Thank God for Pervitin and “Hello, Adolph!” we were speaking in my obnoxious grandmother’s voice, but her voice sounded an awful lot like mine: that must’ve been AOC squared. all his work is degenerate so i said nothing for a moment. the thing about degenerate art work is that it’s not degenerate: it just doesn’t want to bore you. as an artist, too, you don’t want to bore yourself: it’s all about sending messages out to the people you love. if you just paint with a little dry brush over and over and over you’re kind of dumping your back; you must find it soothing, but since you’re just doing the same thing over and over, you’re really just saying the same thing over and over.
a painting is like a recording of a telepathic message, and you can use paintings to connect with the future by taking a mental snapshot when looking at the painting. that’s it! The message goes forward, and, when people look at your painting, they’re sending a little of the life back to you
Note that you don’t have to wind up in a museum to send a message; you’ve seen the image, and you can pay it forward with your mind’s eye. Anyhow, I think i understood that Hitler was hooked on Pervitin: the question, now, for me, was this: was Hitler the anti-Christ? that is to say, when I projected Hitler’s voice, did I get the end all be all spirit on the line? But I knew better than that. There is no end all be all to anything. Somebody can always top you, no matter how long you manage, and you can always top somebody, no matter how long they’re in control So, Hitler, do you want to talk about your mother? i liked how the Spanish put question marks at the beginning and end of their questions, and, because i was into AOC, i sent that forward when I asked the question again: this time in my natural voice.
it became a little code between me and AOC. I was thrilled because now that I had been contacted by AOC squared, I knew that I could form a relationship with her—whereas, before, to talk to AOC I had to broadcast my natural voice and hope for the best.
what now? Hitler said in my natural voice; naturally, i spoke back (I knew I couldn’t stop him from killing Jews, but I might’ve been able to convince him to treat Eva better, because, if he did that, then he’d—or the people he represented—wouldn’t be subjected to so much hate if they got the telepathic address wrong, which was a common mistake). I imagined a lot of artists died from syphilis or what not because they did anything they could to turn off their subscripted line
i wanted a glass of ginger ale: that was AOC! I got the message with her image imprinted on it; so I sent it back speaking in her voice so that she could address me better. I didn’t want her to end up getting the wrong side of Hitler’s stick—the man had no use for carrots. AOC used the past tense, too, which, because she was from the future, meant that we had entered the land of the past perfect—since, as it happened, I accepted her explanation—which, i figured, has something to do with the life I was living before I started taking my risperidone. My mind, you see, was inundated with all kind of telepathic traffic that I couldn’t understand. I knew I was fighting for me, but, when you stepped back and looked at the big picture, I think my friends and colleagues might’ve found that, because of me, they were getting inundated with telepathic chaos.