Where—oh, where, do we go from here? I had to bring myself back to reality; the stats (so far) were in, and Alexandria was trailing Gavin Newsom (the governor of California) and Kamala Harris (the former Vice President and presidential nominee) by a margin of approximately nine percent. That was real downer for me, because I’d started to let myself believe that we really were going to have free healthcare in this country by the end of the decade. It might sound farfetched, considering all the red states in this country, even though they, incidentally, might’ve needed it as much or more than anybody, but I was hoping, with reason, for a democratic congress.
Alexandria, however, had a good voice for telepathic communications—you could really hear it when you projected it in your head, and, furthermore, I was still into her, so i didn’t see any reason for me to quit using her voice. I would just have to make room for the next president’s voice in my conversations. But make no bones about it—no matter how much as I was going to vote for the democratic nominee, I was going to vote for Alexandria in the primary.
You don’t want to share this burden with me; (I don’t know what you’re on about). So long as i had people looking after me, and I was being both good and fair to other people—and I was able to pursue my studies and my creative endeavors, then, well, i didn’t see this life as a burden, and i don’t think that anybody felt that i was their burden either. this life—however, can be a burden, especially when your government doesn’t look after you—and caters to the wealthy and or the upper middle class instead. You don’t want me—my eyes would pop-out if you put your hands around my neck; that’s something you must never do. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something that you didn’t want to do,” and, frankly, considering my sexuality, or, more specifically, the lack thereof, i didn’t see myself getting carried away no matter how much sildenafil I took, so I wasn’t too worried about that—and i told this woman—whoever this woman is, Alexandria or the woman behind her, as much.
Now you’re talking: that was Desi, stepping out from behind Alexandria, and, to be honest, I knew Desi was from the future, but I didn’t know if she was a woman or not. I had to consider, too, that she represented a woman here and now—if not herself. Then there was another possibility: Alexandria represented another woman, and Desi represented Alexandria, who, for the time being, changed her tack—such that, well, we might’ve been friends, I don’t know. But all of that sounded too complicated, and I couldn’t help but think, right here, right now, that Desi can represent someone for the future or herself—or an unknown woman that was behind her. I thought it was too complicated, however, for Desi to represent Alexandria, unless, somehow, that was Alexandria’s temporary way of saying we could be friends—but not (necessarily) two lovers bound by our orphan, AOC, our woman in the future.
What was my plan? Well, I considered the message point taken, but i wasn’t going to start using Desi’s voice to talk to Alex—no, I was going to use Alex’s voice to talk to Alex, and Desi’s voice to talk to Desi—and or the women and or men, that Desi represented. Which raised an interesting question: does a person, in general, also represent other people and or the area in which you spend most of your time? It seemed plausible to me—because, as I might have mentioned, every person has a background, and every background, eventually, leads to specific person. It’s all about how we interact with the background and or that which is outside of us but which, nevertheless, connects us to others that were also a part of that background. You just had to keep narrowing things down, over time, and you could get some sense, eventually, that you and Van Gogh, for example, might’ve shared something through the contrast between inside and outside backgrounds and experiences.
Then i saw RFK Jr a man that was dismantling the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, in my mind’s eye, and i heard his voice. Usually when someone i wouldn’t like appears in my mind’s eye, they actually represent a good guy and or a part of myself that I had yet to reclaim—out of fear of shame. I also knew that AOC and I were packaging some of our messages with unattractive but not invasive imagery—imagery that someone else might drown out with a bag of potato chips, but that, in the long run, actually protected and represented something that I wanted or that other people might like to know. Given the context, I took that to mean that the person in the future—the distant future, an orphan in their own right, Desi, was actually a man.
This person, who I shall continue, for now, to call Desi (even if Desi also represented Desi) would potentially be a key asset to my telepathic communications.