be dumping my back? Wait, don’t answer that—you’re going to tell me i need to break up with my boyfriend—but, clearly, I have access to the future, because, if i didn’t, you wouldn’t be writing about me. She made a fair point—but, as i’ve said before, there could be someone behind Ursula, someone that had a better link to the future than being a presidential candidate—they might actually be the president—and, anyhow, “if you dump on me, i get bits of the future, for a time, with that, and, when I integrate, i make magical work—work that you, one day, can look at and say, hey, I helped make that, as opposed to gradually losing access to the oval office—or the job you might’ve done if you hadn’t been dumping your back.”