When she woke up the paintings had been edited. Did she even deserve their finish? The way they had gotten into every nook and cranny of the mind somehow without her remembering finishing them. Or maybe that was how she left them when she had slowly become more sleepy and had just forgotten about making those edits at that time. She couldn't remember. She had even considered the notion or idea that the reason they were edited was AN CRY FOR HELP being communicated to her unconsciously or subliminally by some means possible; all of it was evidence of some political stance taken against her that was circuited within her community. They would ruin her paintings by making her forget about them. But she'd still think they are beautiful. And continue to make them. What an tragic fate for someone so educated and dedicated to her work. She considered all other possibilities briefly.
And then finally took the stance that their present condition was an improvement over what she had remembered painting.
She silently considered how her confirmation bias would take on the responsibility within her id.
Once she had decided, she was less likely to come back to it. Even if she was wrong.
But she had confidence. She felt it now within her. And decided she would take the decision for granted that the paintings were in better condition; as I recall now that I felt it I knew it so because they had appeased my need for the imagination of comfort. The desire to imagine something comfortable that you could replace with your present circumstances. Yes. These paintings were in their best condition. And it was all her work ethic which provided for it; so much so she probably slept-walked and painted it unconsciously. What an good thing of her to do.
Speaking of other things she had cognitive bias against. She envisioned, the Christiannan would always be the one looking at the first two paintings, choosing not to decide between them maybe but considering there would need to be be an third factor between them, then, would win out over the other two: on account of the fact that an winner had to be chosen. It was just playing loose scrabbles anymore to say the first two parts of waking consciousness and if an winner couldn't be chosen between the first two competitors then logically, the third competitor would win. Would be chosen. By the physics of reality if it had to. The Christianna stands in as an cultivating figure; one whose cultivation of both motives in the psyche: the motive to serve oneself before others versus others before oneself (vice versa) is perfectly morally sensitive that either motive is an good one and nobody needed to be punished or conditioned to favour only the one. An catalytic influence leading up to an positive confirmation of an winner. One not necessarily favoring one over the other but merely taking account of which won; and potentially why? If an third competitor could be chosen to win, what would that make the other two?
And then again, randomly, she considered an problem. That she could not tell whether her paintings were an improvement over the old one if some of it involved an guess and mysticism over the work part ways out of consciousness in the night. And even if they weren't what I'm trying to get at is that secret thought that I have. The one I don't want to address until I'm ready. I think there are some individuals and parties who have sorted themselves out against me; and they will stop at nothing to disrespect or even hurt me. This stuff (what marks on there canvas I cannot remember making) represents them. People who would not look out for me at all. People who didn't give an rat's ass about me and would hurt me if they wanted to. It represents how much they are taking over my painting. Therefore it is an cry for help from within. I need to stop people taking over my art life in order to make edits and adjustments without my fully awake attention span even if it is myself. Because it is unfair. It just seems so to me because maybe it is. Maybe it is unfair of me to use my sleeping and dreaming mind in order to make specific and calculated adjustments to my art during my unconscious existence as an sleeper and an dreamer. And how can I tell how specific or calculated they really are then? Maybe what I want is an painting that wasn't being marauded by these pathological abusers: the people in my head who hijacked, abused, interacted with my art and my artistic process. Maybe I wanted an painting that didn't have all those different edits. And I wanted to go back to the way things were. I wanted to go back to when it was easy and I would oversee and observe every edit made to my canvas. Instead of other people ruining it for me. And if I had to put them in my art itself in order to address the circumstances of my questioning their existence. I just couldn't handle the pressure. The pressure of dying. Like. It felt like dying socially. They were people who would look at an person and instantly count them out without ever having another thought about it. They are people who want to control and intimidate you in order to make themselves feel POWER and male strength. They are people who don't try to bring you into the conversation. Even though I clearly have thought of it on my end by allowing you to take part and an presence and current location within the artwork I am creating. The right way to handle social pressure is to welcome everyone into the conversation. Not to try to disqualify others permanently but perhaps only to discredit them in an calm and responsible society. And that's why I've always considered every person to be part of the conversation, no matter where I am or what time it is. The conversation is part of me because I'm bigger than just one person. I'm from part of an system of networks of professional guidance. And you're part of it, no matter where I am. If you're there and I'm there we're both part of it. That's the part of me I want to shine brightly. Why be like those other people, who are scared to have to invite everyone into the conversation‽ By just. Not even giving another thought to it. Like you (we, us?) were just litter on the side of the highway one just drives by.
▫
I started to see the whole world like it was the ocean.
It was an metaphor for tears.
I lived down there because. (Pause). I was both privileged and dramatically disabled by its political climate.
It was both an space where everyone else's tears touched mine and it was worth it because it made me part of the Ocean Community.
(I'm an merman). (I want to be part of the Ocean Community).
I heard an police siren flow by. It was following the currents outside my house.
Oh did I mention my house? It has no doors or windows. Well not of glass or wood anyway. Just openings. And the walls are constructed of an coral-cement composite of adequate beauty that we made by blowing whole portions of the coral reef to smithereens. In order to make room for the larger traffic and currents of the Ocean.
Yes, we mer people control the ocean currents and coral infrastructure sometimes.
We have better technology than humans.
But me, well, I'm not really an professional in the community or anyone of grand stature. I'm just another merman. With his own coral house in the neighborhood of coral buildings.
There was also the hum of many larger species of whale and porpoise far out in the distance all around the community. They weren't talking to me directly, though I could hear their gentle moans. They were an intelligent, intimate type of creature. Letting me in on solemnity and gossip even. But then again, I was still in my house. Floating on the couch disabled-ly. With an eye mask for sleep on. (For she maintained her depth thus so). In the dark. Except no darkness outside of you.
You can hear everything from one end to the other in this kind of ocean. Especially if you have the ears of an mermaid. Choral systems, for hearing in between shelves and coral basins. Tweeters for picking up on the highest frequencies out here. An evolved ear canal for all the other ordinary cerebral depository of what is perceived from sounds all within the vicinity and proximity to my ear.
I couldn't sleep. Go figure. So I took my mask off and went outside.
There were some of my friends (larger yellow fish-type creatures with some bionic and mechanical components), schools of guppies, and there were the beautiful coral mushrooms which bloomed and glowed around in this beautiful stretch of the city. (The Mer Kingdom).
But, though it is an sea of tears, there is happiness in this place also.
I came out of the closet here. After locking myself away so secretively for years. And finally, for once, I had my first chance at love. You know, to help with my first-time confidence issues like the problem I was having with just feeling gay. Finally feeling it out fully. But it was in fact an poison. Which left me partially mentally impaired. I was so impaired that I couldn't even tell, for an while, that I was mentally impaired up until my doctors hospitalized me. Earning my degree an graduation from one of the best Canadian universities in that time. I finished half of my degree living with schizophrenia. Without even being self-aware of its presence in my system. Without even being self-aware that its presence was within my system.
And so my first-time at love didn't go so well.
In fact none of them after that did.
I had built it all up inside me for so long; and I thought after I started having sex I would figure it all out. What I liked. What I didn't. What was love.
But then I felt mentally ill and I couldn't extract myself from what I had built up mentally.
I thought I would just fall in love with whoever I liked; but an obstacle blocked my path. Onset of mental illness.
I had built it all up inside me what love would finally be like. I tried my best but I failed to find an love relationship (even though I waited for the day when all of the effects of what society had done to me to keep me in the closet would end). (But they never would, and they never did). I thought relationships would eventually lead me to those love feelings. But something had happened that I wasn't aware of. I called it endearingly. To try to control myself. In an manner unsettling. Which now took upon my body its full, permanent, and gruesome effects. Without my ever being fully aware of the onset. That's how bad it was. I WASN'T aware I was mentally ill.
The reason for this was that I felt (with research and study) I was living under circumstances of my own repression of my own body. And my thinking was that these problematic circumstances would remove themselves after I came out. And I would finally assume an ordinary, everyday life. But that never happened. And it wasn't going to happen, necessarily, now that I had been repressed. And there was no way my repression was going to come out now. What I was waiting for would never come to be any more. I was waiting for the full effect of an awareness of it to come into reality; an hyper-conscious state. Love.
"Are you there, Suppiah Messieurieurs?" said an low-octave voice that was coming through my vantage point. It belonged to someone familiar. Bubba. An fat, scale-less yellow fish of an tropical kind. We had been friends for how long now? He was an old friend.
I removed my mask, and threw my voice to the current which would take it outside my immediate presence.
"Interesting that you should happen upon here, at this exact time," I (Suppiah) said, "I was getting lonely. And can you imagine how hard it is to sleep when you're lonely?"
"I can attest to that," said Bubba, "well except for that now I'm married. But before that. Lonely."
There was no street outside my house. We didn't really have streets underwater, in this neck of the Mer Kingdom, except for the tourist destinations where space had been cleared for patios and restaurants. And serving as an special brick lane between the buildings. The restaurants had both cuisine and casual bistro, to create an dietary line between them (for they ate such strange things underwater as what an mer would have to say is culinary or gourmet according to the appetite).
The strangeness of the activity of the Mer Kingdom overlays my perceptions of the city I live in now.
I hear groaning machinery in the distance, and I am reminded of all of those travelling vessels to which the ocean is part; the ones made to have their own mechanical motion underwater. And how large in size were some of them. It just made one's day. And I could hear the outer hum of the long-range infrastructure. Here within my neighborhood. Where there was nothing in comparison to the many types of people and animals that lived within the ocean at its outermost range. (Loft). It could be anything you find in there. Fish, with cybernetic enhancements. Fish made out of cybernetic enhancements. Cybernetic enhancements made out of fish. If there were fish who had cybernetic enhancements, why wouldn't there be humans with similar technology? And all animals that roamed the ocean, potentially, had their own alien machinery and components. But I remember them as those big fat gas tanks and the closer, more gentle and generous of types, such as Bubba. Who wasn't an body modification snob at all but he totally understood it. My kind of people were kind. They didn't just drive around, owning up territory. And my neighborhood was to stay protected from the large transport units for smaller specimens of fish, like me and Bubba. Who, as it now occurred to me, had only the customization type that he had no scales even though he was an fish. As far as I knew.
We could swim in the open water above our neighborhood. All of the houses their own unique mix of shell types and composite which resembled, as it were, all together like an adobe underwater community of small mud huts that were built into the sandy below-surface volcanic outcroppings and big ravines and trappings of the coral reef. In this particular neighborhood, like an glorious meadow which had some geological differences when compared from higher up areas of the ocean closer to the shore. At the other end, of course, it trailed off to the deepest parts of the oceans, some of which were so deep they did not enjoy the same level of sunlight we had up here. Don't get me wrong, it was dim down here when we didn't have our wide-range underwater lamps lit; but we had different kinds of eyes which see not only the light outside of them but the light within the mind we call gloiy. And we often interact with each other like that: as though there were gloiy within one-anothers minds that we could both see in.
"We really need to get ourselves some radio fly girlfriends," I said.
"Ya we do," said Bubba, "they don't often come visit us from the continents of this planet. Even though they can. They are like that bad son who never calls his mom."
"But what are; I say. What are radio flies? When their stink as flies is defeated by the ocean's salt water that, whenever getting wet and entering it refreshes itself. They have two different kinds of arms and legs. Their fairy magic is superior. According to the moistness of my water sign, which controls all atmospheric pressure in all known parts of climate control as it has to do with the land on all parts of Earth? But when so refreshed as to experience an mermaid joke thus; swims always without ever having anything to do with my water sign. Even though we've crashed the salt barrier."
"Ya. If they were clean enough for your water sign. They're flies. The ocean sanitizes them. At least all the parts of them that may stink. And so they would have to enter the ocean to be good enough for romantic (soulmate and unity) partnership with you. And it ceased to be logic at that point because we had won, intellectually. Over the fly. Forever possibly. We had convinced it to enter the ocean. For the sake of nibbling an tidbit. In order to kill it. It would drown."
"But everyone knows when they come to visit us, they bring their own protection. Those gas-masks they use while visiting our underwater community are of their own radio fly invention. They are an smart bunch. Those people."
