I was trying to get Ursula on the line but I kept seeing her picture and thinking: what’s there to write? She already loves me! But she wasn’t talking for like 20 minutes as I sat here drinking sparkling water and getting a little buzz off it. I kept listening for some still small voice to speak up, but we’d pretty much covered where we’re at yesterday. Or at least that’s how it seemed right now. In reality, however, she was back there—but I was writing, in this instance, after painting instead of before—so she might be at a different address right now—I’m really not sure. You want me to come back there, she finally said something—so i told her, “of course i want you to come back.” We’re going somewhere special, you and I. i was only thinking, right now, about getting a truck, filling it up with paintings, and convincing one of my brothers to drive it. We were running out of space here—so, yes, we must’ve been talking about space, or she was thinking about it, and how much of a problem that was going to be for me—since she can’t afford, to my knowledge, to look after me. Eventually she will be able to, i think, but for right now? She doesn’t curtsy for rich people—which is one of the main reasons i like her, but that also meant that we couldn’t be together.
Star-crossed paths, then. But I wasn’t giving up yet. Now I was seeing Kamala Harris and thinking: is what I feel when I look at her what other people feel when they look at me? I certainly hope not—or was the image saying: what I see when I look at Kamala Harris is what the democratic party sees when they look at Ursula? Well, good, since, if Kamala Harris became the democratic candidate, well, of course I’d put my weight behind her—that was kind of a no brainer after all the chaos and cruelty the republican party had not only enabled, but encouraged and protected. We were talking about evil, here. And the republicans were definitely the bad guys—which is not how I always felt. I didn’t think of the republican party as evil, or even bad, before Jack Daniels. I mostly looked at the republican party and saw a bunch of John McCain’s—people that had standards and would defend them, even if they alienated a bunch of racists—but that was the crux, wasn’t it? McCain was too good for the republican party. He was an exception. And we weren’t dealing with just a bunch of racists. We were dealing with approximately half the country.
But what was I going to do if Gavin Newsom became the candidate? I might not to be able to put all of my weight behind him because, if I did, I’d compromise my values. So I’d put enough behind him, or leave enough out, to get him elected—he was not evil in the way republicans were, but I wouldn’t do everything in my power at the expense of Ursula and everything that she was doing—rebuilding the democratic party from within. Anyhow, Jack Daniels was getting worse in the sense that he was saying things over and over again to try and get people to believe him—but, more and more, he was saying things over and over to make them true in his mind. If he made them true in his mind, then he’d be alright, for now—but he was not fit, anymore, to lead the country. He was deranged—he was subject to cognitive decline—and who knows? Jack’s father, as he got older, lived in a different world; you can’t run this country if you don’t live in it—if you live in a world that you make up as you go, pretending, I guess, that nothing is happening, that death isn’t coming, that it’s all real.
May your voice be heard ”thank you, Ursula.” it was really encouraging to have her support—and, honestly, after having written a lot of books, more than a lot, actually, that hardly anybody reads, well, it was nice to know that my work, some of it, anyhow, was interesting to other people, such as Ursula. I mean, she didn’t have to read everything I did—only a scholar would do that (excuse my conceit), but the mere fact that she had some idea of what made me tick, some understanding of me that can only be taken from the arts, encouraged me to take things further—to try and do better and better, like i did already, but, well, with a little more motivation, since, with her support, it was a little less likely that I would be forgotten—that my work would never be seen, heard, and read. It’s kind of funny, however, that people will think, “Oh, he’s writing a book, he’s going somewhere.” When, in fact, it, in a way, is just the opposite.
Finally Ursula told me we could do it, and by it she meant have sex, and by that she meant many different things, and, well, I had some notion that I could do with her pretty much what i wanted—and she could do the same to me. But I have to be careful, here. It is important to note that Ursula is telling me this. Ocasio-Cortez is not saying this. Ursula is my one true love—i am only wondering, in fact, if Ocasio-Cortez might be Ursula. She’s the closest match, so far, but Ursula is actually from the future, a time long after I am dead—I just gave her the codename Ocasio-Cortez because that’s what I see when I imagine life in the 5th dimension—a world driven by light that becomes mass-like when it both resonates and interferes. Having said that, I can say this: Ursula has a lot in common with AOC. But that’s not the same thing as proving, in reality, that they are one and the same. Nonetheless—I imagine that the things I hear in her voice, and the things I say in her voice, go, directly, to both Ursula and this seeming democratic savior.