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this love was going to short circuit my brain i’d blow a fuse, trying, in vain, to inform myself of myself in such a way that i could achieve greater and greater echelons of happiness—not to mention explain myself in such a way that people could understand me—or at least praise me.
what are you going to do with your life? i wondered, of course, what such a question could mean. I was middle-aged, by now—i might’ve lived more of my life than I had left to live, and, therefore, i was already doing what i was going to do with my life. I’m sorry if others can’t see this.
and they wouldn’t, of course—not because my work was bad (which it wasn’t) but, on the contrary, because nobody would take the mechanics of telepathic thought seriously for a long time to come—which means i’m ahead of my time. I was feeling great, of course, about living it up as a pioneer of the field, but i was also frustrated because once you got an inkling of the power of telepathy, and the love that such an act requires, you never wanted to go back. You want to get closer—more and more closer, until there was very little distance between your subconscious and your conscious mind.
i want to go with you and, indeed, i wanted that person to go with me, too—if my faith should falter i’d find myself incredibly lonely, and, therefore, i was determined to forge a bond between my inner world and my outer world. i might, therefore, have to start speaking telepathically with my family—they all represented a potential such that: By definition: if they were younger than me then they represented the future, and if they were older than me, then they represented to past—but not just any past; we’re talking about telepathic communications, here, so those representing the past were ahead of their time, and integral to my existence and the bridge between that past and the future that I had now become a part of.
“We’re moving in the right direction.” i’m doing everything in my power to secure my position as the most influential and important person to our country. you had to wonder, sometimes, where Jack Daniels was getting this—considering his adoration of Hitler, and dictators in general. for a split second i even considered the possibility that Jack Daniels had gotten his hands on some risperidone, and, somehow, his arc was twisted such that he lived in Hitler’s subconscious in the same way that i did. What was he doing, if that was the case? Was he undoing all the good i did that, necessarily, was not a part of history?
i never liked Chuck Schumer. We were all hoping (and, by we, i mean Alex, Alexandria, and AOC), that New Yorkers would tire of his elitist politics and turn to Mamdami for guidance. I might’ve been a little hard on Mamdami in the past, considering the length of a particular hug he gave AOC—and the possibility that they might face off in a run for the presidency, but Mamdami was born in Uganda, and, frankly, who wouldn’t want to hug AOC for as long as possible—if, that is, they were a democrat or a republican that had downed a few beers? Now that i’d stepped off my high horse, and changed my stance on adultery, I didn’t have any reason to be angry at him and or jealous of him. Mamdami and AOC were just close friends, for now, and if that changed, well, then, they’d surely be in love—or at least, deserving of forgiveness.
i’m glad you see things my way but, in order to do that, i had to let the fire i was feeling die down, and consider the fact that, when I saw AOC on TV, i didn’t want to watch her forever, which might’ve meant (i guess) that my feelings had been allowed to simmer given the auspices of reality—and the fact that, as a medicated schizophrenic, i didn’t think she was speaking to me through the TV. (if I did think she was speaking to me through the TV, then i probably would have become increasingly frustrated and angry that she never appeared in my life—on impossible time scales and despite my disabilities).