Installed, chapter 11

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    And as I walk to my grave, thinking about these fairies, pixies, and radio flies.  I met.  I feel enchanted.  I feel that I have lived.  That I was here.  Here.  And it has already happened.  Moreso, for I had love in Heaven, very evocative city living, in Alberta, for long enough to learn I am already in love and I met you through someone else before I knew you.

    Who met you through someone else before they knew you.

    And they, both being Poets and Scholars, one casually and one formally (for which is which you can decide), they entered a romance quite like any other.  With a Pink and Neon flare.  And they both went to work like flamers.  And they both went to Sev like gamers.

    Like space invaders.

    Mercenaries.

    To opt-in for defense training.

    But Hakon stayed out of it, he had only ever hit a man once, and he would probably never do that again.

    That's so Christian, said a deviled thought.

    "To have?"

    "To have never hurt anyone."

    "As though that's possible."

    "Wherefore thou Art,

in decimals and (it's about being beyond the pleasure principle.  You don't do things because they give you pleasure, you are so motivated and accustomed to higher pleasures that you forget in numbers greater than mine these lower pleasures of which we all have access together) and where Logic has not traipsed we find our Serendipity in one another.  It is beyond Love and Nyclepi, for it is far more advanced, and we raise each other's status, in emotions that amaze us.

Wherefore thou Art,

in language, and in grammar.  Return to me for what I have spoken.  Multiply the Strength of my Voice and turn us all into carebears.  For my Idealism is pure and we can accomplish more together than apart.  Never turn away from me again.

    Torn away from me, a Pearl of accomplishments, by a rough and be-gay cuckooborough."

    "You mean a smooth pizza bite."

    "A pizza bite is never smooth."

    "Then I won't bite you directly.  Like a Vampire.  But I will en-fang your inner thoughts with magic as an ohhgunnhisthth."

    "My favorite, for it is taken from me, a rough and be-gay cuckooborough."

    "For you baby I can be your favorite or your least favorite; don't make me mad, or you'll catch a talon."

    "I won't," he said, and smiled.

    And so being about the Pleasure Principal and Beyond I also walk toward my Fate Worse Than Death, and the time I walk toward these two possibilities fluctuates so that I am afraid of both simultaneously Dying, and Worse Than Dying.  Like not meeting him.  I doubt it.  And then I do not.  And then I wonder why doubting it was a beauty at that point.  And then I don't see it as a beauty at that point, but an error to be corrected.  Unless you actually consider him without me.  We are both beautiful together and I want to live in that beauty.  Beauty is ageless.  Unless you mean the Ages.  Then it is Civilisation and the Ages.  Not Beautiful, or At that point I ask, how am I a part of civilisation?  Installed, the first word that came to my mind.  We will install ourselves as drama queens and live forever in that depression.  The actual ability to express emotions.  Installed, like I was part of civilisation because it took some time for me.  And I took some time for it.

    "We are one another," it explained, "you have your cultures, and you have your religions, and the Christianna is among them, no matter how famous it gets, because it sees us all walking toward death and walking toward worse than death and between these poles, not extremes but of Consciousness and Awareness they to have been examples of how we forge virtues that serve to ward us of these evils that lead to worse than death, we may not fear death for our virtues already greatly exceed the existence of worse than death.  But that's only because we're here."

    "You're saying that I am worse than death, and in spirit shared I am greater because you are present, and you are not worse than death by any means."

    "Yes."

    "That is foul.  For you have pressured me to see myself as worse than death.  But after contemplating it I suppose it's both a death and a fate worse than death.  Even for the reason that you have said it it is mine.  They balance one another.  But which will you have first!  Ah, to see it.  Death!  Just come by me in absence of pain.  Or will I suffer humiliating losses and die like an old hermit?  I just wish worse than death had not existed but for this we have suffered to understand this wisdom.  We can produce the fate worse than death in the modern chemical world, where pain and suffering are inflicted, and so we need great care to balance Christian death logic with Christiannan worse-than-death logic.  It means we go against our instinct to be crucified saviors in honor of Jesus Christ.  To never bend or break to pressure to let one another suffer.  Even if it hurts ourselves.  At times when we do and at times when Wisdom points to it not.  It is our wisest, highest presumption that I have produced a religious attitude and cultural opinion that points something out about Christianity: that whether Jesus suffered the fate worse than death before he died, was up to his relationship with God in heaven, Angels, and the state he left humanity in before he died."

