This isn’t the right time. That came in using the voice of my internal narrator, and it wasn’t mixed with AOC’s voice, so it wasn’t Alex that I was talking to. I define just that internal narrator voice to be the voice of my future at some particular time—independent of my relationship with AOC and my grandmother, who I didn’t see very often, because, technically, she was to AOC what AOC was to me. The orphan we all share.
Because this voice came, in general, from the future—and identified, through me, with the past, I had to consider that it was an open channel which sneaky people could address (under the influence of drugs or alcohol or something like that) and, in so doing, find a piece of the future that would belong to them. They dump their backs at that point, and it feels very good to them, because, when you’re bad, doing good doesn’t feel good.
You’re a flirt, I heard, in my natural voice. Now, the way this works—telepathy between two people, is that you project the other person’s voice, and they hear your voice. But I was hearing my natural voice, as if I were trying to talk, in general, to others. So, what the heck was going on? I could only assume that someone was thinking of me and projecting their voice—which got translated into my voice, as if I had projected that as opposed to hearing it. That was kind of surreptitious. It was like somebody was trying to drive my car. They were trying to make decisions for me. They were trying to influence me so that I would do what they wanted me to do. Helpful, sometimes, if you’re a child talking to your parent, and you want your parents to protect you, and drive, but unnerving, at other times, because somebody clearly knew you well if they had access to your mind.
There wasn’t anything inherently bad or good about it: it just meant that you had to recognize that someone else was driving, and that, if you wanted to drive, you’d have to ignore them—and if you really didn’t want to do what they wanted you to do, you had to raise your shield. You had to submit yourself as a vessel for somebody in the future that aligned with your way of thinking. In my case I was telling myself that I was a flirt: but i didn’t consider myself as a flirt—although, I did consider the possibility that Alex was.
But I had a little trouble picturing it. I don’t want that, I heard in Alex’s voice. That pleased me—she had a good head on her shoulders. But what if she were saying, “I don’t want the life that I would have with you? That would be plain enough, but I didn’t have enough information to go on to make me think that that was the case. So I figured I’d continue to establish this sneaky relationship with her, where she served as my telepathic vessel: when she spoke, I spoke through her.