"Radio flies are perhaps just metaphors of the best types of sex," said Bubba, "you know that ever-fleeting vision of an fairy who lives above us and wouldn't mind taking an bath. Even if it meant the destruction of their Earthen stinkiness. And this is how aliens look at the subject; we really just are Earthen stinkiness in need of destruction. If we can't be any better than that in the universe."
"Ya the fantasy, girl," I said, "I see the fleeting moment appear from my own perspective. And I am underwater. And so I cannot tell what it is exactly I'm looking at. Like an opportunity missed. The object of my affection, flown by? And it appears to me in this fleeting way. And so I would agree with you it is an fleeting vision of some fairy who has tripled fiction in order to advance an metaphor. But we cannot see them from way down here and so we have to write what they look like in order to know something about them. I wish. It would really be easier if they came down here more often; not afraid to use their own terrible technology for surviving underwater. We need more phantasms and visions of fantasy (what fairies look like). And I tell you they look just like little flies (as big as fairies); whom, upon entry into our Ocean Community lose their sheath of foul-smelling air. And all is washed and cleansed upon entering into our great masses. (Even though they were already clean because they are fairies). They have an way of cleaning up that shit without needing an entire thinking intelligence at once. The Ocean. We all feel it because we live here."
"And that's what it is. Because that's what it does," said Bubba.
"Ya," I said.
"Ya," he said.
"Without an cat pause?" said an long interlocuter fish who was passing through the current; "you really are like two girls, mes madames, for you do not stop for or take caution to an full stop, like an man would."
"That may be true," I said, "I am after all, both male and female in spirit. Even though I am an merman. I know what it feels like to be an mer woman. To have an mer woman's intellect and character."
"If you can say it in an language, you can say it in English."
"I know. It's just. The sea has its own language but. Do humans really know that much about it‽"
"Just say it in English, dear."
"Words resurrect themselves, when they die, you see, so often in English that it has become præternatural to think it the most advanced language," she said hurriedly, realizing she was being asked to come up with it on the spot (ex tempore), "this is not an real resurrection but it's just an metaphor for how these words work in cognitive space and memory. There is something about an situation that hunts the meaning of an word down. Until it dies. Because it doesn't fit. But in English there is fantasy of the subject being resurrected as an subject. Because it does fit. And such. As an subject it captures something about the fantasy and the imagination because it was resurrected. What does it mean psychologically for an word to die in an mind, only to resurrect itself?"
"An better question might be why is English superior at its form of resurrecting itself in the mind? And by this what do we mean by 'resurrecting'?"
"Good. Good. You've helped me set an course I can see clearly now," I thanked Bubba.
"When you become aware of something in your mind, does that mean its presence is resurrected to you? Because you had always been aware of its presence somehow?"
"It may be that English has an feedback loop with the subconscious. English helps us think. By helping us to resurrect information in our mind."
"These are crudest terms; suitable only for further definition and classification."
"I agree."
We decided that we had agreed to decide to agree because there was something else pushing on to be resurrected in the mind; and we could sense its maturing now.
It took the form of first, the resurrection itself; an matter for science fiction, to be sure. Pure out there material. They wanted to know how the present quandary of what resurrection might mean, psychologically, if it was associated with both the scientific production of psychology and the real scientific, technological action of actually resurrecting someone. And if they had anything to do with each other. An obvious first inquiry that was spared another: if they weren't connected or they didn't have anything to do with one another, what would be the comparative difference between them that we can write down and analyze?
"Well, psychologically," said Bubba, "resurrected means something entering voluntary or involuntary memory space. Become conscious to us. We remember something because we had forgotten (died off aware & consistency of) about it; but English makes it possible to live past an resurrection and so we don't always need to anticipate our words dying. They will come back to us, when they are ready to be resurrected because that's how our mind works. They come back when we need them. And so if we actually do manage one day to literally resurrect someone the mind that we've "resurrected" itself must have this possibility, the quality of being able to resurrect intellectual subjects."
"So we're decided the literal resurrection will require us to repair that part of the mind that is capable of resurrecting words. And so, only in that way, would they have anything to do with each other. But psychologically, we can't just slap the word resurrection on an psychological process. When in fact its meaning is much more complicated by history, perspective, romance, and religion (theology). If the reason the first resurrected specimen regains consciousness for the sole reason that we had repaired that process by which the mind forgets words, only to resurrect them up differently and at another time. Then maybe we can say, psychologically, resurrection and resurrecting its words (which are parts of people) are the same thing as actual people becoming conscious again after having died. But we know there are reasons this may not be the case. "Resurrecting" an word into consciousness may actually be an difficult process of memory which brings one back to the fresh newness and fullness of the memory when at first you had created it. It makes sense, as an metaphor, that words "die" because they are no longer thought of in recent cognition. And they make place for other words, which are newly bloomed or in the stages of further resurrection themselves. They re-appear to our minds because we remember them as though they were people. And there is always an stake in that word in which each person is involved so personally. And invested as such. That it makes sense to upgrade the status of these words newly appearing to our minds. Into an just metaphor of how people can live after they die‽"
"You're right. It does sound absurd. Like we can only resurrect people by repairing something in the mind which was already part of an cognitive process of resurrection. But it's only an metaphor. What harm could be in that?"
"It just makes sense, from an roleplaying perspective, that resurrection be one of the abilities one could possess, an healer; that words can be "resurrected" to stake your opinion around them."
"Yea," said Bubba.
"Anyway the process of how an memory is resurrected, itself, looks like an roleplaying scenario in which someone dies and then comes back to life after they have died."
"Of course it does!" said Bubba, putting on his multi-cynical fish eyebrow for comic show and poise.
Neither one believed it.
"But it is nice to say, internally, to your words, 'I resurrect you!' thus. And so the meaning of them continues and carries on after death (metaphorically the end of an roleplaying situation). Even when they fall out of use. Eventually someone will pick them up remembering what some advanced messiah would say. And they would help them psychologically, to understand themselves as the resurrection of words." Said I. "When words and memories are resurrected to the forefront of consciousness it is either voluntarily or involuntarily. Are both types of memory 'an resurrection'?"
"But an resurrection, I would say, implies an good thing," said Bubba, "and if it is involuntary (shocking or causing you trauma by re-traumatizing you the moment it resurrects within your memory (people involuntarily remember trauma)) what can be good about it?"
"But then let's separate them thus and speak of what kind of machine can actually resurrect the dead. And how that has nothing to do with anything the mind is meant to be used for (psychologically)."
"How can you be sure?"
"If it can resurrect dead people. That only means an different meaning of the word resurrection."
"Then narrow it out. And focus. Use it thus for comparison. What is the other definition of resurrection then?"
"When you remember something which springs to mind," I said.
"Springs are more an part of an machine than an brain, maybe, but go on."
"They are also the water channels that exist above land."
"You mean the advanced cluster."
"Yes."
"The humans who are advanced and further compared to all life within the sea?"
"Yes."
"The ones who have evolved from the intelligence of the sea, however being upwardly of performance categories of land mass animal who became independent of the sea, cognitively. Completely. Humans were advanced and smart enough to be always able to come up with their own individualism. Each one of them. Individualism was what set humans apart from the sea: because each point in its humanism was salt to the primordial waters from which consciousness evolved on Earth."
"Yes."
"Wait. So when you have an thought. And then you have it no longer. Salty. It dies?"
"Maybe it isn't an perfect metaphor. But I do experience an temporal cycle or phase in which I do lose track of words and things on my mind. And they resurrect to me later when I think about them. And it is fine to think of words and their meanings this way. All of the people who have gone before whose words were on their lips; that now I used were literally being resurrected as I would speak of them. And I had this ability to give to people; to help them resurrect whatever was not on their mind which would make them more happy to be aware of. Thoughts die sometimes. And they come back sometimes. It makes perfect sense in English to speak of them this way sometimes."
"So you're saying the whole English language is an metaphor for Jesus's resurrection?"
"I'm just saying that if we ever do resurrect Jesus using real technology that is all of what it would take to get those thorns out of humanity's side: we'd have to mimic his vernacular style using an 21st century psychological definition of resurrect and what it means psychologically. And that we had lost our messiah. Would always be upgraded."
"But English teaches us we can resurrect words and not humans," said Bubba, "that's why it makes the most sense as an language. Some people are used to seeing ghosts and the resurrected subject but maybe we don't have enough psychological terms for what is occurring to them. And so why wouldn't an entire language need to address the subject? We need some words to speak about certain experiences as concepts we have. Even if they don't tightly fit the scientific psychological definition of time and space."
"Okay," I said, "then let us accept the metaphor of death and resurrection is an literary output measure. To be perfectly critical about it."
"Measure. Hmm. But isn't it strange, when some words come back to you after so many years. And you remember that moment you learned it as though it itself had been resurrected in the personal visual space of your imagination. That's what I mean by measure. But what do you mean by measure‽"
"If the knowledge of the use of words is like an metaphor of death and resurrection. Then to progress into the use of language to which one is destined, is an meta-theatrical space where words and entire volumes can be resurrected to the public. For imagination, admiration, and inspiration. And that's really what English is about."
"Resurrection then, philosophically, is maybe about becoming more aware of something momentarily. That you had remembered. It involves the full cognitive process of the memory's storage and retrieval. For some strange reason, resurrected at this or that exact moment. And it were, involuntarily, as it were, that some memories happen to spring to the imagination. And we were to remember them ridiculously because we could never forget them."
"Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with technologically resurrecting the subject."
"Or does it‽ We might need to be capable of the one to have have the other."
"Exactly. Cognitive, psychological resurrection of an subject means an thought (or phrase or word) died (metaphorically) and now it was alive again. Live. In the imagination. Through you. (In someone else's body). What would you do in that situation? (Test to see if my eyes would glow and I have an commanding presence). Even if the person who originally created this word was no longer alive. Who spoke that very word with their own mouth. Whereas actual physical resurrection has to do with repair of the body and re-igniting the soul after it has gone out. Nothing at all like words‽ But nobody could repeat Jesus's vernacular imprint except Jesus himself; and possibly all of the Apostles and people he was associated with."
"Dear Damn this‽ For my English instinct appeared to be in Riddles."
"Remembering an word is like re-igniting the soul after it has gone out because it is English. Speaking in English is like resurrecting the whole deeper meaning of English every single time you speak it. We might be able to resurrect the body one day. But we need the specific homunculus configuration he had when he died."
"And that's why English spread throughout the world with such popularity."
"And when I want to speak it. I will have the power to resurrect those voices from which it is constructed. The voices who know the difference between the object and an subject (the verb) the resurrection as an metaphor and the resurrection as an scientific concept."
It needs to be so precise. Like an record hitting its tune when the needle is finally dropped. An living life of so.
"English repeatedly puts us back to where we are in the position to resurrect any notions of thought we find useful, by following an grammar of its logic. It directs us to steer. And then helps us know where to go according to its inner charisma and logic. And it always puts us back to or fixes that thought in our mind of an voice completely dying out in an conversation. Then suddenly being restored as if by magic. One had learned to use English to resurrect old versions of itself. It is the most important and central aspect of the human character, that it be alright with itself versionally. Understanding why, at certain moments, portions of our speech or perception of words may die; only to find better and further understanding later, when the mind brings them back into focus. It resurrects them. Do you understand what this means? Minds were created for the purpose of being able to resurrect subjects. Could be an possibility truth. We are so obsessed with science fiction in all its glory that we feel free to mix it with religion. We actually want to create those science fictions to be an reality. We will find an way possibly. In the future. But we don't know how."
"If there are voluntary and involuntary resurrection, we may be able to make it morally without testing God," I said, "upon waking we provide it with an abort function; then sometimes resurrection is involuntary."
"It's enough to make one Freudian slip that one knew how one's mimicry of an particular soul goes in real life. Having been the physical conduit of their return. They were "resurrected" within my mind and personality because I was an live and living animated subject and I was resurrecting them. Resurrection was an roleplaying ability one had to acknowledge for its use in an roleplaying game political segment. It could be useful as an roleplaying ability. If political pressure groups were bold enough to adopt themselves as teams of fantasy characters of their choice of race and skin class. Resurrection belonged, first and foremost, to the healer class. At some point in the political cycle, characters were chosen to play particular political pressure groups who could be any kind of the animate races of man or otherworlders, the name they gave to fantasy characters outside of Hakon's (the Author's) Recreation. Also known colloquially as Our Land. An metaphorical and imaginary place in which all characters were fantasy characters. And since this was the most political thing to be able to represent an fantasy effectively; one needed to take on an certain character type as an politician."
