I am feeling inspired, enough to write you.  But what was she saying?  Given the way i had just used the word, inspired, i.e., with respect to sexual activity, I wondered: when she said she was going to write me, did she mean she was going to engage in sexual activity?  Did feeling inspired mean that something had changed—and, therefore, I might need to respond, in kind?  The sexual freedom i had recovered, and was accepting, if i hadn’t accepted it already, left me imagining various scenarios with my Swedish blond—but, honestly, i was hoping to effectively sublimate those feelings, at least for a few days at a time, because, for one thing, my Swedish blond wasn’t here, and, for another, i didn’t want to run out of inspiration in the first place—which happens, after a while, especially if you don’t ever watch pornography, something i gave up, years ago.

     I was backing off painting a little: for the past three months or so i’d been cranking out two paintings a day, which is a lot by any standard.  In fact, one painting a day put me ahead, given a good lifespan, of most of my esteemed colleagues, and, because I was entertaining a lot of math and physics ideas—as well as my imaginations on how eternal life might work—I saw no reason not to settle down a little.  I certainly didn’t want to burn out, which was unlikely, but possible, if, that is, i didn’t listen to how things were, and should, naturally take shape.  The bottom line was: what else am i going to do?  I’d burn out on something else if i didn’t spend part of my day painting, and i’d burn out on painting if i neglected the thoughts that were coming to the surface, and being formulated in this my writing.  Because of all the physics questions of late, i’d also backed away from composing music and songs; composing music was cool, when I had the time, and if I stuck with it, a little at a time, consistently, i could still produce a decent amount of work, if that turned out to be important to me, but it wasn’t, in my mind, the most useful way for me to express myself—however so much it might be, in the future.

     I considered the following: if Ursula begins to tell me specific things about her day, then how do i know, at any point, that happened?  That is to say, i could meet someone, and they might not, in 4D have actually done what they said, ever, and, well, there is not necessarily any reason to think that they would, in the future.  So that raises two possibilities: there is another Ursula that did do whatever that was; or this 4D Ursula is passing on something that her 5D self has done at some point in her infinite lifetime.  But how would that work?  When i talk into the bulk, i resonate with the 5D Ursula, even if my specific question is not heard directly, and i get, ultimately, my 4D response.  Now, my 4D Ursula might not hear my question consciously—literally; it might take place unconsciously.  So I considered: if I asked her what she ate that day, for example, and she replied, i might be connected to the 5D Ursula, and what she ate, over some infinite period.  Then the exact person that I am, at the moment that I asked, would be connected to that exact period, and, as such, my 4D Ursula’s unconscious response could be a reflection of that: a response, at that moment in time, that relates specifically to my 4D Ursula at that same moment of time—in some translated form or another.  So, I concluded, asking a question did not necessarily promise a straight forward answer—the response could come from a superposition of 5D states that reflect my 4D Ursula’s state—and it wouldn’t necessarily go to follow that my 4D Ursula had actually done what her 5D self, according to my beliefs, most certainly did.

     I have the first eight verses of “Chevy Chase” memorized now, and i’m thinking of moving on to the next eight; hopefully, by the time i learn the next eight, i won’t have forgotten the first eight.  I found myself highly disturbed yesterday and into last night: i was unable to watch TV, and I was unable to be still—I was in and out of the shower, etc.  I actually got so perturbed that i got careless walking into the bathroom and fell on my backside, hurting my foot a little in the fall.  I thought, “it’s a good thing i’m not older, or could have broken a hip,” and i chastised myself for being so careless—and for allowing myself to end up in this state in the first place.  So I took a milligram of risperidone—i’d already taken my 80 mg of Lurasidone—and an extra trazone pill, and, luckily, i was able, to get to sleep, although it was a little late for me.