this is Ursula  holding on, now, to repressed parts of me?  like what?  solving the Riemann hypothesis? which wasn’t even the main objective—the main objective was to use the hypothesis to prove or argue in favor the afterlife and the possibilities of contact with the dead.  what about writing triple notes for the piano?  Scales?  the sky was the limit—but what could music do for me existentially?  Granted, my newfangled experience was coupling with the way i write—but what did it have to do with philosophy, physics, and, most importantly, the future?  i felt the ground shifting a little—i was changing, perhaps, in part, with the reduction of Lexapro—i was a few days in, now, so part of it should have been leaving my system.  May have been getting  a few more erections at night—but no feeling of desire; no chance at orgasm; no chance of invoking an erection—nothing much had really changed.  I needed to get off the Lexapro completely, and, because of my faith, I didn’t feel so drawn to oblivion; on the contrary i was motivated to learn as much as i could, and take it with me, in the life to come.  i needed, to be clear, to get off the risperidone, or, for the time being, at least, cut the dose in half.  But I wouldn’t be able to do that without working with my doctor, which wouldn’t happen for another five weeks.

     Working on Zoom which is an app that lets you see and talk to each other through your screens; it was important—and i was the only person that could do it—and i was worked up, i had all this restless energy from being out of my routine and doing something that was similar to what we do in telepathic communications.  but who was i talking to right now?  i suppose the best way to talk to multiple people in a meeting is to intone my voice on the consonants and the vowels at the same time and wait for different voices to sound off, but I wasn’t interested in that right now—I wanted to talk to Ursula.  pass me the mic  so she wanted to speak to everybody that i was connected to?  if that was what she wanted then fine; i would listen for other voices too, so i did, right then, which, well, if she had the mic, then i should be projecting her voice alone, right?  On both the consonants and vowels.  So I did that.

    tuning into Ursula, now, still using our passwords to signal that we were “online.”  you think you love me  was she gaslighting me like my last girlfriend did?  trying to tell me that I’m a closet case that needs to do some soul searching because, well, I didn’t want to have sex with her until she lost all that weight—and, because, of course, she was standoffish, didn’t take care of herself, and, perhaps most of all, she had no patience for a man that is impotent?  it’s a relief, actually, that I didn’t have sex with her—she proved herself beneath me.  suddenly my mind went haywire, as I listened in, and I couldn’t help but worry about many of my canvases having not shipped yet—and when I should go online and torture myself trying to figure out what is wrong and when i can expect them to ship.  I interpret that, in this context, as me worrying about whether or not I’ll be able to get Ursula pregnant before she hits menopause.

    day 1: 5 mg instead of 10 mg of Lexapro.  Known to cause constipation and force sexual side-effects, such as not being about to have an orgasm, which, as a man, once, would have been difficult to imagine.  so what was changing?  Well we were only about five hours into it, but over the past few days we’d added bottled green tea into the rotation—something to slow down the escalating water and Dr. Pepper drinking.  Am at 3 cans of Dr. Pepper; need to be at 2, i think (for my teeth).  several cans of water a day was just getting expensive—and, anyhow, i didn’t want to depend on it.  I needed to be able to work without the constant stimulation of the back of my throat—forcing out dopamine, that, honestly, was probably getting blocked, in large part, by the risperidone.  But let’s get real: at one time i might have had interesting thoughts—but I couldn’t control them, and they usually involved getting persecuted by some hateful reality of people that were constantly dumping their back on me.

    risperidone love me, and risperidone love me not; she loves me, and, therefore, risperidone does not—unless a miracle happened, such as seeing you seeing me; how you channel your desire—making a weapon out of it, something you can use to bludgeon your mate into submission—my genes, my way.  but you have your genes, too; very funny, Ursula, but what would you say if i told you that, in the future, long, long into the future, my kin and kind would be unisexual—getting themselves pregnant, so their genes can rule, and, well, “that’s my whole reason to get you in bed—to make you want it so bad you do whatever i say.  raise the kids how i see fit—that kind of thing.  so risperidone—stuck with you for another six weeks, at least.  Maybe she’ll keep me on it?  Because of the antipsychotic potency?  there must be another way.