i am not free i hadn’t even said the passwords yet, and she already identified me; that spoke to me. i don’t know what she meant by saying she’s not free. In old-timey language that might’ve meant she was with someone—but I don’t think she meant that because everybody knew that. Did she mean “I’m not free?” as in, I’m not free? Maybe she did. anything that distracted me from working most of the day every day would not be free, so, in that sense, “I’m not free.” ok so let’s interpret that as if she wanted to plant that thought to make me think of a secret thought she wanted to get across—like saying she can’t always be available when I’m not working—so she’s not free. That wouldn’t be a problem for me if we spent an hour eating dinner together and that was the only time I saw her unless she was asleep when i woke up or asleep when I went to bed.
so she was flirting with me again. i’ve seen her Puerto Rican skin turn red in the face and i wondered if she was blushing now. i am not what you think i am but i had no real idea as to who she was. What did she think i thought she was? Or was she trying to tell me that I should ask myself if I am what I think I am? Well, I think I’m the greatest artist that ever lived—inside, but that won’t be realized until the end of my life, if ever. So maybe that’s what she meant—I’m not the greatest artist that ever lived. I guess she was trying to let me down, saying, in this gentle, off-handed way, that, we were equals so long as my identity had yet to be verified. I guess to be the greatest artist that ever lived you need to charge your paintings with the energy of other people—that, to affect people efficiently, you need other people to serve as a microphone, to pass your paintings and their new-fangled energy across the annals of time. Considering, then, that I might never be discovered, and I might never have a microphone to project timeless energy into my work, then, until that happened, I was not, in fact, superior to most of the planet. That was not a joke.
So Ursula, i guess, was just reminding me that at this point in time I was still an overachieving basement dweller, and, although I could be remembered after I’m dead, that hadn’t happened, and, therefore, my energy, the energy i infused into my paintings was not quite amplified enough to make me superior to her. Add that to my age, and the life I lived in the past, and, well, I’m no great catch—things average out, and that makes me, humbly, just another guy that may or may not be worth Ursula’s time, and, since her time was amped up already, at this time, then, she, in fact, was superior to me—who knows how amped she’d be in the future, and who knows how amped I’d be, too? She had the microphone at this point, and she was using it, so, for the time being, i might’ve looked like a gamble, in her eyes, even if she did believe I had a chance to be remembered. She was saying, then, that i might be too good for her if she never became president. Right now, she had momentum behind her—when people looked at her, they got excited, because she might be the first woman president—and the first sincere, game changing president. The one that would lead our country into a future in which people were not forced to suffer so that others could be richer. So that was like me—i had this inner thought that I might be remembered, but, once that didn’t happen soon enough, people wouldn’t see me in the same light, and I wouldn’t be able to use the energy of the people to tap into the collective unconscious. I’d have to rely on my telepathic connections.
She made a good point—and I’d do well to remember her position and her access to the collective unconscious, not only because it made her, at least temporarily, better, in the eyes of other people, than me, but it was also something that I could tap into through her, and what she was willing to share—hence the significance of the telepathic dialog. I had to be careful, then, that I didn’t use her without returning the favor—we could fight, together, for a better world, as it should be done, not as a consequence of one of us climbing up on the shoulders of the other. I’d just, in a sense, been rejected, maybe like half-way rejected would be more precise, but it was still a nudge reminding me that I need to reconsider what league I’m in if I’m going to question her worth. Alas, the league I lived in was complex—too imaginary to be anything more, for now, than imaginary. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist in a virtual space that might be considered just as real as any other reality, but, technically, my life involved a series of patterns that only existed when other dimensions (and their shadows) were considered.
i know you’re thinking of me when you fall in love, the way you see me will change—you will discover character emerging through my flaws, and, if I get famous enough, my flaws won’t be considered flaws any more—people will want to look like me—my looks will be in style. And, if you were really bad off, but you were infinitely famous, then, eventually, people would associate your features with character, value, and sex appeal—your children would be in high demand—so, barring the thought that your nose got cut off, you’d be found sexy. And even if your nose got cut off, the cause behind that could drive your characteristic frequency closer and closer to perfection. In short, your story would take over—and every time somebody saw the fact that your nose got cut off, they’d think of your heroism.
see, that wasn’t so hard, was it? “There’s no need to rub it in.” i considered the thought that she wouldn’t have made the effort to let me down easy unless she was interested, so, like i said, it was only like a half-rejection, a way to get me to change, a little, how I think, but, in my defense, if you have a work ethic like mine, and you have people that can support you while your adapt to this life (making your creations constantly) then a little talent goes a long way, and, if you take yourself seriously, and treat yourself and others with respect, then your chances of being noticed and then noticed a little more can really increase. So you have to find this happy medium where you can feel the accomplishment and self-esteem that comes from finishing a creation while, at the same time, reminding yourself that you need other people, at some point, to work in your favor—and therefore, as such, you must keep your ego safe inside—a thing that can be understood and accepted so long as it remains internal, such that people won’t feel that they’re being tricked, that you’re a long shot, instead of a steady, reliable worker that uplifts other people.