So Regina was inside Hitler’s head—and she could hear her thoughts, strangely enough, in Hitler’s voice, and she heard Hitler’s thoughts through her voice. Then she would often correct Hitler’s thoughts, and, when she did, she found herself communicating with some wayward chosen one from the future. But how could you speak with the unborn? More to the point, how could the unborn speak to you? Whose voice did that happen in? Ironically enough, when talking to the future, Regina heard her voice, which was used for Hitler’s thoughts, and, based on the goodness or badness of those thoughts, Regina could handle who she was talking to—so, basically, the unborn were a product of everything that the future was not, which was a function of a period, or things that happened cyclically, and, when there was a deviation from the period, when something happened that wasn’t a part of the period, then you found yourself speaking to the unborn. So, instead of defining someone, as in the past or the present, by what they are, you could define someone from the future by what they were not—the shadow-talk leftover would be real.
In Regina’s voice, then, she heard the following—she had to determine, however, based on the nature of those thoughts, who she was really talking to—and, if she could talk back, then, she would translate her thoughts using her voice to her voice and explain what was going on. Everything about the future was about absence, but it created it’s own image, it’s own reality, like the negative of a photo.
wash up, then; why do i have to do this? running low on Pervitin—need another dose, or maybe I should take oxycodone and sleep for a while
but i need sausage and cheese to do that; my health is too important so i’ll need extra oxycodone if i’m going to sleep, it’s either that or i need to stay up another day
don’t want to start hallucinating—i see Africans pounding on their drums, for some reason
no idea what that means
I could silence Hitler’s thoughts, by reclaiming my voice and using it to speak to the future:
“Daddy is going on the warpath; he doesn’t sleep, or, if he does, he doesn’t dream, or, if he does, he wakes up rough
don’t take drugs that keep you awake or get you high—don’t take anything that makes you chase your tail
i am, in a sense, your mother; but there’s no distinction between mother and father here—no distinction but the one you define when you speak to me—or to others, through me”
And Hitler would go on—this is me, now, listening to the sound of my voice:
need curtains to block out the daylight
must tend to the youth; i need more soldiers; must encourage families to have more children
that way we can occupy the world, and i’ll be playing my part, just like my father played his part—William the Conqueror, a worthy role, a mighty role,
and then he had me
And i’m a baby in terms of alien years
i live, basically, in dog years—but if the energy on earth is balanced then i live forever, theoretically
but what age will I be?
what age am i meant to be? I choose the age of forty, then
young enough for my Eva,
i am a happy man—i’ll be happy, once everybody quits trying to change me
my thoughts are my own—nobody knows i eat sausage and cheese—a military feast, i’ll build, for this country, many roads, and you drive on them as fast as you like