who are you working for? “I guess I’m working for the American people,” but that wasn’t exactly true, was it? i was working for people all over—anybody that loved me, or would love me if they got to know me, etc. “I work for love.” then how come you’re a Nazi? “How come you’re a Nazi?” Right back at you; nobody, here, was a Nazi, but the idea that we could get behind the right person and do great things was very real. i can’t answer that s-h-i-t that’s what we were talking about right now—I noticed that she said it a little softer than the words that surrounded it, as if, yes, she was aware that it stinks a little when it’s yours, and it stinks more when it belongs to a stranger—it’s kind of a measurement of how well you know somebody.
But yeah, in all forms, it’s unpleasant, but, as a queer man, i might say that familiarity comes with the territory. You want to do something you love to do—you acquire a taste for it—to how it makes you feel. You have someone, then, at their most vulnerable, and that’s what you really want; the power to direct where the two of you are going. Some of us just go along for the ride—there are people like that, and, while they may seem lazy, they’re designed, actually, to be happy in any situation so long as you’re happy.
you always answer so honestly ”don’t you?” well, yeah, but i don’t have that many things to be ashamed of. Jokes. “Very funny.” But she had a point; in my quest for the experience that might or might not be required to be an artist anything went for a while, especially if it was memorable—and even if the act went against what might normally be described as my values. you’re cute ”so are you,” but was she making fun? Or did she have some idea of cuteness and me in her mind, and the two, together, gave her some semblance that, thankfully, so far, I managed to live up to. Now you can take your place where? “At your side?” what did she mean—more access to the collective unconscious amp that she was using? Even if we never had sex, access to the collective unconscious was what i really wanted. It just so happened that the two things, her, and her influence, were aligned with the collective unconscious. I really believed that, and, that’s why a telepathic connection ad infinitum was desirable—even if we never met.
are you switching gears on me? “Yes, i want you to tell me if you like it; you do it, too; you just don’t know it. So what had I done? I’d switched frequencies momentarily by substituting one of my alcoholic uncles (the scotch drinker as opposed to the wine drinker) for her—it was like connecting her to my network, giving her the chance to speak directly to a colleague—perhaps even a friend. I switched back after a few moments, since, I don’t know, she might not have been able to follow me—but she’d pick up on it, and, hopefully, she’d connect me, too, to different aspects of the future that I could use to increase my understanding and magnify my calling—for love, for the both of us.
he said you have a driving frequency ”ah, i see; i think he meant that the more familiar i get with your frequency the more I can generate a driving frequency that will lead to resonance—a mutually beneficial relationship that would bridge the distance between us. In other words, a real transfer was taking place—and that transfer, like a concave curve that leads to partial alignment and partial misalignment, would affect the both of us, putting us on a path that was bound, at some point, to cohere. what else did he say? “that he’s united, now, with his temporal body—and he doesn’t need alcohol to change the way he feels.” That was great—even if, ultimately, he proved to be an unreliable person—someone that wouldn’t let you in to their life—even if you were family, and you had good intentions. Someone that wouldn’t tell you if you might need to talk to a doctor—someone that wouldn’t explain why they don’t like you—or offer their assistance to make things better.
But all that is exactly why i picked him. The way I see it is that the parts i’ve yet to accept about myself are foreign to me, and therefore, although I gravitate toward that, I resist, because I don’t trust the source. Choosing an untrustworthy person to represent my disintegrated self therefore brings me closer to the person that I need and want to integrate—the real person that lived behind all the drama and the recognition that they received, if not in this life, then the next. My alcoholic uncle, then, had somebody that I wanted behind them, somebody that represented themselves, and somebody that I represented, as family. But I cannot say for sure that my alcoholic uncle truly exists—I thought I knew him, and I kind of think I know him now, but i might not know him at all, in the end, when judgement calls.
But maybe, once reunited with himself in the extra dimension, he had the opportunity to change back into the child that, at one point, he was, and, then, he turned out to be the real person that I was trying to get at in the first place. However, if we follow the notion that we end up in life where we are meant to be, then, the place my alcoholic uncle ended up didn’t characterize him (for me) as a loveable person, someone that i’d want to let into my life, as if I could change them, and how they feel about me. But I can’t judge someone, I guess, that had to work a job that wasn’t doable without the scotch and the cigarettes, and, because of that, there was a real possibility that he was able to integrate his true self—and make up for the person that he was reduced to, when his government failed him.