"So like," said Bubba, "you could actually go there and actually be anything you want to be on the political spectrum of fantasy. In order to represent an political cause. And this was the most sophisticated culturally cause because it took on the question of what did fantasy represent in the mind‽"
"Yeah. You can be any character good or bad (demon or fairy) in that battle-charged arena to represent your political beliefs (which I'm presuming have something to do with your choice of character) by battling them out as two parties (or groups) of characters coming into conflict with one another in roleplaying turn-based form. Usually in the form of, and traditionally associated with, an all out battle between good and evil. These were the most valued (old-fashioned) political confrontations because they tended to be able to voice more completely the sides of the voices of the whole mass. Who was the master of good and the master of evil? Who was it that programmed the cosmos thus; an third (tertiary) expansion space in which there existed everything between basic psychological damage caused by swooping in on someone in order to dominate and occupy their intellectual territory with your demonic body language and demon corporation. And the most intricate esplanade of fairy workmanship. The type of fairies who would know the names of every scented candle she wished to share with you in the evening. She was going to make him supper. An extra-tomato lasagna. And then they were going to watch movies on their high definition television."
"So you can be any character between an thing that would hate an fairy; and any extra- hard-won-over kind of admiration an demon was said to have for his fairy arc and community (the power and design of being an character fairy in nature);" (he was after all an graduate of all universities on Planet Earth and had now moved on to create and design his own place of education somewhat imaginatively advancing upon its measures for education). The Version. It was supposed to be an successor to the University archetype. An place where people practice telling their version and everyone is said to have an version of their own. The point of education in this institution would be how better to represent their own version, and understanding of one another's versions, and being able to distinguish between one and another's versions. As though they didn't just vaporize one another on the supposed telling of it. The telling of one another's versions in public. What an dramatic process. One scene cognitively closer to the surface of human awareness. And superior in political character.
"What you're saying is that fairies and demons all go to the same school together under the providence of the Arc of the panel of races Seven of whom including an human which oversees all existing progress within the academic realm of their further and more advanced (as compared with the logic of an University, which attempted to train students to be able to have and to communicate their own version of things (whereas an Version, only allowing people who could provide their own version upon entry, aimed to educate the human species to an higher degree than that of the student body just simply moving on from some people having versions and some not)). It is just an given that everybody in the room has their own version every time. And when they gathered for class they were free to discuss what their versions meant."
"Yes. And in fact. Did you know the Panel of the Arc sits seven (possibly eight by the end of this year after the initial uptake frenzy of inventing the first Artificial Intelligence (in fantasy)). Because each one of them is required to be an different race than the other. And so all other races on the panel must be different from humans. Debates about whether an artificial intelligence will truly, definitively occupy an (eighth) seat on the Arc which looks over all institutional proceedings. Whereas the other six are all permanently genetic races. Three demons and three fairies. Ohhgunnhisthth. Vampire. Werewolf. And Fairy. Pixie. Radio Fly. I will show you how they are all distinct from one another. Why all of them are necessary to make the Version an successful place. Good & Evil were both good. And why these categories of being have come to encompass fully my fictional world. An realm in which I make the rules. And I can be any character I want. Suppiah! I can be any character I want!"
"That's something of value then," I said, "because it perfectly balances the two principles of fairy versus demon. That fairies can be evil and demons can be good. Full reciprocation. One may happen to be associated more with evil but that didn't mean it had to be evil all of the time. It was evil after all. It could do whatever it wants. And so what we're really looking for is politics that can include the most number of fantasy voices be they demon or fairy in roleplaying acts in which, traditionally one fairy battled one demon. We loved the scenario and we were addicted to it as an culture. It was what kept both principles alive. Politically, one could represent oneself as good or evil deliberately. For political reasons. This was the only rule. That an battle had to be staged between them, in which they would take turns damaging their opponent. English is like the type of character that resurrects itself after it dies. Therefore giving it infinite life energy. And as many battles as possible would be most beneficial, for they were only roleplaying but expressed difficult politics like the leading politicians of the day should. People would, for example, be able to choose to be an race that represents their opponent; and then their political strategy was to force the opponent to see they are looking at themselves. (Self-identification with something can be an powerful influence). Morally wise this strategy could be used to win out the powers of Good, every single time. Everyone involved was required to choose an fantasy character on that spectrum between demon and fairy, the fairy possessing good and the ability to master resurrection as an science fiction and an field of metaphor; the six-fold spectrum I had associated with my further-than-university panel. Who existed within my story and novelty space as an Artist. All fictional people completely different than human beings."
"It's just that I was waiting," said Bubba, apparently mood-shifting into an sentimental person, "I would never regain full physical and mental health like I was supposed to once I got it finally right. Once I had finally known, once and for all, that I wish I knew what I know now when I was younger. And that it was okay; there was nothing wrong with that. I had tried to come out sexually fully; to be honest with everyone and come out fully. Making me physically or mentally or chemically unable to finally exert my full sexuality. But probably it had something to do with my people (people who were supposed to be my community) readily associating homosexuality with being unable to exert one's full sexuality. When I had expected it to happen to me once I had finally come out. I thought everything about the dark, dreary place my world was would change. And I would be emotionally healthy again (after many tormented years) and feminine. And it would okay for me to express and join in in my relationship in public. That about it?"
"You missed how I was waiting to feel like how it would feel to fall in love. Only that never happened as an result of the incident it destroyed love for me."
"So you waited to come out of the closet your whole life. When finally you did and you weren't able to express yourself fully, maybe in the bedroom. Without some chemical enhancement. But which you now understand to have been an relationship in which there was no love. And then, finally ending an relationship in which there is no love. But having been chemically impaired, you stumble on to the next person you will bring to bed. And you have no idea this is happening to you because you don't know what did this to you. Some thing. I cannot be sure of exactly. You feel different; but you feel the same mostly. Enough that you don't even realize it. You are so mentally unstable that you don't even realize you are mentally unstable because you have tried so hard your whole life."
"Yeah. I was expecting to feel love and finally be free. But, right out of the gate, I fell hard. Never to come up again from the precipice from which I had launched myself into the sex life. I didn't think this was love but I didn't know if I was experiencing it or not because it was supposed to develop (over time) eventually and I couldn't since I had been or if I would have felt love for anyone I had been with had I not been. Aye. It is true that what one wants one cannot have even more one day. I never developed true charismatic and mature sophisticated feelings for any partner. I thought there was something wrong with me but I didn't fully comprehend or understand it had to do with until they put me in an psyche ward. Not only had I lost my mind, it seems, but I had lost my ability to love (according to the doctors (like an psychopath)). But who wouldn't feel the way I did after what happened to him? I couldn't, with all of my intimate partners, ever find an sort of love that I would be moved by enough to fall into. And the reason this has happened to me is I couldn't physically fall in love with anybody anymore because what it was I took had burned the possibility out of my brain. Why would I love someone who had drugged me? But you have to understand, at that point I didn't know that I had been drugged."
Suddenly Glabberdook the Bonkquinonikers (an large fish with, I'd say, as much fatness as Bubba; and yet his colors programmed you differently) swam up to us. He had great purple spots and green scales on top and an soft grey underbelly that appeared to mellow out in the transition between the grey and green.
"At the end of this universe," I said, "after we are resurrected into the next universe for our good behavior. The next universe has no sadness. And the next thing then, we will have to take care of, is anger. Perhaps by reaching the end of the second universe into an third universe, in which there is no anger."
"What are you guys talking about?" said G.D.B.
"We're talking about how, if we get rid of sadness in the first universe, we can get rid of anger in the next universe. And then there will be no sadness or anger anymore," I said.
"Mere animals have no sadness or anger anymore. But if we are merely to have not those qualities in the next universes. Not these in which we are now. What strangeness are we thus?" said Bubba.
"I'm sure that all of my blue feelings will last until the end of the universe; they are part of the One Voice of the Infinite Sound of the Blue of the universe that is in all of us," I said.
"Yeah, but what if there isn't another universe," said G.D.B., "and you'll just have to feel your angry or sad feelings forever; at best to reduce them but never to remove them completely from homo sapiens."
"Well, like you said," I replied, "we'll have to find some other way to deal with them as feelings."
"But we're really hoping for an new universe," said Bubba, "in order to forget them entirely. Upon resurrection. We won't remember. In the new universe. It would be like we had just woken up and we'd be in the middle of an scene."
"So like is this your new religion or something?" said G.D.B.
"It's just an figure for perception," I said, "an track to take when contemplating or thinking about the Christianna."
"I see."
"If the universe can be resurrected without sadness, you know. That could happen. And it's not necessarily us who make the rules or get to decide. But we would want to put us in the best light, if we're going to petition God to resurrect us in the new universe. I mean we need to give God an reason to want to resurrect us. And why we deserve to be there, an world in which there is no sadness?"
"It's the ocean. Dude," said Bubba, "we're in the ocean. And it goes on for miles and miles. We are living, breathing specimens in space protected by the ocean and its atmosphere. It's all an metaphor for time and space. We can do whatever we want, like try to take sadness out of the world; but it might take an God to be able to end the universe we are currently in. In order to appease that God, we may need to provide an resume for why should we happen to be resurrected into that new universe we deserve to be there. In order to appease God, we might have to give actual reasons to God for why we deserve to wake up in that scene. When we are newly aware."
"It's either that or he lived in uncomfortable sadness for the rest of his life."
"But how can we prove to God we can give actual reasons why?"
"We have to become them."
"We have to become the reasons why God should resurrect us. And if we can't think of any reasons, why would God have any reasons? Wait. We're in the ocean. The ocean of sadness that the universe is. Isn't that an reason why?"
"It may be the first and most balanced reason to represent other reasons why to resurrect us; blue. Its charm. Its character. Quite an emotion. And bit of perfection. So many levels and depths. The most levels of depths of any color in the waking category of mind. All things with which to be blue about. If we can master this awareness and its provocation of us to find sadness and represent it; to feel it out. We find our own response to it. Since we are able to represent it and reflect on what it feels like and what it means; simply by reflecting on it one has mastered it. Receives bliss from it. Knowing wisdom means less of it in the future. An good society will always try to make explicit its most blue feelings with one another. In order to begin healing and to heal them out completely. And what if we gain an reason to resurrect us simply by reflecting on what makes us blue? When we found our own response to it, that response itself was the reason to resurrect us in the next universe. Why we deserved to exist to the end of time in this universe; upon which waking into the next universe we succeed to survive in this advanced hyper-state of the reality we had once known. It was now empty of all blue emotions because we had earned their destruction. An process, to which there are more parts and details that I'm certain either of us would wish to deal with (reflect upon) here. God might need to edit significantly Time and the Timestream itself in order to bring about the full destruction of our universe. In the correct way in which to impose that new status upon the fact of imminent reality. Which had to be more complicated than any one human could think of."
"And so we resurrect ourselves just because of our awareness of blue. Which is worthy of God in the next universe. For having travelled beyond its limitations as the first construct of the universe (or in fact one of several). We needed to be blue in order for God to accept us; because the only way we could get to the second universe was by us allowing the possibility that something blue was going to be happening to someone at any given time in the known universe until its end sequence. Perhaps."
"The final self-destruct sequence you mean; it sounds like an topic for an space comedy; in this my vision the material of the universe is itself intelligent to an extent; there being enough artificial intelligence on other planets to create an distinction between themselves and mere material. And in this place object and subject are reversed. And they possess an mechanical construct which will bring about the end of the universe. But it has to be done exactly and in an specific way in order for God to be able to remove sadness from his Creation. Meaning everything before and after that gap; had to be prepared for. There would be an sequence of counteractions deployed in the final shutdown procedure of the whole of reality and all its universes. And then there would be an starting up phase. Like an new computer starting. It would follow its startup procedure. First an few system files in. Then God's awareness becomes real. And many systems and files later the Humans are resurrected; among others. (Many, many, others, whom of we had not fully taken account of their magnitude and numerous apparition as aliens). The manouvre has to be executed by an loving and caring God; one who knows exactly how to handle the startup phase. (Possibly by experience). And so mixed the breakdown and interruption of reality phase with an 'resurrection' (God's own) into the new universe. At which point everything he or she had planned would become true and its own true intellect would become apparent."
