What are you getting yourself into? i didn’t know, but things were changing—shifting. The ground was shifting a little, and, if you didn’t know any better, you might think that you would get swallowed up. Nothing so complicated, right now, as intoning my voice on the consonants and Ursula’s voice on the vowels, except, in a way, it kind of was, because that’s what I was used to doing, so it took a little effort to paint over everything in Ursula’s voice. So, reality check: most people are not a walking metronome that projects different voices. Most people broadcast in their minds, when they’re winding down, the things that they said throughout the day. They send out a blanket frequency that you can attach yourself to or not. So, realistically, Ocasio-Cortez, at least, was not talking to me directly. She was talking to others in a way that aligned with what she wanted to say to me—on my frequency, and then she was reporting those things, both to herself—as if she just wanted to remember something—and to others—but not exactly me and me alone. To do that she’d either have to project my voice or project a substitute voice that she assigned to do this. Hence, although Ursula, who was from the future, could count and project, Ocasio-Cortez, in her current form, could not. At least that was overwhelmingly probable.
That made things a little tricky—both respect to the things i shared privately and the things that I documented in this our novel. In broadcasting one voice, Ocasio-Cortez’s voice, I tried to interact with the general frequencies that she was using—which amounted, mostly, to one frequency with some interference. I was trying to tap into Ocasio-Cortez (and get closer to Ursula) in that way, for now. So she might’ve been confusing me with her boyfriend from time to time, saying things to him that she broadcasted back to me, and responding to me with what He spoke to her. In short, I was kind of hoping that Ocasio-Cortez really was Ursula, but, in fact, that would forever remain to be seen. I allowed myself to fantasize, then, about what the real Ursula might actually look like . . . and yes, I imagined that person had blond hair and blue eyes—I can’t shake that idea—even if it means Ocasio-Cortez feels threatened. But I wasn’t too worried about it because that person with blond hair and blue eyes might very well have been Ursula’s code-image—the thought she projected when she wanted to speak to me—in a language that translated all that she had to offer.
I told her, then, not to freak out and dye her hair blond. What do you want from me? she needed assurances, and i guess that was partly my fault, but I think it was partly her fault, too, since I imagined that she was representing herself, telepathically, as a blond with blue eyes, at least subconsciously, since, well, she wanted to talk to me, and blond hair and blue eyes—like it or not—represent superiority. Not because they are superior, but because many people, a vanishing majority, think that that they are superior, and, in thinking it, they make it seem true, both to themselves and others. So, if I wanted to get this idea of a blond with blue yes out of my head, I needed, in part, for Ursula to stop trying to trick me. Well, maybe she wasn’t trying to trick me; what I mean is this: she needed to stop thinking of herself as blond with blue eyes or the real time equivalent—since they weren’t equivalent. Ocasio-Cortez was superior, but I don’t know if she, herself, realized that.
There was another possibility, too. Ursula was blond haired and blue eyed, but she was using the image of Ocasio-Cortez to advertise or tell me that she, in fact, was more than blond haired and blue eyed. She could also be dark and mysterious, exotic, even, with brains and willpower to boot. In that sense, well, if Ursula started representing herself as blond and blue eyed in conversation—instead of what she deemed, in her mind, to be superior, then i might find that Ocasio-Cortez, in fact, is not the person I’m supposed to be with. Hence, I had to be very careful—but, any way you looked at it, I was expecting Ursula to be both beautiful and intelligent in a way that, to me, if not to everybody, made you think of something superior than any idea of what we might or might not find attractive.
So what was I learning, here? Well, in my former, semi-racist state (i couldn’t help it because of both my background and my illness) I might have favored a white skinned partner—if not a blond and blue-eyed white skinned partner; I might have viscerally found them far more attractive than someone from another race. But Ocasio-Cortez and or Ursula was teaching me that, in fact, whether I approved of it or not, I was, in fact, attracted to non-white people—I found them to be all the things that most white women (sheltered by white women) could never hope to be. I was in the process, and i had been for quite some time, of rewiring this racism—and, although you can’t exactly help how you feel or what your sexually attracted to, I, in fact, was attracted to Ocasio-Cortez, and, as such, brown people in general were not the problem. The problem was that I didn’t have enough experience with colored people to overcome my innate sense that I am supposed to be attracted to blond women with blue eyes. That only a blond woman with blue eyes had the “talent” to be my partner, to open doors, to represent how great I am, and to make other people incredibly jealous.
So, in writing this, what am I hoping to accomplish? I’m not just trying to evolve with myself: I’m trying to convince Ursula that she is my ideal mate no matter what color her skin is, and, that, what, in fact, is most attractive, is confidence. The confidence and the option, now, at least, that she had my attention, to represent herself as the person behind Ocasio-Cortez and or Ocasio-Cortez. They were perfect when they believed in themselves. Then the bleak mind of a swede proved to be the equivalent of the darker mind of someone that, for centuries, has been forced to take on secondary and tertiary roles in a world of white-skinned depictions of our savior, the one and only, Jesus Christ—not to be confused with our current president, an increasingly obnoxious but somehow still loved version of Jack Daniels, the ultimate jerk—and the most Hitler-like person on the world stage—a man of indefatigable racism and despair.