    "Sugar me with that anti-Christian Form, you crazy Christiannan bitch.  I'm feeling pussy."

    "That's what God said about Jesus when he walked the Earth."

    "That's what I said about me when I walked the Earth."

    "Get over here you seahorse."

    "Seahorse does not walk.  Seahorse does swims."

    "Yes he does."

    "And sexy little witches everywhere.  Dancing-like-a-robot (a gay robot) my Aboriginal name.  Remember the slant!"

    "Bitch, yea."

Installed, chapter 10

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    He paints his nails, this new boyfriend of mine.  Not black.  But between black and indigo.  He is strong.  But mostly fluent in English.  It never becomes about who can physically dominate the other.  But he is tough, like a dragon.  His whispers on my eardrums.

    A dragon and a human.  This is a special category because he is a fairy.  The result is he is a fairy dragon.  A rare creature for its blood is transparent and it can hover four meters above the ground with ease.

    He installed the clown engine for me one day.

    What a guy.  I felt so assured I wrote a diary entry.

    November.  2020.

    It's getting better.  Today I had chicken wings.  With ranch.

    My facial hair has grown out.  For Movember.  I look like a man.

    I dance and I feel good and I keep dancing.

    I remember when I learned I was an artist.  I felt beautiful that day.

    

    I have so many memories that are all like gems.  All the writing I did.  That's how I learned advanced English.

    Advanced English.

    It was merrily typing so much.  About Love and not Honor.  Not Honor is what we don't owe to one another.  For I do not owe this to you.  I give it to you because I am kind.  And Kindness and Intelligence are two fierce combatants for they are giving.  I have much of either.  For I have learned and struggled.  You always say I go too far, I go there, the place where I am over my limit but I try to push limits.

    Number 5 helped me push my limits because he was so good at it and subtle.

    I thrived in his presence, a mystery to myself again in a way that I found character and acted on it.  Usually appearing female, I was my true old self.  She grew beautifully with age and in confidence; I grew in such a way as for my female side to have loads of confidence.  She knew exactly what to say to children to make them feel good or better.  And the way she viewed everyone was as a mother, primarily, but raised by a father whose goodness was as much as his mother's and so he acted fatherly and motherly together this way.  And with a species of five genders or more, finally my clown car left the airport with three balloons inside and two drivers making shifting remarks at one another over two steering wheels.

    "Like this," said his dragon boy pixie, posing, "just us two.  At once."

    "I feel posed when you do because you're so beautiful."

    "Aw, thanks," he said, "you're reading ufology?"

    "I don't understand shoot-from-the-hip comments."

    "But you got that it was that?"

    "What‽"

    "I'm an alien!  Nevermind.  What are you doing?"

    "I'm watching T.v. there's Vauthrils on."

    "Vauthrils.  What are those again?"

    "They're like . . . anti-gravity dino-turkey giants with sharp fangs and lasers."

    "Okay, whatever," he slid on to the couch next to him, like an anti-gravity dino-turkey giant with sharp fangs and lasers.

    "You look, divided between the Earth and the Sky.  Will you not, shoot a solution to this difference.  That I will try to catch up to you and learn all of your dispositions."

    "I doubt you can learn all of them.  But I am divided.  This is one disposition.  The others are unlike it because it is, to have a proper, mathematic definition, to separate or separate into parts, break up; this is a disposition among other dispositions.  Like Celcius.  And Degrees."

    "Your temperature is it divided or undivided?"

    "Undivided, I'd say.  Do I have your attention?"

    And he pulled him in close to give him attention.  A kiss to the forehead.

    He closed his eyes.

    "I wanted that too," said Hakon after a moment's past.  Opening his eyes, there was golden sunlight that had settled on their living room floor and in their eyes.

    Neither one shivered.

    As dead to the bone.

