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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