Going good, like gravy, Kemosabe: quiet down, now, we know you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. there’s always something wrong with somebody—isn’t there? Does that have something to do with an antipathy for women? Misogyny? Homosexuality? Well we could rule out the antipathy for women, because, as it happens, i like women, and, in general, women like me—maybe not in a sexual way—but from afar, if things were different, etc. We could rule out misogyny, at least mostly, because I didn’t hate women, and i didn’t feel the need to assert myself by sleeping with as many women as possible—if I was truly a misogynist, I’d be doing whatever it takes to find a woman and put her down, or, at the very least, I’d be making women look bad, constantly, when I make my creations. Finally, we could rule out homosexuality because I’m queer, not gay—I like women, and I want to be with them. I just wanted them to be young enough to have a baby.
What, then, was this resistance? This confusion i felt when I looked at a woman’s features and thought, well, she looks a little weird . . . or, if it weren’t for that . . . where that was usually the feature or features that made that particular woman unique—that was what made them look like them—just like me and the size of my head, or my various freckles—i’m practically spotted like a jaguar. Consider, too, that my hairline has receded, my hair has thinned—well I’m sure that women, when they looked at me, also thought, well, he’s nice, but what about that? It was only natural when seriously considering whether someone was the right partner—you felt a little anxiety. But the real question for me was this: was the future trying to tell me something—that this woman would and probably will dump me, in the end? I considered that a real possibility, but I also knew that I don’t think like others, i.e., i’m schizophrenic—and the future doesn’t necessarily warn us off—it could also, at the same time, be saying: “This is what you are becoming, and you don’t like it right now because you were forced to suppress it, but in reality, this is you, and you must integrate to be at peace with yourself.”
I’d be willing to bet that was what was really going on—but, even still, a little doubt remained: i couldn’t help but think, just a little, that this resistance was my way of telling myself that this woman was bad for me—that she would treat me poorly, both at first and also in the end. But I guess I could work with that—after all, I needed a physical body to interact with, a body that was part me and part Ursula—someone, a form of my female God, to interact with, even if, ultimately, they are a bad person. But i didn’t think Ursula was a bad person—which led me to believe that she was actually good for me, and that was throwing me off. I’d only ever gone for women that used me to boost their ego; women that had no real interest in the person that lives a quote unquote boring life, sitting at the computer, day in and day out—with breaks spent in isolation, painting my masterpieces. I didn’t experience a whole lot of action, did I?
But in reality I did—it was just happening in five dimensional space—I learned something new every day. Something was always changing a little, and I shifted to keep up—the action—it was about making discoveries, both self-discoveries and also discovering original ways to represent the reality around me. I never dated a woman that cared enough or was smart enough to keep up with me—hence, the misnomer that I’m boring, and that, well, for whatever reasons, I don’t love them as much as they think they should be, and would be, loved, if I was a different person. They’re in love with what I represent: power and influence. That’s what they’re attracted to. Not my day to day existence and the actual discoveries themselves. So i wondered: was Ursula presenting me with a question? Did she wonder if, in fact, the tables were reversed, and I, in reality, was attracted to her power and influence? That I didn’t, in fact, love the person that went around, day in and day out, studying things that I wouldn’t be interested in, and helping people, people that didn’t have anything to offer but the goodness of their hearts—their love?
Well, I was in love with that person specifically, wasn’t I? The person that loved other people and did her best to make life better for all of us? But yeah, I could imagine that, considering the notion that, if, somehow, i winded up being the president, I wouldn’t be that surprised. Was that because I was counting on using Anna as a stepping stone to get there—was I in love with the power? Would I do anything to get there—including use her, whether I used her consciously or not? Well, there was no way to know for sure what I was doing subconsciously. So yeah, I respected her concern; but I don’t think that’s what was happening either, since I’m basically the president of the future right fucking now, already. Every keystroke, in my world, shapes the future and reshapes the past—making the present a fluid, omnipresent continuum that nobody but the greatest artist that ever lived can occupy, so long, that is, as I’m alive. But what about other people? Weren’t they also valuable? Didn’t they also wield power and influence? Like my Ursula, for example—my equal from the future? If I lived forever, and Ursula came along, and we were equals, then she would also be the greatest artist that ever lived. It would be a tie, wouldn’t it? But here’s the thing: when the two of us constructively interfered with each other we resonated with both each other and others—such that, in our domain, we were even more powerful. So what was going on—well, Ursula had a slightly different audience than I did, didn’t she? She was composed, in part, of me, but also, in part, of others, and those people were connected to people that couldn’t see me—we weren’t going, exactly, in the same direction, so they were getting me, too, but they were getting me through Ursula, so Ursula, to them, was basically their pope—the voice of our God.
I accept this resistance, then, and I make note of it, but I choose to look past it, since, as I have just determined, this resistance is more about me being inadequate, at least in this part of this my earthly life, or, that is to say, a person that doesn’t have the option to be with Anna, this person that represents my Ursula. But I also knew the real me, and she might also discover the real me—I believed that the real me would prove very interesting to her, and, what I needed, now, was to believe that, even more, about myself, so that, when it’s all said and done, I don’t need one woman to be my partner, and another woman to suck my dick. Well, I hope that doesn’t piss her off! It didn’t come out exactly the way it sounded in my head, but yes, that’s what I mean—I should be able to engage any sex act with my partner—I choose my partner, in part, based on that, specifically such that I don’t need anything on the side.
But I had to be careful, because if Jack Daniels has taught me anything, it’s that there are one hell of a lot more bad people out there than I fully realized. I mean, I get it, a lot of people don’t really exist—they’re djinns, holograms, cosmic enforcers—not real spirits, borne by a perfect universe, and so i had to be careful about saying things that might injure Ursula’s chances to be president. We had to respect what people could and could not tolerate—and, if, well, something i did with Ursula made someone else nauseous to think about, then, well, out of respect for the well being of everybody, and everybody’s right to privacy, well, some things, at least for now, needed to be kept inside where they were protected—and safe. Somewhere that other people couldn’t hurt them—bad people that would react violently to our truth, and, in some half-ass need to protect their own truth, just might, under certain conditions, explode. They might try and take one for the team, in the name of Allah, and effectively make our lives hell.