I’m getting old, here.  but a lot could happen in a few years—and i wondered: when the country finally did up and change—would i lose my edge?  What would I work on if I was so happy?  But it occurred to me: clean up the country and there will be less telepathic static, so I’ll be able to see much father into the future, and adapt, accordingly, effectively bringing the future, at least in part, to us a little quicker—and my fame, then, would grow exponentially.  Wouldn’t it?  I so wanted to be famous.  I wanted the power to change the world.  To look, deeply, into the future, and the afterlife; to be at one with those living in the fifth dimension—to merge, such that, I ask: would I, then, need to die?  What if I could conquer death?  Well, i wondered if it was possible; I imagined that alien life was already there.

     Once the sheer weight of the presidency was lifted from my shoulders, nothing much, in my day to day routine, was bound to change.  You might think that I, for example, would look in the mirror and think:  “Damn, I’m me!”  I did that in small amounts, increments that, basically, were infinitesimal units of change, that, when integrated, basically left me where I was before:  in a state of unadulterated drive—to go beyond the presidency; to go beyond everything; to be the greatest artist that ever lived: and, once in the afterlife, to do more—to continue, down to the finest infinitesimal detail, waxing closer to my God, a woman, or a series of women, that spoke the language of love.

     it’s not a manifesto—I didn’t threaten anybody  indeed, the wires got crossed there.  Actually, my default narrator said that about me, about us, me and him; then I repeated it in Ursula’s voice because I didn’t know if the statement came from an email getting unpacked out of my neck and shoulders, or if, on the other hand, I was trying to tell her, specifically, that I never threatened anybody when I write.  At least not physically.  But, truth be told, I set traps for people to fall into all the time—I was practically setting traps nonstop—I did it simultaneously whenever I did pretty much anything.  That doesn’t mean that, in my past, I made mistakes and got things a little haywire; but people, in general, know that we’re not perfect—and what counts is whether or not you vacated your bad self and accepted the help of other people; in other words, did you get your mind right, and, at this point, do you love both yourself and others?  Did you repent?  Did you have a change of mind?

    here i was, then, back at it, switching to a four count breathing mechanism—chanting, using the passwords, etc.  Don’t know, exactly, if i want to pick right up where we left off, because, as it happens, I’ve come to realize that when Ursula looks at me like I’m weird—she’s doing that because, well, I tried for months to get her to ignore her boyfriend and agree to an affair with me.  I quit doing that once I realized that I’m already her man—and because of that, a physical relationship already existed.  But, of course, she thought that was weird, too, so what can I do?  Just be yourself  something that people used to say to me, growing up; but I couldn’t be myself, back then, because, at the time, it was not acceptable or even safe to be LGBTQ—since I hailed, of course, from the states of Utah and North Carolina—both proud members of the Jack Daniels fan club.  Overall, cruel, small-minded racists that thought of nothing but themselves.  But it was more than being LGBTQ.  I’ve turned out to be a remarkable artist, with talents that most people would denigrate if I’d put it all out there, as if I deserved to be treated as if I was special, when, in fact, I didn’t have the product to back up the talent, and, mind you, that talent was hidden, even from me—it was stashed in there with that LGBTQ person—and, for a long time, because of that, I didn’t have access to it.  If I tried to protest the direction my  life appeared to be taking, then I would have been ridiculed.