Installed index
I walked to the corner store. I was wearing awful clothing. It was from Costco. There was an axolotl male human. He was cute. I at that moment lost my clown prop. The clown engine that had a joke in it that I carry with me everywhere. He was a black instance. Creativity in his eyes. Purpose. Being. And what a dresser! I turned.
He looked at me. Our eyes met. Black instance. I watched him. Gay Frankenstein. I think he let me watch him.
He did something.
What did he do, I thought. Several delusions later, I looked at him again. Where had I been looking while I had my delusion? Had I been looking at him? Had he been looking at me? What did I do? Did he see me, or see that it was creepy? What was creepy? I couldn't remember. Maybe I was looking somewhere else. An Opportunity. And Time. What I really want.
I said nothing. He was buying. He was wearing a black hat. Then I found myself with my mouth open. I was not visible. Yet.
—He was turning around—
Our eyes met again.
Clear. There were no problems. We broke eye contact. He manouvred around me and left the store.
He was handsome.
I am too.
I walked home and I realized that was enough for me. I liked it. I had sexual satisfaction with it. A glory to my heartdreams and I was not a greedy bitch. I wanted more. But not right now. That was how I knew.
The reason for this is complicated. First, it was hard to get any action in the world that ruined history again and again. Human Earth. Especially gay action. You had to watch your back all the time if you were with your man, and you lost control for one instant. You could be shot. Or worse.
You learn to drift in and out of these feelings that are tied up with how much you need to control about yourself.
But I still have music in my voice and feel safe most of the time.
Second, I know exactly what I want. That makes it hard because I feel that if I see it I will not recognize it. I do not see it often, but that is partly because I do. It's hard to explain. What I want changes. Though I am sure I know to let my soul speak when that happens.
Third, a clown engine is a difficult piece of machinery to master. You want to entertain others with your shared behavior, and you want it to be gay shared behavior, but with two other obstacles in place you cannot just. Justify acting irrational, emotional, and impulsive. Acting Gay.
So how do you tear down those two obstacles?
The First deals with History.
The Second, rationale, heartdreams, spirit, character, devotion, Irony, and Personality. For when your personality lets you speak irrationally then you know you have character. If your devotion is Great Enough. If your headdreams and your heartdreams match.
And If, you cannot speak, then speak what you cannot.
How to fix History finally, is the story of how to repair after war, emotionally, as a people. This is because war is not us. Every time we have warred we have hurt ourselves. And this is the last time we have it.
As Teachers, as Learners, there is more and more irrepairable news about history, fired and kiln, that we need to suffer out, and at a time of globalisation, global citizens, and global issues, we need to advance our species beyond war forever by claiming it is not part of our instinct to fight or need to fight and never was. Intersectionality permits this conclusion because those who know their instinct can relate with one another at a high level.
Perhaps our modern time has been the story of us being unable to decide whether we are a superior species. I have reasons for seeing it this way. Enslavement was about genetic inferiority. It was about racial superiority. It was about a difference in DNA. Why? Did we as humans need to learn that we are a species together, and animals are species of us, for they are inferior, (not in a conversational way), and we control them, because they have different DNA than us. And if we are to travel the stars, let this one lesson be ours, because we will encounter new species! We do not even know how to treat our own species, and we are in control of all the life on Earth. Let us accept our instinct to have peace. Consider it an error that we ever fought, and become true altruists. Accept everybody. It is your instinct. If others do evil, find new ways to accept them that allow them to change. That protect you from harm. That changes World History in our favour.
Rules to a game.
Equality between states.
A clown engine.
I felt strongly about clowns. What a profession! But there are a lot of evil clowns these days. My mother commented one day some of these evil clowns went to clown school. What an idea! Clowns don't get enough credit. This is a profession, ladies and gentlemen. Of course there are evil clowns.
And they are stealing our aesthetic beauty.
As they are trained to do.
When you open up to life, life opens up to you.
Clowns are the Strength and Knowledge of performance as a jester to impoverished people as well as the rich and famous.
And we call our politicians clowns.
I stood there, on the street, waiting to hear his Alejandro. If this was the stranger's name.
Or someone like him.
A Red personality type. Strong. Anti-alpha. A fairy.
As the intersection light changed I walked across to my home. I realized I had not paid for my coffee. Why didn't the clerk stop me? I was stealing.
And it was a myth I realized, because coffee was my girlfriend. She paid for it. Industrial blend. Non-apocalyptic. Greenery that grew around the machine. The brain that works. If part of it was broken. Hence, the brain that grew around the machine.
Enthen, a parafreedom fighter on the Industrial line. And what is a parafreedom fighter than someone who fights for freedom in the most advanced and free world for those whom cannot have it even There, for they are paralyzed or sick, or the animated corpse of this sick and dying cown' vapour rising from its corpse. Or body. You can't tell which. But Venus on the battlefield protected from these balmy green vapours via a mask of chemical warfare voyaging into his libidinal process and reanimated in a dead cow, from chemical infection, disease, torture, and rotten, rotten vaportrail.
Is it death or is it worse than death? And does Christianity know about it? Worse-than-death what a fate to behold.
A rabbit appeared in the metallic flooring, hopping from square to square. She shot it and ate it right there.
And then he returned to his mental attitude, realising he was in view of his house. A fairy castle with a swamp of dead fairies beside it. Not yet. Only metaphors.
Fairies always needed help. Pixies, always needed standards. And Radio Flies, the ones with the translucent neon sparkling eyes, they set up everything in advance. This was the order of the day. But when he stepped outside the order of the day changed. Stars! Stars! in his head. There were cars motoring everywhere, business being conducted, covid experts, construction workers, and people with this sneaking suspicion that they owned society.
Installed, there it was again, my book title. People not only owned society, they installed themselves in it.
It was a threatening term, because malware could be installed but the New Reciprocity would teach us to say no it cannot.
Say what you want.
That's a New Reciprocity.
After dancing, and meditating, I contemplated what was being seen. People afraid. Torture and violence. Crime run rampant in the street. Disease pandemic. Bonding. Shifting. Sorting of society.
I wanted it to change.
I wanted to hold hands.
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