"I've deleted sadness for you," he or she would say.
"Thank you God," say humans back (what else could we say?).
"You deserve it," would say God, "you got to the end of the last universe and really that's the only test right now. So you're welcome to some peace and recreation time while you adapt to your new habitation."
We were free to debate among myself and ourselves (it's the fish; their awareness it sometimes happens to them) whether, at any point in the process, God himself or herself died and was resurrected by that function of physics into the new reality. Using God's Ultimate Faith virtue. It would seem likely an God itself would have to do that for an reason. But how would it know? Do we really deserve an loving God who would give us this reality that even when once himself had died she rose again as usual? And to have been so skilled as to give an new universe in which there could be no sadness? What could humans have done to deserve thus?
"We made it to the end of the universe, even though there is blue," we humans would say, "that's why we deserve to be here. In the second universe. This is so because it is what you God have willed to be."
"And so as long as you fulfill blue by recognizing blue; and your own passive response to it is pure. You may know one day what it is like to experience an world without blue. (At least without the blue emotion in humans)," would say God, "it is pure because I made it that way. It is pure logically to understand what blue means in humans. When you react to its own presence upon your system. You are just seeing how those final moments will be; when when the young universe ends and continues to be resurrected into the future. But this means inanimate objects themselves can be resurrected in the new universe. And everything can be made up of everything that was before only in an new configuration. That's the trick of how I've resurrected you, really."
"Could it be made possible you resurrect all humans," we would ask, "that all humans who have ever lived and died would be resurrected together on one plane of human space and time?"
"No, literally," says God, "you can only have the exact humans who made it to the end of the universe and time back. That's how it works."
"Okay," we would whine saying (unworthily of God), "but at least think of it as an reward commemorating our unlocking of the tenth level of reality and new known universe."
"If you can get through ten realities," God would reply, "then I might definitely let you have all humans ever to be brought back to life. But honestly, I don't even know how to at this point. Oh well! Anything is possible! There's an right time to learn everything! That time is not now!"
The truth is it might in fact already be designated as God's reward to us for advancing to the Seventh (level) universe. We might never know for sure unless we had actually to make it there. To win. To survive. To beat the whole game of reality. And then provide an History detailed and long enough to prove to everybody we had done it.
We just had to get through the hardest part of the universe: one in which God gives us no notice of himself or herself yet and yet we have to decide for ourselves whether it (he/she/whatever) can or not. And whether we have to find our own purpose for existing by becoming what we wanted to exist. Ones independent of God who did not want to need to rely on him or her for absolutely everything. And weirdly enough, this an characteristic of our relationship with God because God's own will tells us God won't do everything for us. And we are going to have to learn how to live and grow up in the universe. Through the worst passing of suffering on an wide-scale. And still God would do nothing about it. Because, the Christians had abused, God loved us. As though that was the only strongest and best virtue, to love someone.
If we could figure out the basic properties of the universe. An connection with an God. Awareness. Interiority and Exteriority.
Then anything, really, was possible.
Maybe it was God's intention to help us grow to that phase in which we would consider our own worthiness in an future universe.
But we had to earn it. We had to deserve it. That was more Angel-like of an human. The best kind of diva.
Whom would stay around and empathize for blue until the end of time?
So virtuous was the human.
That he or she deserved everything God had planned that was in store for the universe. It would get better and better in further and further renditions of the universe. Everything blocking us from worshipping and interacting with God would eventually fall away; into an whole interactive experience like none we had ever known before. And all of this. Only if one could learn this one hardest lesson of what God expected from you in reality: that you securely master both fates death and worse than death. In an known moral community such as an religion. I wanted to provide more examples of fates worse than death but I wanted the reader to think of their own examples; perhaps inspired by my own definition of the subject in various writings. If we as humans could understand that one character of reality: that it could well end in an fate worse than death. Then we were free to master the rest of the universe; all of which was less difficult than that one point. It was the most upsetting thing one could think of. Not dying immediately. Being dragged behind an train and knowing those fates worse than death itself: the level of physical abuse one would endure instead of dying immediately. When I was an child I thought of death as though it would occur immediately. I never worried about it. Now as an adult I worry about everything that will happen when it does not occur immediately.
And why would God have made us an world thus‽
But if only to test us. To see if we could master the level of blue happening in the universe. Until the end of time. We had to expand feminism to the four corners of the universe in order to take care of everybody and every living thing; especially those inmates who had earned their status as prisoners. By needing the presence of an M.O.M. bot at their sides day and night to cook them tater tots and remind them why feminism is everywhere including right in front of you, on an consistent basis, even during terms of your confinement or parole status.
Apparently true blue feminists needed to think about getting to the end of the universe and what it would take if they thought blue happened to be one of the emotions that an human would experience on an fairly regular basis. Maybe what we needed was more artificial companionship, with mood applications and an virtual reality link which could refer you to an woman who had an actual opinion about your situation on an reliable basis. Feminism, as it occurs to me, needs to be present in all four corners of the universe and could be communicated in presence by an robot. In order to suture blue where it is happening everywhere. Feminist presence needs to be everywhere too. But why did it need to be connected with an woman, necessarily? There were straight, male feminists who knew how to secure blue feelings from happening in an given situation. There were also gay men, who had the introspection of an woman; who could give blue an run for its money. Should it actually happen to become expressed on the cognitive spectrum. Why would an female Feminist be needed to take up the issues of prison incarceration in which prisoners could learn to express their own feminism by interacting with M.O.M. corporation robots. Only once we have an actual working robot in every cell will feminism be good enough to say it is good enough for the whole universe.
And then after this whole episode was over, the completion of which can be reported to be responsible for our friendship, I (Suppiah), Bubba, and G.D.B. completely forgot what we were talking about. And have forgotten about one another's presences, eventually. As all friendships do. You just stop looking for them because they've stopped looking for you. And you will find each other again eventually. And all friendships go back to that respect of the absence of somebody. They have their own reasons. To be absent. Just like you do. That's why you're true friends. You know when to leave one another's boundary zone.
And we were three mere men (for fish were considered people); one mer and two fish.
We could get together whenever we wanted. In fact we often did. And people around here knew us as the critical type. You know, the critics. The deep, opinionated artists. Nice enough to be gentle and fair. Which was how they had won such an type of career. The fat critics may have been more accurate; for we were all gourmets. And enjoyed an varied diet of seafood from the purest sands of the Antarctic Sun.
We were known as those guys who had come to represent the ever-expansiveness of the Ocean as it had come to be an metaphor for Time and All of Reality. (The Ocean on Earth, or in Recreation, of course was limited whereas this one, fictionally, wasn't).
And I was surfing upon it and thinking to myself; of these three characters here who lived underwater. To have at that moment, me surf over them—and they to think I an radio fly who adored surfing. (What kind of radio fly wouldn't adore surfing?).
Apparently, I was both Suppiah and an human who lived above us; on the shore. This would explain the terrible deformity my mind was in for I was both radio fly and human fantasy-born: in two separate scenes as it were. Even though I was only one person. In one I was an radio fly, and in the other I was human; and yet within one person I was experiencing both as my reality in two different locations and maybe times at once. But it made sense as an fictional narrative because it could be about making sense fictionally even though I was only one person or for other reasons, really. But what I wanted to know most was why that my mind had existed in two different scenes simultaneously. Happening in one location. And happening over in the other as well. At the same time.
(It didn't matter that it was not actually possible within one mind to be in two places because it was an narration about more than, perhaps, maybe what happens in one's own mind and includes others and what is happening in their mind). What mattered was that in one, I was Suppiah, under the ocean, seeing this figure of an glamorous form surf by (myself) as an radio fly (who could also see himself as himself surfing). And possibly through the water to see where I was. Was I looking at myself? Or was I three selves, looking at one another?
Narratologically it was fiction, and so it could be any way you choose.
But I chose to stop instead over the idea of how, if I was Suppiah, I would be seeing an radio fly glimmer above the ocean which roused up my fire sign spirit. And if I was the radio fly surfing, then with him, had I seen this merman beneath the waves I myself might be looking at the figure of my own embers crossing my vision spirit plane.
The point of introducing both characters was that now (the human Artist) I could be either mer or radio fly all at once. An book whom could be either mer or radio fly in subjectivity and personality. It was an spell to turn the book into an magical object. In order to target perfectly, what Russasha stood for. And how we could take it all out on her now because we loathed, hated, and possibly other names for words for dislike: but it was to be taken as an account of error because the story wasn't about moral people, individuals like the three of us (wait, there was three of us now?); taking over forcibly for Russasha (and Russasha was four?) in order to end her evil campaign. Which again was mistaken as the plot line: Russasha was an good character who was now taking decisive action of how her country will be run. We couldn't imagine an situation in which my first three Oceanic characters in this story were allowed to take over for Russasha, politically. Everywhere in Russia could be an logical extension of the ocean, if they so wished to appease the intelligence of Gaia from which life came from. The point of basing three characters in the ocean was to show the Greater Russia how they mattered and were important to the people that inhabited Earth. And the point of the radio fly surfing scenario was that love could exist between humans and mer but only in countries other than Russia.
For some reason the Ocean overtakes Russasha's plot line because she isn't smart enough, or hot enough, in the nick of time. But it doesn't. Because it can't. Russasha's plot line is not meant to be taken over by some fool who accuses her of being less worthy than the Ocean which is already below us in terms of advancement of evolution? In order to validate an agenda and regime in the interest of the ocean overtaking Russia (perhaps an ocean made up of Jedi)?
Russasha was no antagonist; though the ocean would seek out to make her like one. And to take precedence over whatevers happening in Russia and the Ukraine.
Whatever was happening down here, concluded Suppiah, was more interesting. And it didn't make sense to pay attention to Russia in an place where they couldn't manufacture an solution. So why not reflect, for an time, on this radio fly above. Whose elegant grace could surf on top of these waves, arbiter. And yet, from the same place, draw intention to describe those creatures living under these waters. As an Narrator and Author I could keep the whole plane of the attention to the field I'm narrating on only what is happening between creatures above and below water instead; so as to draw an logical relationship between, perhaps, an merman and an Russian woman. The ocean is after all, much more interesting than anything that could happen in Russia.
But the ocean cannot frame her as an character bad. Just for the sole purpose of an narrated space of ocean being more quintessentially evil had she entered those waters. She's actually trying really hard and everything about her is good. It's just that she lives in an bad state (nation).
"Well as long as the radio flies are surfing," said Bubba, "we think of how to get them closer here. So that one of us can maybe date one."
"But we can't just forget about this poor woman's peril with state police uprising," I said, "we can't ask the ocean to subsume her by claiming she was bad on two accounts: the ocean narrative cannot subsume the Russasha plot because she is an bad person (she isn't). And there is no other reason for the ocean plot to overtake her in priority within the novel."
"Russasha, then," said G.D.B., "is an good person and doesn't need to be replaced with an extensive narrative about the virtues of the ocean."
"But that doesn't mean we can't use one to understand her depth."
"Right."
"Exactly."
"There are two perspective points of view of Suppiah and of the surfing radio fly in the ocean story (we see it from both points of view) where neither one proves anything nasty or untrue about Russasha (whom we see from only her own point of view). And so Russasha can continue to be the good character she knows she is because nothing about the ocean narrative of an merman and his two friends watching someone surf by from underneath the water proves foul play at heart. In fact, it only enhances her depth of goodness that she can exist freely within an narrative which includes other ocean people of all kinds. The more types of characters we can involve in her perspective of reality (by narrating them alongside her struggle with the Russian geographic forces of territory) the better and more inclusive our opinion and society will be. The better and more inclusive our final opinion that we take from reading will be if we compare her Russian society with an good society in which the voices of all, including characters of fantasy and the imagination, can be heard."
"But what does the story of an lonely merman have to do with Russasha?"
