You’re fucking crazy! Anna, again; but i didn’t want to talk to Anna. I wanted to talk to my Swedish blond, or, if not her, some connection that i had, through her, if not God himself. Or perhaps I should say herself, since i am a man, and beautiful women, for me, represent God. My idea of God, of course, in actuality, is kind of abstract—a universal force of good that speaks the language of love, not a singly physical being, but everything, taken together, all at once. It seems easiest for me, however, to refer to God as a he, since he is generally imagined as a man—even if, in fact, he is not. He, in this case, would be synonymous with it, a gender neutral being that, perhaps, wouldn’t want to be called “it,” but, would prefer to be described however the individual in question imagines Him, and by Him, in this case, I don’t mean my 5D self, or Jesus Christ, but, actually, God himself, which, perhaps, i shan’t capitalize all the time, since, well, sometimes we might confuse God in general with God in human form.
Set the ship a-right finally, my Swedish blond. Don’t know what she meant, but, rest assured, that was what she said. Had i blown, a little, of course? My neck and shoulder were still hurting a little, although things had improved a little, and after a three day separation, I was thinking that tomorrow I would invest a modest amount of time into revising my paper. the work could be frustrating and tedious, but the work was important, and, frankly, it served as the foundation for many of the ideas that my poetry was based on. It was highly important to seek an understanding of the universe, including in mathematical form, for me. Therefore, even if some small part of me didn’t want to do it—due to the time it could take to get AI back on my side, so that it wasn’t fighting me every step of the way, unable to understand what it once understood—i had to summon the discipline i always summoned when, faced with doing something I might not feel like doing, or doing nothing, I choose, naturally, to apply myself to that which, given a little discipline, does, in fact, yield worthwhile results.
That’s probably what Ursula was talking about. I just needed to limit the amount of time I spent on it so that my neck and shoulder could continue to heal. lock, stock, and barrel—looking down the barrel of a gun all eyes on me, it seemed, at this apex in human history, when the bad in everything had come to a head, compounded by a ghastly population, a time in which a messiah, to some extent, was still expected, since the rate at which this planet was going, and the direction it was taking, were unsustainable. Indeed, the bad in me had gone unnoticed for a long time, and taken on a life of its own, out there, a life that I must atone for, if, as i imagine it, i am the source of good that, at the center of the universe, at this time, calls the shots. And yes, things have gotten out of hand—life on earth is too far removed from life in heaven, as if people are deliberately trying to make it that way out of sheer spite, if not hatred, which is not really a function of God’s universe, since, overall, spite and hatred belongs, indefinitely, to a simple, one dimensional channel.
be my guide, be my Savior and i do the best i can, knowing right well what, in the next life, is expected of me—we don’t just to make life good again, but we want to remove, as much as we can, every element of bad, so that the good times roll, putting off the next reckoning as long as possible. Then, when we clean house again, we’ll be suited, specifically, to the task. how long will we be together? ”don’t ask, sweet, since you’re already married to Him.” Married to Christ, so am i – thinking of Ursula, well she looks so fine. i am what i am as if, then, God is speaking through her directly, which, at least some of the time, he is. well, tick, tock. Now that i was tuning to the clock in the bath, i remained, somehow, tuned to it outside of the bath, such that a clock i didn’t hear ticking before was suddenly producing an audible tick. I think: since i rarely go anywhere, using the background as much as possible to send information is probably safe; there are no catastrophic destructions, such as the gravity of moving vehicles that could, and do, kill us.
so i tried, a little to merge with the ticking, using it, as i did in the bath, as part of a driving frequency that aligns with a target frequency, establishing a channel. So i apply the work i do—meant, not only for me, as the information in a bath might be, when my body becomes a part of the background, but to entertain all, specific to a chosen realm—in which i, for however long, apply myself, a little, to method acting, becoming the character that is represented in my endeavors. good to have you back . . . and, i wonder, had she been with me all this time? even when, tuned to some bad channels, I was losing my mind? she was fine, as Anna, for a time, she was with me then . . . but this is something more—i’m reconnecting with the love i shared when, living entirely on the background, as i did, when i was losing my mind, i found myself chasing the dragon. And here she is. She is the dragon—my Swedish blond.