monotone: dead to the world—and so the world is dead to me; if I can’ t be myself, then I’ll be what the German people need—a voice.
I hate this feeling i get after a speech—and before my shot of oxycodone, when the truth, as I see it, is revealed. People don’t like the real me—they only respond to themselves as their master, and, through that person, to me. but i don’t ever have their undying support
the real support that friends and family feel for each other
i have no family but my Eva, and she doesn’t know the real me either
the real me wants to ask questions for the sake of a conversation—an experience between one person and the next
I heard all that, and I tried to understand. Mark McCord was already becoming agitated—he said that Eva was a wretched woman used to living in excess—spending more and more time with a bottle of champagne
or shopping for clothes with her Nazi friends
She was definitely contributing to my agony in the present—her thoughts were impressed on her by Hitler—through sexual intercourse, perhaps—and i picked up Hitler’s background through her experience, too.
So I talked to Mark about it: I convinced him that i could change Eva and he could change Eva’s friends—and, if that didn’t work, we could simply conscientiously send emails—like prayers, to those that could hear them. Considering that a number of Nazis were taking Pervitin, you might ask yourself if the Pervitin was the one doing all the talking. Put anyone on Pervitin for long enough, and they’ll turn fascist and paranoid, saying things that the child within would never say. In fact, those taking Pervitin are caught up in a vicious cycle—feeling that everything they do is done for the child within, when, in fact, the Pervitin is extremely hard on them—and making them less and less innocent, and more and more cruel—determined to cut through everybody’s bull, when they are the source.
Mark was a little worried that Eva was going to rub off on him—and turn him back into the kind of person that makes ups songs about “nigger-ria.” I assured him, however, that as long as he was listening, and keeping his body from serious brain chemistry changing chemicals, then that would never happen. In fact, he’d be tuned in to the future as a man in a woman’s body, listening to a woman’s voice—a voice particular to the future—for those in the future were those closest to the child within.
So, I was curious. I wanted to get some idea of what Eva was thinking, and, to do that, I theorized that Mark could share her thoughts by projecting a combination of Eva’s voice and my voice for a short period of time. So we did that, and then I went off by myself and turned on the PBS newshour; I heard a cross between Mark’s voice and my voice, then, and that, I surmised, was most likely a glimpse into Eva’s reality. Guess what I did next? I projected a cross between my voice and Judy Woodruff’s voice (the newscaster for the newshour at that time)—all I was doing was counting, but my reality would be projected, and I’d be speaking to the future—through telepathic email. I was just leaving messages for those I was sure to love once I discovered that consciousness has to go somewhere else when it would end (because energy cannot be created or destroyed). So I tapped into the future—the future loaned me a little talent, and I wrote a poem or two—poems that were not necessarily meant to be read out loud, but, were designed, instead to regulate your breathing in such a way that it was like saying a prayer—you were reading email from and to those that lived, lost, in the future. In short, you read into the rhythm, and the rhythm tuned you into the protection of those that spent their lives doing what they could to protect both themselves and their children.