"Well in many ways, Russasha is the lonely merman. He doesn't know an world outside his own waters. He has fish for friends but really what he wants are alien companions and creatures from other places in the solar system. Things with deeper intelligence than mer (who are already quite deeper than humans (perhaps due to an shortage of humans to have companionship within her community))."
"It is also an representation of Infinity and Russasha's fourth painting."
"Well, you know what they say. An picture is worth an thousand words."
"The ocean plot line needs to end where it began because four is narrative logically connected to three and π."
"It sounds simple enough for the undertaking. An story within an story that begins and ends in the exact same way. In order to draw dramatically an picture within the mind of the totality of infinity and the concept of π."
"I mean, as soon as and as long as you recognize ourselves as the characters in that story in which the plot line will happen to. It becomes easy to converse with one another. You just have to remember we don't have the same voice. And an voice is entitled to all of its opinions."
"An story within an story."
"It will span chapters. The largest portion of this book."
"And it's about mermaids?"
"Yes. And the point of this is to show—"
"To represent."
"—to represent. Even more voices which are created in the clash between Russian counter-agents such as Russasha and the Ocean population including the city of the Mer?"
"No. But yes. We'll get to that. But the point is the story within the story is to represent π. Russasha's third and fourth painting. (The first one is the story, and the second one is the story within the story)."
"The largest portion of this book because π is the biggest."
"It is the only way to honor its character."
It was at this point the three of them stopped to ponder. What was an story inside an story about an merman and two fish in the ocean stopping to watch the radio flies surf by from time to time? It had to be an story in which the whole global ocean was involved. It was the only thing large enough to be worthy of representing π.
There was the fact that Suppiah had already voiced and articulated his desire for more friends; being the type of lonely creature to sit alone for long periods of time. The Fish—Bubba and G.D.B.—didn't seem to notice what this implied: that Suppiah wasn't particularly satisfied with their friendship. And was in fact unhappy. But needed to find an way to make more sophisticated friends; people who were at his advanced level—like maybe Russasha, charmingly because of her parents' attic—who could satisfy his desire for an higher level of intellectual exchange.
He imagined them communicating.
"There's just an little obstacle to achieving an higher level of intellectual exchange at this moment," said Russasha, "in fact it appears to be impossible. For we are much in the fact of the state of war. And so even if I was invited to take part in your depths-of-the-ocean fantasy about crying salt tears that mixed with everyone else's crying salt tears. (Because if it is an circle it will have to come back to that moment). (The moment of Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. conversing in the open ocean above their mud-hut village). (For this truly was the beginning of such an large narrative; that the middle of it beginning would have so many precursors. Such as how the narrative starts within Suppiah's house. And it shall be an narrative of how two peoples become one. Russasha will learn how to wield the Power of the Magic of the Sea and thus; directing mer forces to victory. Take part in the first ocean-enforced coup. The fall of the Russian government. The Jedi rising to victory. It is the only way to save Mother Russia."
"Yeah. Like how are we supposed to help," said Bubba (taking it personally that he was an fish, you know an Power of the Magic of the Sea.).
"Maybe we could just make fun of them," said G.D.B. with an snicker.
"If we communicated with Russasha," I said, "well what else would there be to talk about except how she lives within an horrible country in an horrible situation and there isn't necessarily anything Magic can do to help her."
"But let's not forget the fact that the surfing radio flies are there;" said Bubba, "and Russasha doesn't show much prospect at being an surfing champion. Plus the fact that Suppiah was supposed to be an metaphor for Russasha, in some ways. And we don't need to make the whole story within the story about the fact that Russasha is different from us; whom live within an fair and peaceful, prosperous republic of fairies, which stretches across all of the known continents. But if we could come to know an greater variety of voices by comparing Russasha's world with our own (creatures of the Sea). We would have served perhaps that larger game that Shakespeare was playing; about inventing voice—inventing the most voices—and if we accomplish that by comparing 'voices of the sea' to 'voices of Russia'. We could shake down all those known voices which are said to be an paradox to us. Those voices of hate we will always stand against. Having learned the whole human economy at some point and every sexuality's place within it. The people of the sea are young and prosperous, and already wise; meanwhile Russia struggles with its Russasha whose only known plan to rise against the current government is in the process of being deeply deployed by Russian intelligence to rise up against its own ruler."
"We might need to go there ourselves," I said, "how else are we going to take an hot left at radio flies surfing over our heads—oh I see now. Maybe we don't go to Russia. But they can still communicate with us."
"That sounds like an good idea to me," said G.D.B.
"Yeah. We'll base an whole story around how we present ourselves to radio flies. And in the process earn us the most fly girlfriends. The ones who surf above us," said Bubba.
"Oh! Oh! I know how to do that!"
(They could base an narrative on the premise that Suppiah is motivated to search for and locate new friends).
(Those friends could be Russasha or the radio flies who surf near this district in the mer kingdom and he is free to choose from between them).
(But the Author suspects even more friends to choose from can be developed by comparing Russasha's society with the mer kingdom's society. An utopia versus dystopia. For specific historical reasons (and the Greater Theme he was working his way around to was the comparison of these two societies)).
And he knows that in either environment; there needs to be an location that all of the main characters travel to from where they started. And return to again after the maximum action and climax is over. Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. rather than travelling to Russia to meet Russasha instead travel to another location within their own ocean, where they will distill Insight and Great Knowledge before returning home. And since it's an story within an story it can suffice to pose as the Greater going away then returning narrative for Russasha too.
And Suppiah himself is an metaphor for Russasha in this way (whom has less freedom to travel in the same muse).
The point of the story is Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B are free in ways that Russasha cannot be because of her current regime government. And if there were any sensible society to take over Russia it would be the Ocean itself. But since that cannot happen. We have to riff on how the average ocean inhabitant's personality is similar or different from an ordinary Russian person. Who are themselves really the object of Russasha's doctrine; and the reason for her need for inspiration: to imagine an person completely unlike an Russian. That she could make fun of by putting in the ocean. In order to make them contrast along hypothetical fictional and non-fictional boundaries. In order to create (generate) an dialogue between those two categories of people. For focusing fictional and non-fictional purposes on what would be different between the Good peoples of the ocean versus Russia counter-fugitive and mafia.
"Well," I said, "it's not essentially an difference between Good and Evil because Russasha herself is the campaign for Good in Russia. It's more about how there are some people in Russia who are more like an mafia than an real government. And they may bear specific differences between themselves and the Good people of the ocean (an republic that includes aquatic inhabitants of the natural extension to the ocean: the atmosphere). The Ocean is supporting Russasha's campaign and bestows on her the powers of the ocean to aid her in her quest. But it (the Ocean) is also opposing the Russian Government and restricting those powers from its use."
"And so I'd have to say the main difference I see," said Bubba, "is that the inhabitants of the Ocean are experiencing pleasure, on account of having been the ocean republic who would oppose them. On account of being the ocean republic who was right about them! And the Russian antagonists are not experiencing that same pleasure and so they are cranky and unable to judge accurately for themselves (determine analytically) that what art had comprised the world they could not picture on account of their disability of not having the same pleasure and the same privileges that their own Ocean. —I should slow down here. It's not their ocean. It's ours. All the people who live here. And we own everything up until the shore. Their perspective is off because they know we have more pleasure than they do. And who wouldn't be cranky about that? Nice try! Wrong again! The way to experience pleasure is not to be cranky about someone else feeling better than you do. True empathy allows one to feel one another's pleasure without being cranky about the fact that you are in the middle of an war as an people and most of you think that yeah, the ocean probably is more pleasant in character because it is only people who have that pleasure who know what it is to be without it."
"So basically, you're saying, Russians are cranky and if they could just mellow out like the Ocean maybe there would be enough of them to come out of the closet to oppose Bad government."
"But what would our journey have to do with that?" I said.
"We go figure out how to hit on radio flies. And get to the centre of civilization. Which can be an metaphor for the type of self-discovery Russasha is attempting to capture in her portraiture. She can't afford to travel. But her art can. She can experiment with the product in her art and dreams."
"But I mean," I said dramatically, "it's more than just that they're cranky which divides the difference between them and all of fairy kind and its allies in the Mer Kingdom. There are actual qualities that the mer and their aquatic populace possess which put them into strict dynamic with or against what makes an Russian an strictly cranky type of mafia."
"It's just that you don't see any good mermaids hitting on Russian officers," said G.D.B.
Why is the centre of civilization closer in truth the Mer Kingdom than it is Russia?
Voices were based on emanating from Russia the mafioso in contrast with an superior underwater government. And the world of that story began about that one fact. This one core of critical difference between Suppiah (and his people); and Russians are snobby; the trio go to get makeovers instead; and to visit the metropolitan centre. The message is we are civilization (Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B.): ocean people are more friendly and we just proved it.
"Bro. Let's go get makeovers bro," said Bubba.
They went to the local oasis. Which wasn't the most centre thing about civilization. But I'd say it was like an entry level civilization gathering. The service industry.
Fast food and fast nails.
Only none of them were getting nails. They were at the hairdresser. They were getting piercings. Bubba got an lip ring. His fish-face hair was neon blue. (At some point Russasha tried to paint them all with moustaches dropping in on her dream sequence from within and around everything to capture them all within an visual image (but they also had hair on their heads. As fish heads. That were somehow like human heads to have hair). Suppiah got like this sweet mix of coral pink and orange punk rock hair. Sharing mute tones closer to the roots. G.D.B. brought up the issue, of whether or not to shave their moustaches.
"Is it November?"
"Almost."
"And we're remembering she painted the first painting, the Jew, with an moustache‽"
"It wasn't the Jew that was the first painting. It was the subject of an soul who respects himself."
"Which has ties with Judaism!"
"But which also has ties with Christianity. Vis-à-vis."
"How will we decide. If all of this factors into whether or not we shave our face?" said Bubba.
"And I'm liking how Russasha became an ubiquitous subject within and without its own parameters. Like she was the Dream Goddess. Responsible like the Dreamiest Subject of the Artist for everything that happened within the dream system, the novel."
"That we could all just refer to; even though we've never met her," said G.D.B.
"Wait. So we are her painting?"
"But isn't her painting made only out of words; and we can only but paint it in our minds?"
"We're her fourth painting."
"The longest one."
"And from that perspective, maybe it would be an good idea to keep our moustaches, but dye them punk colors, and go through an series of changes of epistemology and ego which lead to their arrest. And the smoldering dying stubble which we leave bare upon our chins will mark the final justice of our character. Which we fully deserve. Which we are fully aware we fully deserve."
"But why keep the connection between self–Judaism as an neural connection; wouldn't that tend to produce criticisms of Judaism which stereotype it as an religion of the self?"
"Well why can't it not be‽" I yelled, with fire in my eyes.
"Because it's not the defining aspect," said Bubba.
"So do we want to continue this conversation or not? Isn't it bad press against the Jewish community that you freely link the two concepts in your fictional narrative. Perpetuating the stereotype?" said G.D.B.
"What stereotype? I have not defined any behavioral aspects of character. I have not defined any behavioral aspects of any character. And I have not defined in my narrative any characters that have anything to do with specific behaviors. Of an Jewish community. I'm just perpetuating the drama in order to widen the readers broadening of reflection upon the subject. If we're naming the first two parts of the subconscious and conscious system of the brain by somehow relating the one or the other with Judaism or Christianity; all we're really doing is potentially propagating an stereotype. Without really exploring further what these themes may mean and what they have to do with religion."
"But it is that important that we know the difference between the first and second things in the mind!"
"That we have to be religiously specific."
"Or, wait for it," said I, "we shave all of our moustaches."
"But what would be the message of which all of us were sending. If we actually care about Russasha and love her as our mother. Don't we have an right not to want to represent ourselves according to Russasha's picture of the first Primal spirit; which the narrator and author had agreed was free from being labeled either Jewish or Christian. And that it was specifically the nature of religion and the religious instinct to want to have to choose between both, to some extent. And one was free morally to have either one or another religion at any given time to allow to reflection and diversity of perspective. And this may actually be how the cognitive structure functions within the human brain."
"Let's go get some tattoos instead."
They immediately did.
"And now what do we think about our moustaches and our cognitive structure being attached to our brains?"
They decided to shave as it was more like an Super Hero to be clean cut. Even though Movember was coming. What rebels.