    And neither one spoke.

    As said through the cone.

    For passing thoughts,

    this one required definition.

    Through-the-cone is a superiority complex, a competition.

    It feels through-the-cone when they speak like they are superior, by definition.

    Or their viewpoint is skewed.  In their favour.

    Or the hyper-real through-the-cone a metaphor for a Canadian pinecone of English enthusiasts, nuts, or seeds, and computer frays in an academic setting.  Logically connected through fire, the only thing that opens a pinecone and spreads all the seeds.  Fire the metaphor for creative logic.  For creative is not logic, not always!  

    And they spoke, creative in influence to one another, like this.

    Almost every day.

    Until they made stories for one another and became each others' characters.  Glorious or Outrageous it was said to be both.  But his dragon always had the advantage.  Glorious.  Black.  Dragon.  With Purple.  How could it be any more outrageous than this?

    But they balanced each other, seemingly counterintuitively, and they both took notice.

    

    It helped them develop as adults.  They became powerfully dramatic with one another and acted out to family members in varying degrees of potency and clout in order to test their loyalty to the gay cause.  It made them popular and they received many gifts.

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Installed, chapter 9

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   A soliloquy is not overheard except by the person who speaks it and God.  But in theatre we overhear soliloquy as an audience.

    "Behold the Mountain of Bu.  The one with color options.  For in colors there is power.  Black, the sky.  His object is flat.  To prove to you he is a man though feminine in calculation."

    A calculatrice.

    Too smart to be emo.

    Emo being a feminist subject here.

    I am her darkness, a quadrant.

    She sees my muscles flex.

    Then she takes off her glasses and kisses me.  Or he does, I should say for with glasses off he instantly shifts in the gender fluidity scale.

    Though she goes back to her soliloquy I have imagined here.  And I am not heard from until I learned a fact, about anything.  And that once I had learned it I would teach it to her.

    So I say, to myself, I will learn.

    And I go.

    Of all the choices what will that one lesson be?  For her?  A person that ostensibly knows everything compared to me.  I will teach her to be happy with me again for I want too to be taught to be happy with you every day.  It is the best course of action.  The most sure.  It makes me laugh.  I know its course.  And she never asks me to learn anything other than this, and never asks again.

    But I learn things for her, anyway, because I'm hooked and she's got me.

    "Vampire logic," she tells me, "don't trust it.  I can't have what I want partially because evil exists in this world."

    I go away and come back.

    "Vampires are a metaphor of abuse.  Their logic?  Feed.  So what do I do?  I can exercise but I'd rather outsmart them.  How can I outsmart them?"

    "Concentrated evil is a potent substance.  Whom 'it in when' moderation it focuses abuse, for seeing, it causes an inability to focus, and we understand.  Teach yourself to use it."

    "But I want you to teach me."

    "Start with a drop of blood from a feather.  Write, deeply felt.  I did."

    "Whenever you tell me to write like that I feel a fool for you could believe I was able."

    "Satan's ohhgunnhisthth was able.  Start with a drop of blood again."

    "This magic, it's worse than vampires.  I remember I told you this once before."

    "Yes, you did.  Just the kind of useless, made up information I need to use up all my memory space."

    "You can't use up all of your memory space it doesn't work that way."

    Vampire logic aside, the true challenge between them was to be scientifically accurate.

    "Pi is a long number."

    "It doesn't have an end."

    "How do we know that?"

    "Maybe we don't."

    "Yea, because we can't write the whole thing out because we don't have enough time to so how can we tell if it goes on forever or not."

    "It's like a metaphor for that."

    "It's not a metaphor it is just a fact."

    "Metaphors are facts."

    "Are they?"

    "Yes."

    "How?"

    "They tell us something is something else."

    "How is that a fact?"

    "Maybe it is not?"

    "Yea, you can't say something is something else is a fact because they are not each other.  It just is not a fact.  Metaphors are not facts."

    "Metaphors are not facts.  What about as emphasis, they tell us how one another feel and how we feel is a fact."

    "So you feel metaphor because you are something else?"

    "Oh, you think I'm something else.  That's kind."

