Counting, one, two, and three . . . and here we are. It seemed to me that, in heaven, extradimensional travel would be that simple—that our neurons and our nerves would produce a magnetic field, and that we could sense what frequencies to project, use our magnetic field to bend them, and, as such, transfer 5D momentum, and ourselves, to the desired coordinate. And food? yeah, part of living as a function of consciousness, as opposed to consciousness being a function of living, meant that all our needs were instantaneously provided for by the 5D field. The continuum of our consciousness. Our fridges always remained stocked—you didn’t need to order things online, you just needed a clear idea of what you wanted—and it would appear. Consciousness was the difference between 5D and 4D. In 5D we are the product and the components of consciousness—the product and the components of the 5D field. We, as the centers of our individual universes, define the universe—where as, in 4D, all too often, it’s the other way around. Consciousness is the product and the component of an individual life—and that life is limited.
I’d spent most of the day trying to postulate how warp speed might work—i’d imagined surrounding a ship with frequencies that were high enough and dense enough to enclose the ship in a black hole, etc. Did an abstract, colorful painting—the abstract ones, if people accepted me as a real talent, were more likely to sell than the portraits, and even the landscapes—since, in general, companies, and, often enough, people, nowadays, want something that is pleasing but neutral—that doesn’t specify a particular person over another, or one particular landscape, or way of life, over another. Besides, there were a lot of people out there that learned, with some talent, mind you, to paint realistic portraits and landscapes—but it took something beyond that to define you in the present day art world. You had to be able to do something you couldn’t necessarily teach. That usually meant something besides realism—or it meant realism done in such a way that a particular essence or soul was established.
I thought I accomplished this with my more realistic work, and, even in the non realistic pictures of people, i felt that a certain energy was expressed, but, again, when you painted people you had to choose—black or white, brunette or blonde, and does this particular person represent something about me—i don’t want a picture of some random person in my house, some other person’s family member, etc. Some person that has nothing to do with me. I think you can hack it. If what she meant by that was do something that I didn’t want to do, then she was wrong—i could only do what i felt i was called to do. But, instead, she might’ve been joking a little, saying that these abstract paintings, that, sometimes, don’t take very long, are both doable and worth it. I think that is true, anyhow. At least that’s the way I feel at this point in my career. Once you become famous—and people become interested in you, then the choices you make when you paint portraits and figures will become interesting, too. She was right. The only problem was that I had to become famous first.
“You win some, you lose some.” But you’re a winner. Now, I know that flattery can be bad, but I liked it when women tried to make me feel good about myself. It made me feel like getting them pregnant—that they might actually want that—as opposed to wanting, instead, to use someone for sex that ignored, or even dismissed, any possibility of attachment. Granted, women can flatter you and not give a shit if they lead you on—just take what they want anyhow. But let’s face it—most people don’t want the complication, and consider that, before, like an idiot, they get themselves into a complicated mess. You might think you can freeze someone out just because you say it’s over, but, really, if you try to freeze someone out, nobody ever really lets you get away with that. All is fair in love and war, etc. You drive me up the wall. “I don’t do that—you do that all on your own.” I wondered, would Ursula be upset, if i, or some other person, turned her on in a way that she might deem shameful, or if i, or some other person, got too turned on by something she might deem shameful? I guess she would. So i kept that in mind. But really, if i played my cards right, she would feel no shame. Nobody would.
Aren’t you going to vote for me? But I don’t think that was Anna. I think that was my Ursula, which meant she knew about Anna, which meant she’d likely been reading my work, which was neat, but it also meant i was a little embarrassed, since, for a time, i was a little obsessed. I can’t help it. Once I like someone, I tend to really like them. I stop at almost nothing to try and have my way with them, to convince them that we want the same things, even if, God forbid, we don’t. It’s not because I don’t care about them, and their future—it’s that I don’t even see it. All i see is the love I imagine, and that means I imagine, in turn, that they do, or will, feel the same way. “I’m going to vote for you, of course.” In other words, yes, she is the woman i imagine her to be, worthy of my body, and worthy of my mind. But I don’t have it all. “Anna didn’t either.” But maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I think it was. I think I screwed up when i said that. So i tried to correct myself: “I don’t have it all—nobody has it all—but really you do have it all, and really i do too, we just don’t know it. We don’t see it in ourselves. And, besides, I knew all along that Anna didn’t have it all. But she had enough. And that’s rare. That meant something. You, on the other hand, have yet to convince me that you don’t have it all. The way I see it, you’re perfect—both in the way you look and the way you think.”