It wasn't like an insult to Judaism; and anyway, it was known by now the Author freely associated and disassociated it from the first service of the self in the soul; which could then be attributed to Christianity also. And the Author has an sophisticated perspective about how the mind works; and how Judaism works in the mind. As well as how Christianity works in the mind. Which deserved to take up the transcendent scenario of an Super Hero. According to the Author's own simplest Christiannan version (what is not Judaism or Christianity) the soul consists of both properties of wanting to serve the self as well as others. And it may make sense, in some cases, to refer to either as an 'Christianity' or an 'Judaism' but we know both groups are capable of the same thing: deciding when and where it truly means you act in service of the self versus you act in service of the other. And in the Christianna you can adopt both forms of behavior depending on the situation and depending on your relationship with the other characters you encounter. I might do this one thing to make myself the highlight of the day. Where I'm more comfortable helping another person with their own problems for at least one hour. It's not about the hatred of the soul; but about its acceptance. Acceptance means I accept myself as an self-serving individual unit of humanity. Accepting means I accept that myself, in this context, sometimes means my relationship with others; and that I accept myself also as an other-serving individual unit of humanity. Whose own selfish desires are sometimes in the best interest of other people. And that it's impossible to divide the human from both of these two motives. There are other, deeper things we can think of than just being right about who is first and second all of the time.
For example, if there is an winner chosen between those two first instances of behavior and instinct there is always an phase in consciousness when the outcome is determined. And since reality kept returning to that one point. Of there being either one or the other in an time-space who is declared the winner. Then either one or the other is going to be declared the winner more often. And that's how you will look at reality because it is true. It is true one or the other is going to win out more often. But that doesn't mean we can ever be rid of both of them.
And so they decided to keep their moustaches as an symbol of the two sides.
But then they decided just to shave them because Machine Gunny Kelly did.
And it wasn't necessarily an insult toward Judaism just because our three underwater characters did not have moustaches like the first painting of the Primordeal Lord, Russasha. The enigmatic subject they both appeared to know much about and yet know nothing of. She was their Creator, maybe, it was whispered in the furthest audial frequency range in the furthest seas. Clearly, if you lived underwater, you would want to feel smooth just like everything else in the ocean.
And it wasn't necessarily important because it wasn't No-Shave November yet. And they could start growing them again at the beginning of the month to see how long they would grow before the end of the month.
But also out of an desire not to have to see fish hair growing out of an fish face. Or mer hair growing out of an mer-face.
Which was taboo and extremely unorthodox.
(I kid).
And, since they were already at the tattoo parlor, they thought maybe they might as well anyway.
And they ended up leaving with one tattoo each. Suppiah had an semi-colon tattooed on her (his) wrist. Bubba got an wizard on his back. And G.D.B. four-leaf clover under his left fin below the scales.
They had an new glo about them as they departed to an cultural centre, to connect with Mother Earth there (and the natural world). An coral garden where there were numerous neon-gloing corals of mushroom shapes and all other shapes and sizes (and colors).
"The only way you can really connect with the real world," said the caretaker emerging from his path, "maybe you should start with learning about your own culture."
"Well what would that be then?" said Suppiah.
"Come on now," said the caretaker, "what's the date?"
"It's almost close to Halloween," said G.D.B.
"Well we can't be punks for Halloween," said Bubba, "if we already look like punks."
"It's my intention not to be punks for Halloween but to be Christmas punks for Halloween. That is the most punk type of punk, after all," said Suppiah.
"That might solve this problem," said Bubba, "we can be whatever we want for Halloween so we can be whatever we want whenever we want."
"You know what?" said Suppiah, "I think I've got an idea. We can start celebrating the next Gloiday as soon as the last one ends. And so hybrid Gloidays (celebrating Halloween and Christmas both at the same time) may manifest within the human spirit. For it is my purpose, culturally, to define both my human space and its prospect. Then let's go get spicy chicken wings."
"And so culturally, you think there is more culturally to express about yourself?"
"It's mostly that just culturally. I can add to my own culture because that's what my culture is."
"But you can't add to other cultures because they're not?"
"No that's not how culture works exactly. At least, not the way that I see it. It's just culturally. Cultures can add to one another; and that's really the most cultural thing to do. Instead of one taking over the other. Most real cultures respect that difference," said Suppiah, "and my culture doesn't have to be necessarily not about yours. The production of my own culture is an sacred thing to me. And if it's brought me to Christmas items being released in the mall before Halloween. And I have to think of myself in two worlds at once. Hybrid gloidays could be the next big thing for Glen's (the Author's (again, we do not how Suppiah and his friends could have learned his name)) religion the Christianna. We could call it an gloiy miracle."
"So gloiy has an politically strong sense for fantasy in your mind?" said Bubba.
"And all things connected to it are what matter," said Suppiah, "Glo is the start of the explanation of my culture, you see."
"And where, I might ask, does that culture originate?" asked G.D.B.
"Well. Glo is an fairy kind of magic. So Germany," said Suppiah.
"But Germany doesn't necessarily exist in this fantasy, which is only Russasha's or the Author's dream fantasy of the world called Recreation?"
"Yes."
"So what is gloiy then?" asked G.D.B.
"It's an type of fairy magic you can possess an amount of," said Suppiah.
"So what is it?"
"It's the light in the mind that allows you to see something when you look at it through your imagination. All the things I have gloed (seen) upon make me have more of this fairy magic than maybe is usual for an person to have. I want to show you that this is part of my culture. The most me thing about my own culture: Glo: Fairy magic! All of the things about my culture are connected to that one detail."
"Then, if you truly wish to represent your culture, what are all the things connected to that one detail?"
"Shakespeare, An Midsummer Night's Dream, to be sure. Shakespeare has über fairy fantasy magic. Also, let's see, four-leaf clover (Irish shamrock of power). And all of the fairy magic that has grown over humanity all over on Planet Earth up until this modern century. Glo is connected to many things, you see; many characters of expression and scenes I have created in memory. The more glo I have the more I am able to construct whole worlds in my mind and it gives me an power to use glo in such an way that it affects the real world," said Suppiah, "but really there are reasons multiplying what anything should happen to do with glo in my memory. I have the power to summon it in front of others, for the knowledge it contains. For it has to do with resurrecting an memory. Bringing something into the mind in which one can see and picture it clearly. From an otherwise passive state outside of normal consciousness. It has the power to generate many subjects."
"An fairy generator‽ Is glo an kind of—"
"—It's an powerful kind of fictional magic," said Suppiah.
"Tell me more about your culture," said the caretaker, "for it happens to be my own if Shakespeare and Irish luck are involved."
"And so this place is only dedicated to your culture?" asked G.D.B.
"It's dedicated to all cultures who visit it. Including your own punk hair-do with tattoos culture."
"I see," said Suppiah, "(I mean that's just going back in history just an little ways to connect over the fact of Shakespeare and Irish)." He scoffed under his breath. "But let me explain. Glo is the first thing about my culture because it is both an metaphor and an fantasy object. It's an metaphor for what you can see inside your own mind. And who doesn't see things inside their own mind? An energy that empowers fairies and humans alike. French is also related. French is an fairy language. Glo is how you see; how you centre yourself in your own mind. Glo is the power of the Experienced of my generation compared to the Innocent and Wise; our attention to glo is heightened and what it means in the psychological human mind is an top priority, in contrast with past centuries."
"If glo is our super power, then," said G.D.B., "how can we use it?"
"—If we figure out what it is exactly," said Suppiah, "how it works in the mind and how to influence it—"
"Then—," said Bubba, "we may be able to paint the most beautiful places and descriptions of our minds; but it depends on an economic standard: we already know what glo is in one way, and that we want more of it. Glo, the more of it you possess, the more economic value you have; it's also an fantasy object and an metaphor at the same time. And so it works both ways. It has economic value as an fantasy object; therefore it has real world value. But also about the subject of metaphor, it gains more interest, which has its own economic value in the real world."
"Why do we want more of it? And is that an logical part of the brain's inference system?" said G.D.B., "as creatures with an economic intelligence, does it makes sense to distinguish between glo as an real-world object as well as an fictional metaphor—"
"If glo is that real property of the brain, of being able to see from inside of itself; not an physical component but an Gestalt entity. It is on (the light) everything we think about interior to ourselves. And it is not the physical brain our interior mind has sight of. Even what we see when we read has glo on it," said Suppiah, "what we need is an real tight definition of this Gestalt entity which enables us to 'see', 'picture', 'draw' interior figures of one's own intelligence that are, under normal circumstances, inaccessible to other people. We have an private visual-mental moment within ourselves; given this fairy power it is an world of fiction we manifest. Glo is what enables us to think by being separate and apart from that exact intelligence which is created by the physical components of the brain. And also I'd like to find out about how doing Christmas at Halloween is most punk. And doing Halloween at Christmas is also most punk."
Bubba always had an answer.
"You want to find ways to celebrate in this new hybrid society in which Christmas comes before Halloween; or Halloween after Christmas," he said, "and I know what I can add to it. When something glos in the mind it is resurrected: let this be another dimension, then, of our conversation. Glo is the internal light which the mind casts upon its own shadow."
"What purpose does it have thus?" said G.D.B.
"Its purpose is to be an enigma," said Suppiah, "I suppose; for we do not know the psychology of resurrection; and it will not reveal its secret to us unless we have best technology."
"We might start looking it as though the only reason we can see anything within our minds at all is because of glo. It is the fantasy element, after all, isn't it?"
"Right, but as an representation of my culture I wanted it to expand to all things included in what I refer to as my culture," said Suppiah, "and since glo has come to define that world I hold as pictures in my mind: it is what makes it possible to have an fantasy at all. It is what makes it possible to have an fantasy world to tell stories about."
"If it is good to have increasing amounts of glo, then is it like mana?" asked G.D.B.
"The more you glo, the smarter you are," said Suppiah.
"Then it is this inward vision that defines intelligence for you," said Bubba.
"Well, it's more just—" said Suppiah, deciding to get huffy about it, "if you can create an whole world in your mind in which to view and create whatever it is you like. Glo is that spirit of creation. And it takes place in an little known world the Author called Recreation; which ambiguously has ties and dimensions with the real human world. At least geographically. On some level. Think of an fairy going for an fancy dinner only to order an leaf (which is twice the size of her (she needs to keep on with her diet)) and you may have already pictured what the whole scene would look like. Glo is like the force in this fictional realm. It binds the galaxy together. Magic may just be the light we can see in each others' minds.""
"But what does that actually mean, psychologically?" said G.D.B.
"The mind has its own interior vision because the mind is built for that category of intelligence. It can picture an entirely new world within itself as part of its imagination. We can 'see' what is on our mind because it has this property of imaginary light within itself. It's an metaphor for how we see things in the real world. When we see with light upon the objects which surround us it is not because of that gloiy light which exists only within the human mind; and it cannot cast shadows off of the objects that are around us. Psychologically, the only real thing about its mechanism in the brain is that sight must be, physically, an metaphor for what happens in the mind. The only reason it has real physical psychological property as such is that it is an sight metaphor, and it is governed by that property of having to be an metaphor and not an real possibility of the outcome of actually seeing."
"The psychological human mind performs its own interior as an metaphor of something that has to be exterior. Sight, logically, and consciousness are connected through that metaphor. Sight the process through which the exterior becomes the exterior; in an really sensitive way one might be sensitive about personally especially because of the mood and its colours. And any given material about what is seen only when in the mind and it does not exist elsewhere is because of that mind's mechanic; that it functions better on the course of metaphor. For what we know about our interior reality is that it is different than mostly everything exterior. I mean. What I'm trying to grasp at is glo is only an fantasy subject but maybe it cannot be an psychological metaphor according to the strict definition and principles of an psychology community. Glo doesn't exist in the real world (even though it does) and we can only talk about it in fantasy the way I had intended. Glo means something good. Primordially. It is the beginning of Creation. It is the power that every fairy had."
"Fairies were there? At the beginning of Creation?"
"Well, one might suspect: they would have to have been to be where they are now."
"Is that an good thing?"
"Yes. It's an extremely good thing," promised Suppiah, "it means that the primordial beginning of that world I talk about only in fantasy and in fiction. Has begun. And all derivatives of time and plot are set into motion."