    "Yes . . ." he admitted, shaking his head,"I mean is a metaphor because you feel you are something else because something else is something else?"

    "Then it's a fact."

    "Why?"

    "Because if you are something else because something else is something else then that causal relationship is the fact of the metaphor."

    "What if there is no causal relationship and something is not something else because you are something else, and so it is just that you say one thing is another which they are not.  Obviously.  And so metaphor is never a fact.   Something is not something else just because you say it is."

    "But it's a fact that you say it is?"

    "Metaphor is never a fact.  Saying one thing is another doesn't make it a fact."

    "But it is a fact in the mind of the person that created it."

    "That it exists.  Not that it means anything."

    "It does mean something.  That's why it was said."

    "But a fact isn't said because it is a fact; it is said because I feel like saying it."

    "That's what metaphors are for.  And those feelings, those are facts.  Express them however you want."

    "So metaphors are facts, I think."

    "It's a fact that someone feels that way."

    "Why would someone feel that way?"

    "What way?  Specifically?"

    "Like a butterfly is a diamond."

    "Not 'like'.  That's a simile.  The butterfly is a diamond because its genetic sequence: precious, unique, allows it to be special—as special as a diamond."

    "No, a butterfly is not a diamond."

    "Well it's a fact that in my opinion it is."

    "No, a butterfly is a root.  It's value will increase as we genetically enhance or modify them and add cybernetic advancements to their whole species."

    "So it's a fact that you think so."

    "Okay, okay, maybe it is a fact that an emotion or an opinion represented as a metaphor is a fact.  But metaphors do not need to be about emotions or opinions.  And so they do not need to be facts."

    "I see.  You may be right.  What is a metaphor not used to represent an emotion or opinion?"

    "I can think of no example."

    "Me neither."

    "So maybe metaphors are always facts."

    "And so why would you feel a certain way or have an opinion that you represented as a metaphor?"

    "It depends on the metaphor."

    "Well, no, just speak to me generally about it."

    "Okay.  A metaphor is a feeling related to how you would join two things."

    "Why?"

    "When you join two things to make a new meaning, you say one thing is another because the feeling you get from combining them is factually how you feel.  And if you think of an opinion about how you feel you can represent it in a metaphor.  And so feelings and opinions are, at the deepest level, metaphors because we feel a certain way about one thing changing to another.  Especially ourselves.  These can be quite large ideas about society and economic systems."

    "Society is an emo."

    "Ya but economic systems aren't."

    "I have an opinion about what an emo is."

    "We're both emos.  Get over it."

    "I can't.  That's why I'm emo.  No, hear me out.  I have an argument for why emos never tell why they need to share the moment they got over it again and again so they can get over it for real but they cannot so they always talk about it like I just did.  So I guess I am not not an emo and I just proved it.  And I was meaning to."

    "Is that your opinion?"

    "No, I mean, it could be.  Do you think it should be?"

    "Maybe."

    "How would we find out?"

    "Meet some good emos.  I know one who is writing this right now."

    "Weird."

    "Ya."

    "So we're not the only emos out there."

    "I guess not.  I mean it's post-WWII."

    "But we're super smart and I'm a genius."

    "You're not a genius you have no details about facts and examples."

    "Excuse me what was our whole conversation about: facts and examples."

    "Yea well call me when you remember the Statistics or the Scientific discovery of Uranium."

    "I don't need to know facts like that."

    "Everyone needs to know facts like that."

    "But I have metaphors.  What's a good scientific discovery without a metaphor involved?  Cake by the ocean my friend!"

    "Oh so now I'm in the friend zone because you can't remember pi to fourteen places like I can?"

    "You know with all your bantering I feel anxiety about being smart like you.  If you were smart you would not cause me anxiety."

    Theirs was such a relationship of the Intellect, not outmatched sophistication that Hakon's feminine side came out, completely.  He was not afraid in public anymore.  An Emo-feminist minimalist.

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Installed, chapter 8

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For my Darcimus,

    It was a blessing what happened ill, to me for the light that is suspended before me is so bright that ever it shone.

