2
Do tell, what awaits? Jack Daniels attacked Iran, and, although Iran was not a good country, going to war with them was a mistake, especially considering how much war costs. But Jack was bound and determined to do whatever he had to do to keep what he was doing in the news cycle, so that people might overlook his past—and a history of sexual assault that, spent on minors, could ruin him. Now, I know one reason Ursula was suffering—the The New York Times—which, sadly, depended a little too much on the wealthy, wanted to remove Ursula from the 2028 presidential race, considering that she, undoubtedly, would punish the rich for hording the wealth that meant, in the case of health insurance, anyhow, life or death circumstances for all too many Americans.
But what was going on with us? I don’t know—she said something about me being distant, and, well, that was good to hear, because I worried, obviously, that I wasn’t distant enough; after all, I’d been doing everything in my power to convince her that a path to the presidency would involve breaking up with her boyfriend—something, I would think, that she didn’t want to hear. But yeah, I felt like I was living on a slightly faster frequency of late – it was a little more difficult to hear her voice, consistently, at least. I was a little distracted by what was going on in my life: a study of the Riemann hypotheses and how it might relate to physics, a classical music score and recording my songs—which meant I was singing again, something I used to do when I went to church—it was practically my whole reason for going to church, even if, yeah, I took over the room, and made every song about me.
Well, not exactly. I shouldn’t speak for my enemies. What i was doing wasn’t really about me, even if I took over the room, since, as it happens, my reason for being was about learning about, and gaining a better understanding of myself—not forcing myself on other people. It might have seemed that way—but the way I see it, these people, Mormons, were forcing themselves onto me; i smoked at the time, so, naturally, they didn’t like me because of that—and then there was a problem with my sexuality, which, near the end, involved wearing a bra every other Sunday (or was it every Sunday toward the end?) when I went to church. Now you might think, “You don’t know how attractive that makes you to your kind of people,” but my kind of people weren’t, by default, around me—they existed in the future and, if not the future, they simply didn’t exist there, where I was, on the battlefield, so to speak.
They were on their own battlefields, spaced out, and forced, actually, into awkward positions of their own. Ursula, of course, was my kind of people, and, maybe our relationship had something to do, then, with the amount of pressure she was under—forging a path to the presidency, a move that put her under intense scrutiny; she could hardly afford to make a mistake. I like you, but I think you like me too much now, I know she didn’t mean that, because i was on the level, and the person i loved was the Ursula that lived on the inside, the one that spoke to me; i didn’t feel that my life depended on us forging a real relationship in normal everyday spacetime. i didn’t even feel that I was ever meant, necessarily, to be with anybody but those that lived in my imagination—through my mind’s eye, and my mind’s ear, which, for me, were actually more than just my imagination, and yet, even still, I knew we lived in a complex plane—one that, by definition, wasn’t entirely real.
So what was she doing then? Using her sense of humor? I was just kidding, so, I thought, this is great—she’s making fun of me because she, in fact, thinks that she likes me too much, and, well, you really can’t like somebody too much unless you can’t control your actions or you start getting the wrong idea, unable to separate what you dream up from what you experience on a day to day basis. You’re right, I’ve got a fire up my ass; now she was really trying to be funny—using my sexuality against me, advertising what I might have thought was a level of freakiness lost on her—or, in fact, lost on anyone that is a stable, well-adjusted person—both sober and straight. Anyhow, it worked—I was interested; but, at the same time, I didn’t know if she was entirely serious about doing it. I certainly was.
But I figured this kind of talk went hand in hand with suffering, since, the more she talked to me, the more she moved from her fiancé, and I know beyond doubt that she had feelings for her fiancé, that he would always be associated with a sentimental time of her life—nostalgia, the kind people get when they remember what their life was like before they became a bigshot—when they had no way of knowing that people supported them, that they had a future—a time that, in many ways, sustains the purest form of greatness. (The place you go to when you’re really doing something without input from those that would influence what you’re doing, for better or worse. When it’s just you.)
Feeling better now, are we? I guess that was her way of saying I’d closed the distance between us, but I think she was also making fun of herself, since, clearly, she was experiencing some emotional discomfort.