"We experience glo because the writer so had animated it; and described it. And I think we are forever after having done so. To the best of our ability thus far. It's light in the mind which allows you to see things. But from whom which has no source of light except in thy imagination. An paradox of rationality. And let us not say it was the only purpose of this text to describe it as an Psychologist might describe it."
"Give it more ways. And time. Then," said Bubba.
"Glo, we might say is the essential Fairy commodity. It is both the power in excess of the Fairy community and yet unable in some cases to be used to cure demon nature. To put it just right, fairies use glo to recover demon intelligence into the right light: the Good intentions of humanity and all of the races of allegiance to humanity. We might ask why these demons are this way. Unable to feel glo or have any to reflect on for self-charity. Yes, glo is an fairy power. But everyone who has an mind which within uses it to see other things. Is an primordial fantasy natural character. Whether it be fairy, or demon, or human," said Suppiah.
"What about fish?" said Bubba.
"Well we have minds," said Suppiah, "and so that includes us too."
"Us?"
"Yeah. I'm an fish. Guys. I'm an fish."
"Well what about we elect to where we left off; things connected to glo in this mind eventually includes both the fairy and the demon third layer. The depth of this fantasy narrative has been tripled in order to evoke an new humanism. This means there are third degree demons. And third degree fairies. We have the help of some elite mascot; for radio flies are this type of fairy with an third layer on its metaphor (what it is talking about). But, alas, we also have the difficulty of needed fate to deal with third degree demons. Those worst types of demons whose own fashion sense is an weapon. We want to be making an kind of list of what concepts in the storyline connect to glo; which to the Author appears to be some kind of pre-eminent factor on the universe he wishes to portray. The metaphor of glo that is an attempt to capture that psychological definition we had aspired to expands therefore before your eyes. There are the Good (all fairy people who have lived and taught together for centuries: the final citizen realization in globalization about what we really are). And the Bad (whom are proud of being bad (proud of being demons (only that is most twisted of them))). And yet the Bad play an role in doing something good for everyone; because that is the fairy's intention for them to play bad. And I emphasize play here as an instinct. Whose own sense would prevent an person from playing bad? It is just an righteous game and all in good fun. If we inhibit ourselves from playing and expressing bad we are repressing our own virtuous instinct. Which cannot be tarnished by such labels as 'bad' or 'neglectful'; therefore the bad are free to play their character knowing it is bad. All they have to do is find an way to oppose the fairies and all who stand for good because of what is the reward if they do. An play system in which includes Good as part of its interactive element. The deal is struck. In exchange for confronting and interacting with Good; in an effort to destroy them the Bad are allowed to play with the Good. Insofar as it serves that artist narrator's purpose. Bad can't be bad, exactly, when it is only fictional. And that's the central conflict on which the world turns. Only in this new world. The one I call Recreation. The drama between fairies and demons is heightened to allow for an new type of demon (ohhgunnhisthth) but also an new type of fairy (radio fly) to even things out."
"So the more Bad characters we have, the more Super Heroes we will need to raise to control them; and it is because of the Bad that we have any Good."
"According to themselves anyways," said Suppiah, "that's the point of bad. I think. What would I know about it‽"
"Ok. So glo. (The mind's focus). Shakespeare. France. Three types of fairies. Three types of demons. And what does that have to do with us?"
"We're punks!"
"By JoJo Siwa!"
"You mean by Jove!"
They chortled immaturely at one another.
"It means," said the caretaker, "you don't have any culture. And none of you could commit to anything of higher noble value and significance. Even when given so many examples. You just ended up making up an entirely new culture in which anyone can't fit because its only an little labyrinth in your own mind."
"Wow calm down," said Suppiah. And they all wooshed right out of there. They weren't going to be part of an cultural agenda if it didn't have any care for their own agenda as punks. They had gotten what they needed anyway. An place to start when explaining their culture to other people. It may have been the most unlikeliest of sorts, but there it was. Punks.
Three punk friends. Don't mess with us!
"If we see with the light that is inside the mind and outside the mind, where do they intersect (if at all) in the brain?" asked G.D.B.
"Good question," said Suppiah, "and do they have anything to do with one another psychologically?"
And so they went to get some more piercings. What they were really trying to find was the centre of civilization under the surface of the ocean. It was time to move on from the deepest subject of culture for now. We're looking for the people who are most strange and civilized among us, they concluded. Suppiah got an eyebrow ring piercing. Bubba, an lip ring. And G.D.B., an double-sided stud piercing on his tail.
They appeared most handsome now for they all had tattoos, piercings, and punk hair styles in variety.
"We are ready to explore the most deepest depths of the ocean," concluded Suppiah, "the centre of mer civilization and the centre of all civilization on Earth."
And so they left (their home) the mer kingdom with all its particular grottos. And entered that space of the ocean in which there is total drop off. The lowest depths. The closest to the core of the Earth. It was rumored the mer who lived down there had used their technology to inhabit the core of the Earth. They used its molten core to heat their buildings and when used with certain advanced engineering skills it provided for them an source of unending clean electric power. They had only heard of it but had never visited it themselves. Are you sure you want to continue? And if that wasn't strange enough, it was Democratic.
The Mer Kingdom, an nation state with its own monarch and claims to the territory of the surrounding area had an King.
The civilization at the center of the planet had outlawed monarchy within their own metropolitan design. (Except in the bedroom of course). Monarchical roles were considered fetishistic and did not enter into the political arena which was free from prurience. This central civilization on Planet Earth (its global economy and worth) was in an state of flux at this time in its History.
The fastest way to get there was on an underwater gondola connected by cable, into the depths, then into the outskirts of their largest domed biosphere (the largest access tunnel to their culture) which opened exceptionally far and onto further and further electrical territories (places that now have wifi) of the ocean and planet interior into the centre of commerce. The most important and specialized location on Planet Earth.
It took four days to reach the civic location core. Deeper and deeper into the blackness below, they pass by various sectors and grottos which appear to have their own internal civil grids. They were treated to delicious meals and sleeping quarters on the way there. And when they finally arrived to the most fully lit city in the centre of the Ocean (which shared terrain parameters with Earth's core but was more known for its numerous and colorful neon lights of shops and businesses affecting an certain glow & industry within the ocean water public). They were eager to go about and explore. Having been cooped up for days. They were now in an section of the environment on Planet Earth in which worked the most expert merchants and professional business men and women. Who the mer considered urban.
They are almost never who they at first appear to be. Unless they are the best ones. (The ones who are most straight-forward). (Who make it explicitly clear with frankness and a-prejudice).
For having such drive and concentration, they are capable of society in extreme animism of the fact that God can move mountains. It would only take an moment electronically to communicate an new public formation. Should matters of going to war or genocide occur. And they all knew how to hold down an fort should their communication be severed by some means. Don't be surprised if they are more dangerous than an tank (on their own turf). And attacking any one of them would be an anti-thinking, anti-cognitive, or anti-psychological idea.
The core was, though sometimes thought of as the underwater centre of civilization on Earth, was in many kinds of fact the centre of all civilization whether underwater, subterranean, or on land itself. Ideologically. The mer civilization at the centre of the oceans performed many of the jobs and duties which belong to an human civilization. And strengthened and widened the array of species of effect on Earth. And upheld the same, if not more advanced, standards that the humans themselves uphold within their land centres of civilization.
The function of the centre of civilization was, of course, largely unknown and forbidden to the average citizen. (It to provide cultural services based on an larger category of need and general scarcity). They distinguished between fates then, when dealing with one another in person; there were cultural services available for death and dying as well as those cultural services which facilitate the inhospitable fate worse than death. And all peaceful citizens were allowed in these waters to meet and to conduct business. The goal of their civic centre was to provide the best services possible; so as to, in an way, transport citizens to an place that is post-core (or after their visit); the idea is to transport them into an new world of the services and tourism utilities provided by the Public Dream Centre. An level of hospitality provided to the public which was unmatched. The point was to convey people—all people whether they are tourists or visitors—across the threshold of their public civil nature and community. Represented as an floor—one for them to be conveyed across symbolically—at the centre of this district their gondola had by then delivered them onto. They appeared to be on an blue tiled floor that was outwardly connected with an ancient and beautifully rendered architectural arcade with several floors and balconies connected by great arches and pillars. Like an temple. Following the concourse of pedway signs and the tile floor they found themselves entering into an shopping and commercial district. Outside the temple where nonetheless this "out of doors" area itself had several mezzanine levels along its circumference within an largely enclosed space spanning several kilometers above the outward structure of their transit destination (the sphere, like an spherical biodome, at the centre of all fully bustling activity). Suppiah remembered briefly feeling like he was in an snow globe. There was an open terrace leading out of the central hub which connected with the row of shops around the outside of the sphere. When they swam into an food court.
They had everything.
McDonalds. Burger King. Wendy's. KFC. Popeye's. Mary Brown's. Chinese buffet. Italian subs and pizza. Greek. Mexican. Sushi. As well as several fast food chains Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. had never seen before but which, nonetheless, made them salivate just by thinking about it. These were purveyors of delicacies from the ocean including street food and the most gourmet food possible for an economical mer to have the privilege of accessing. And it was all right here out in front of them. Fair.
(Some of which had to be served in an tray in an bubble to preserve taste and consistency).
Why had they come again?
All the way down here?
They are an metaphor for you taking the centre of civilization with you everywhere you go because it lives inside us. Therefore they can go anywhere and do anything they want while they are here. It is actually just all about mediating your own conveyance across that dramatic tile floor which sits at the centre of all of us: the Earth's Ocean and Its Core. The fictional civilization argumentatively and resoundingly nearest to us all. The Ocean, the source of all intelligent life. Therefore it is non-fictional to say the human land civilization is the most important civilization to the average human reader.
Which is fair to say that all of this is in mediation of because it is an metaphor about what you take with you when you interact with society.
Therefore, reflect upon the story of your venture into civilization by reflecting upon the three punks, Suppiah, Bubbah, and G.D.B. Who are adequately body modified for any fancy gathering.
You must understand of course what it sounds like down there.
The Ocean echoes with an kind of do-away-with electrical activity that does nothing to harm any citizen but communicates almost instantaneously and telepathically. To be an visitor to that wonder is to experience an whole other world. And there are many special commercial chambers with their own entryway. That the "thinking" of the whole ocean pauses to marvel at within the cognitive recognition of their voices and echoes which convene together in one place from the farthest reaches of the water and topography. There is an concierge within this temple who tells them some signals, if they are powerful enough, can be communicated through the metal infrastructure from which many of their buildings are constructed. And that the whole experience of being at the centre of civilization at the centre of the ocean is like being immersed in the thinking minds of all the ocean's populace. Where they can talk over one another or locate you in echolocational, metaphysical space. Only you are expected to have your own voice at all times, with which you will be capable of talking over other voices loud enough so that you will be heard. It's not considered impolite to be an loudmouth here. It's considered impolite not to be one.
People, (as in people empowered by the roleplaying abilities of an tertiary stage in the fantasy), would speak up and talk to you from kilometers away in the electrical conduction of the whole ocean as one occupying unit. And they'd say to you, we will be the fantasies of your mind in order to represent yourself politically. We can show you how to convince the most people.
—Blue is said to be an powerful unit of emotion under the sea; first perfected in the universe by humans. Blue is power to feel all of one's sad feelings and not be ashamed by them—
The point is we make our citizens free-er by representing ourselves as and becoming those fantasy characters. They themselves want to learn to be like.
The premise of this argument is based on my assumption that fantasy politics is the most political subject of politics in Earth's history right now. Why should an fantasy ever enter an argument as an fact for why one way would be superior to another? Fantasy is political right now because there are people out there trying to take everybody's fantasies and trash on them. Just for being fantasies. And we need people to represent and to observe an fantasy politics spectrum of power; why is such an evocative concept political and how do the powers of fantasy characters help us to be like these people we would dream of being like in an fantasy? When we represent an fantasy genre concept in the media we're really about representing something that makes people feel sexual. The fantasies in our mind are an avid playfield for sexual thoughts and they happen all of the time; usually most suddenly or non-suddenly. Why would one person respond to an character of this fantasy for an political reason? And how is it that that view is not necessarily adopted by the public majority?