    If I had not a mental illness I would never have found paradise.  Better than utopia for here I learned that with a risk involved, propelling me on to ever more complex dystopian mechanisms, I grow in the only way I know how.  Through love.

    But these, boyfriend, through installation are more dangerous than dystopia.  Virtues beyond love, that ever having been dreamt had begun to be said.

    The other one.  Dead.  Might as well be.  In the throes of virulent corruption of his—bitterly hostile manner.

    And the new one.

    They were Calicoes together.

    They were slanted.

    "Everything has a slant in the middle of it.  Especially two cats."

    "A slant is just another way to look at something with a slant in it."

    This was an older home, with a yellow crochet blanket on the back of the living room couch facing the street.  It was not Sisson Fur.  But it was home.  The man who lived there with him was so gentlemanly and charming that Hakon remembered what he was wearing in specific layers.

    "Our environments.  Just layers of digital imagery that our slants trail out our Red Hering, Red Deer, or Red Dove."

    "What a slant wouldn't have been there not had I been there."

    "This is the hardest one for me, because you are so kind.  I feel boring.  I want to entertain you but you're already enjoying yourself.  What do I have, to add to your company?"

    "Be yourself, Hakon.  I like you for it," he said, "and if you don't know how much I like you for it well let me show you again."

    They kissed romantically as he held Hakon.  Then he went to work.  Hakon stayed home, cleaning and organizing the house all day.  He picked out a movie for them to watch.  And he walked to the grocery store to buy a lemon meringue pie.

    When he returned home, he put the pie in the refrigerator and started making dinner.  Culturally, he was a global citizen.  They both had ancestry in Europe and Canada however experimentalist with his own tradition, Hakon practiced Scottish–Canadian and Aboriginal heritage through study and performance of his religion, the Christianna.

    God proved to me that I believe in Him.  Or Her.  Or It.

    Whatever

    I pray,

    guide me from death

lose and gain me from Art

and trust me to lead others.

    Sometimes, one prays through writing.

    Though he was happy enough to prepare conversations.

    I want to talk about aliens, maybe, and other civilisations.  Intersectionality of cyborgs and androids.  Hmm, I had a good one earlier.  Maybe it will come back to me when I need it.  I wonder what we will listen to.

    The relationship posed a challenge to him, however, for he was insecure, in part, being impressed so much by his lover.  He had to remind himself he was loved, not hated, because being loved by someone consumed all the things he hated about himself.  Where he could not love himself his partner could.  It did more than nurture him, for was his odyssey to realize to have an own character distinguishable from an abstract concept was his gift.  And, in specific ways they reminded each other it was their gift, not soley from one to the other but shared and that was the nature of their love.  Without Hakon, his behavior was empty, for Hakon gave back as much as he took and it was this they sought for him to realize.

    Remember there is a slant in this character I call a boyfriend.  He is real, you see.  And being real and having a slant in it as he did, Hakon became forever interested in things as they are.

    He bloomed.  He was not a flower so how did he bloom?  I'll tell you.  He had learned how to share from his blue charmer.  His Red Dove.  And Darcimus, seeing a pearl the size of Texas emerging from the clam.

    He stood between the hallway and the door.  He was a detective.  Pansexual.  Troy Sivan was playing.  Hakon looked at him uncaught.  He was playing.  The detective paced around the room.  He took his hat from his head.

    "Why am I wearing your hat," he said.

    "You mean I'm a better detective than you?  What might I find?"

    "Sit down over here and I'll tell you."

    He did.

    A silence befell them.

    And then he said, "Do you ever feel like you're making an example to everyone.  And you know it feels great to be friendly?"

    "Yes all the time especially telepathically."

    "Then you are hyper-creative, because you think through all those relationships before you play with them, that's wise.  But it's probably because you didn't have enough friends to stop you overthinking their relationships with you.  That's why you think you're telepathic."

    "Probably.  But I can't stop having them.  So I just pretend they are real.  Give in to it.  Who knows.  They may be right."

    "You put that to me strangely—'having them'—like it were sexual or involved."

    "By having them I mean thinking them."

    "Yes.  I see.  Who are you thinking about right now?"

    "So many people."

    "Do they say anything?"

    "All the time.  Except when I speak.  Then they—"

    "See you're just desperate for friends that's why you make them up in your head.  And you're so creative they speak to you.  Like a true genius."

    "I also wanted to write something for you.  And my family.

 Darcimus, what are you of?

    Teach me."

    "Reflection."    "Pleasure Principle."

    "Pleasure Principle."

    "Reflection and Pleasure Principle as virtues together hold great merit for humanity."

    "I know when you told me you had a mental illness I could not really tell but you told me it was like that."

    "Yes."

    "I see virtues beyond imagining in you."

    "Yes."

    "I know."

    "I know, right?  Keep them alive with me."

    "I will."

    "You have virtues too, you know," said Hakon, "Reflection.  Pleasure Principle.  How those two coexist."

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Installed, chapter 7

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    Blue!

    Virtuous Blue!

    A cerebral current.

    Lazy river.

    "To cool off."

    They moved into a house together.  The virtue of the same reciprocal blue is not a known virtue.  White in blue intellect together it means they recognized each other's saddest emotions, and beauty therein a problem: for they did not think sad emotions were supposed to be pretty.  Where had they one wrong?  Where they could feel in other colors they knew not, for that is how tightly blue clasps us; this is its Blue Dimension.  To hold only Blue as deep as it goes.

    To hold other colors, a sparkling fancy in an ocean, they realized, they were blue together and they needed tight friendship and connection to heal the emotions they shared.

    But they were not sad sometimes because their blue virtue, the one that they shared that allowed them to speak.  To know each other this way, led them on to other virtues the triviality of which, the fancy of its accentuation like the clues under water they had already trampled over.

    They decorated together.  They ate together, and told funny stories all night about other suitors whose femininity was right in front of you the whole time.

    He was like, "that's my computer; it plays music.  Dorian Electra, Grimes.  You choose.

    And I was like, "Grimes."

    "Sure."

    So Grimes starts playing and I move the living room table out of the way.  And I just dance right there.  And he comes up behind me like a muscle man, cradling my dance moves with his.

    Identity, in short.

    The virtue of Identity around strewn positive images and collectibles.  An identity I always wanted.

    Then Care and Attention.

    Reciprocal.

    Intersectionality.

    Blue, to be two blue humans.

    Our jewellry is blue.

    We sustain each other through language.

    "Why?" she finally said.

    "We both like each other.  It is clear."

    "We do.  We recognize each other's emotions."

    "No wonder we're both blue.  We haven't shared like this before."

    "We are both quite deep."

    "No wonder we needed each other's attention."

    But who had the most depth?  Their relationship developed around the competition of said fact.  Then one moral excuse here.  One moral excuse there.  A revisited reciprocity.  They shared the excitement of pressing one another on to reveal most deep secrets.

    Then they found out.  Hakon's were deeper because they were even touched on what they were and were not, that he could explain them better without his rival even realizing what they were.

    The deepest voice therein was let.  It said nothing, but a moment's pause on its existence brought to question how it would speak.  But it had.  Without saying anything.

    A blue voice, in case you didn't know.

    They wrote each other poems and reflected on them together.  Blue, like a reflective prism in which values are stored, each uniquely stored.  And they lived together like that.  Collecting values.  For as soon as they would leave their home, their blue charm emerged they from its depths and that charm stayed with them through all their days together and apart.

    He's in a stasis field, they thought whenever they were home together.

    A Blue stasis field.

    "Let's be blue clowns together."

    A Blue Dimension.  They would find other Colors of Dimensions together but first they had to solve the Blue Dimension.  "Love is a bird, she needs to fly, let all the hurt inside of you die," says Madonna.

    A place for letting pain die.

    Behold they spoke Lore to one another.  Hi, how are you?  Are you okay today?  And they watched the funniest myths taking place and wrote their own implausible scenarios, "keep acting them out."  Under the guidance of Hakon Borgen.

    "Are you mything me right now?"

    "I'm not mything anybody sir."

    "I'm right here."

    "Ya you are.  I'm not mything you you're right here."

    "But you myth something about me."

    "Don't I do."

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