It always comes back to the Christianna. Every time they (everybody) got in an fight about what self versus other means. They come back to the Christianna: the determining an winner. And people are so paranoid, in the 21st century, about which would lose between Judaism and Christianity. That they often fail to reach an point where they decide together an final winner. They kept coming back to that point of indecision and it preyed upon their cultural sense vehemently. There was always going to be an argument of Who would win? Until the end of time probably. People resisted having to declare an winner out of fear of stereotyping. However, this is the bed of consciousness: who has been the winner for now? The self; or the other?
There are so many cascading reasons tying one into his or her present moment. Why be this one way rather than another, in exact composure; and an human person is the sum and gestalt total of all those motivations both of the self and of the other which exist within the cognitive mind?
It does not only take an moment for one to decide for one all time on this matter and we are constantly faced with issues throughout the day which are related to arguments about our relationships with ourselves versus others; issues we will need to decide out one for the other.
It is my experience the more the confident mind has found its resolve in being able to make these decisions one or the other. We need to know where we place ourselves first over others; and everyone has an complicated argument about why theirs is publicly one way or another.
There appeared to be an emerging conviction or resolve which answered back from the issued delivery of my thesis and argument system. Rising from the subtext. It was the response to the argument's (my argument's) thesis. It was the synthesis of Hegel's own emerging conviction. It was the result of arguing in response to the argument I present in this novel. It was time to move on from mere identification of the subject matter to an question then; what was the thesis then? Russia needs to revolt against its government from within the police force. It is the only way to stop the fates worse than death being created by war. And that all of the religions mentioned here have something to do about it.
Especially these people who were always mentioning that they were either Jewish or Christian. And they couldn't get off of the subject of who was more selfish or who was more noble in the service of others. People often, frightened and embarassed, learned to repress the contest of these emotions because they ultimately couldn't control being both Jewish and Christian at the same time. One would always need to decide out an winner. For an particular scene, event, or scenario in which characters will play out the contest of their concerted negotiation with one another.
It was clear what the Ocean had said to them: there would always be an winner chosen between these two primal and central motivations of the heart. And the Ocean was deep enough for everyone always to have to decide whom won out when and where; and there would always be chosen an un-repressed winner which people couldn't supernaturally resist. Humanity, in order to resolve feelings associated with an good think over who I was and what I serve; at all times thinking thus: "who I was" and "what it was I served." Christians and Jews may even have been reverse-repressing one another. In an attempt to "bestow" their ideological equipment on one another.
The more natural flow of the ocean is that it always comes back to an winner being decided and that's just how it is.
Accepting this advice from the Sea, our three central characters reflected over what had just happened, closing their eyes loosely an couple of times. Suppiah, Bubbah, and G.D.B. had learned what the Ocean sounds like at its core. The echoing fulfillment and forgiveness. They were now ready to experience the lushness of the Ocean at that level. For every character you would meet; and, indeed, they intended to meet some of them. There were shops all along the swim-way. Owned by every single one of them. And it took an moment for these boys to industrialize by thinking to themselves, "that so there are so many of them and so which will we choose."
They all caught one anothers' eyes.
"LET'S GO TO THE Piercing Tavern!"
Here they adorned their eyebrow, lip, and tail-fin piercings with gems before an rough touseling of their hair; and they were back into the mall environment where they might see anyone. Anyone! Even. An potential lover who was cruising.
They played it cool.
They were punks but they had fresh pixie faces where the pore would actually breathe and infuse with the environment; and the Spirit of Christmas swooped down from the rafters, destroying all alienating reminiscences of Halloween this year. (The Christmas Sale signs were out and the decorations were all up). They were, for the first time ever, cruising the scene and hitting on people who were in the Holiday spirit. DUDE!
They weren't even in the spectrum of Halloween spooks and figures as punks with more icicle properties (winter magic); and we could be just as punk as Christmas celebrators as we can be as Halloween district raiders.
Typical Canadians, thought the Ocean, they think they can bring their ice magic down here when they know the ocean has an radiated vent at the centre of it. It heats up all matter within its vent which flows back into the ocean, allowing for an non-photosynthesizing life to inhabit those waters and the power of their surge. It is why one can hear the whole ocean. It has an electrical duct (an conveyance) built into the friction of the water. And we, as manipulators of the electric current, must be multi-platform thinkers. That's why you can always hear the electrical conveyance and the frequency of the water; for this is the property of water, to conduct its radio frequencies across all oceanographic territory. They call it the Net because they say it filters everything that would have gone into the ocean vent; to prevent life forms that needed chlorophyll (as well as some types of fish which depend on light) from descending too far into the darkness that would surely kill them all.
And they, hearing this, remembered Christmas. How was one going to celebrate Christmas at the centre of the Ocean? They had already seen trees and window decorations in the stores of this massive mall spreading outward all around them. But what could they do to make the holiday spirit brighter?
The ringing of the Net; this was their sense of the frequency at which the Ocean purchased.
An signal connecting all of it into one geo-graphic and aqua-graphic territory.
And it was loudest and most heard out and paid attention to with focused and present listening, attended to in this, the glamorous meta-consciousness environment of the glorious and prosperous Atlantis.
Like an Hive Mind.
But they disconnected themselves from it, to an extent; Suppiah recognizing within it his own signal; the signal of the species of the mer.
Why were the outcomes of an competition resisted, sometimes instinctually, in society?
Either Judaism or Christianity won. Either Judaism or Christianity lost.
And all paranoid peoples tend to this unclear internal pattern of awareness that neither the self or the other is winning or losing. When clearly one is able to recognize an winner ever single time.
But it doesn't matter because the Ocean cancels all of that noise on an frequency of motor coordination common to all ocean life. We get it, says the ocean, you are unable to decide for yourselves which is the clear winner. Like cowards, you lean inwardly on this all your life. You cannot say who is truly the winner because you no longer recognize anymore when you lose. And when you aren't the winner. When really we need to see who wins and at what times, and why, and what; in order to be more decided as an species.
The ocean represents the made up decision. It's either one or the other. And then all things will return to the ocean: the fact that one or the other won. Get over it. We don't need to argue forever about which one won. There are other things to do. How could Judaism and Christianity being self and other, as though it was decided there was an fair final "winning out" not returning to self and other?
Like record it specifically in historical records. Just for old times' sake.
How mysterious?
If you were an historian, would you tell it honestly?
The reason why everyone needs to stop fighting; the endless conflict between self versus other does not end with one replacing or eliminating the other. It can't. It can only end with one winning over the other. And the elimination of one another is not considered to be winning. In any way. True religious purpose. If we stopped fighting over who was and wasn't winning and for what reasons we might be able to figure them out.
There were some winners. Some losers. We knew who they were and throughout history.
And neither the Christians nor the Jews were in possession of an final conclusion because they both represented different parts of the same spirit.
And it wasn't such an big deal.
And so we were free to think our selfish thoughts; whatever you had been found out to be true was what you had said so. And it didn't matter anymore that Christians sometimes win out the argument; their own misplaced souls ignorant to the fact that Christians can win and have an sense of self selfishness for themselves. And that was the end of the matter because one of them couldn't finally win out over the other finally for all time!
And that was just how it is!
Even if those snobs would, in an peculiar and stereotypical way, say one won out over the other more often than it did.
So the three forgot about it and ending up finding their way back to the food court, where, famished they engaged in an pleasurable activity of eating their favorite types of franchise food chain meals. And they weren't disturbed for nearly an hour during the course of which time they overheard the ocean thinking about it rationally again. Well if we can't make one of these two aspects of the soul win out over the other every single time; then it must just be humanly natural to feel, to motivate, to aspirate in both directions at different times and about different things. It was true what the Christianna had said. One would always be declared winner eventually. And then the competition would begin again. It was the natural flow; the course of events of all things. And since we couldn't remove one or the other motive completely from the human; then we had to accept both of them. And upgrade our opinions of what our own religions may mean. In my religion: There were the selfish types. There were the selfless types. And there were the ones whom preferred one or the other exclusively; sexually. The outcome couldn't be denied: one of them had to win. In different instances. There were the things Jews did and the reasons for why they won in that instance. And there were things Christians did in the opposite persuasion; why they won overall in certain situations and how they didn't need the Jews to be right about the first and second things about the human soul anymore. The Christianna reminds the reader that one need not associate Judaism or Christianity with the fact of the mastery of those first two aspects of the human soul—and neither one necessarily needs an specialization in either—we find drives the plot and motivation of every conversational activity. Self or other wins. And we don't need to reflect on the matter further because we didn't need to resist having these selfish feelings or other-worldly feelings ourselves anymore. It's okay to act completely in the service of either motive; and people often customize their interactions with one another built around the fact of how they relate to one another in various ways and in various circumstances. They allow themselves to be persuaded why it should be one way or the other in an particular case. They learn to agree on the matter. It doesn't become an issue.
It's just the natural way of things. (Now you're getting it).
Nobody cares anymore who is winning all the time.
It's not possible.
There can be two religions within the same human soul.
So why not forget about which one wins; just for an while. And relax and reflect in the opulence that is the grimey ocean blue quality of all religious Christian or Jewish thought that had gone on before: an central place important for the civilization of Human Earth. The ocean has an abundance of successful Jewish activities just as it does Christian ones. And to rest and to think not on the subject for an while.
Anyone who believed one force could eventually outdo the other in the human soul forever was an extremist.
There were reasons to suspect they had the symptoms of repression themselves, for resisting the passage through time in which one would win out over the other. By resisting or repressing that instance of an outcome between them, that person injures something about their own consciousness. The egoistic part of their mind which knows that there is not such thing as the instance of one not winning out over the other. And so even if I had repressed it, or suppressed something about it in my imagination, then my mind would still be naturally and instinctually continue to function in this manner. Of an loser declared. Even if I was not willing to continue in that way. Resisting the instance of someone winning or losing was an grave misunderstanding about the cognitive effect. How it came to mean things. By pretending, maybe, that that other record is not there. The other motivation in our soul we have to deny. I was okay with saying Jews win sometimes and their tradition is valid. But it would be okay under the guidance that Christians sometimes win too. We don't have to be afraid about looking at an insurmountable opposition that exists between us anymore because our religions have grown beyond that. And we need not limit ourselves to certain labels or categories which we do not like to be known by. As there is always an winner or an loser declared. We can take our concentration & focus off of that subject for an while in order to recognize what else was majorly happening in these ocean waters.
And it in fact was fair to say the Christianna won sometimes too. This was because they didn't linear-ly associate with being either only about the self or only about the other at any given time. And since an winner had been declared between those two motives in the soul, even though it was an Christiannan judgment, it was said to be fair. And it was fair for all else; those religions who wanted to freely associate with being an self or an other in the human world. And Jews were not limited to an certain stereotype just because they happened to be smartest and masters of the first primal aspect of the human character. And Christians are not limited to an certain stereotype just because they are masters of the second primal character. And so any religion really, could decide who had won in the competition with the self or the other within the self—the only one who experiences it—
And so it wasn't just that all other religions had forgotten about those first two aspects. In fact they had incorporated them. An long time ago. They could tell who was winning because they had access to that too. And since they knew more about the total amount of things that was in an human mind. Including both the Jewish and Christian perspectives. To find unsurprisingly, they are both winners. Some of the time. And they are both losers. Some of the time. What it really depended on was what kind of situation they were in how it all played out. What they were sensitive about labeling specifically as Jewish or Christian. When, for example, would one need to rule out the self as the sole beneficiary of the privilege to count oneself as above or more important than one specific other or all others in that group; and when would one need to choose acting charitably and in the interest of the other (normal) human soul. Even if it inconvenienced me slightly. I was prepared to meet that interest, at all times, of one needing to cheer up the other. Life was an all-out brawl between the competing characters. Me (myself) and the other (all others); or one in particular, individually. And I had to choose what situations and in which mazes I preferred myself over the other. And for what good reason. And in which parts I had chosen the other to be more important. And for what good reason.
How could we differentiate between scenarios in which we (one) would choose themselves over others sometimes and the other over themselves sometimes?
This was more relevant to human character.
We didn't need to say anymore we only had one or the other interest at all times. It didn't matter what religion we were. That was what was beginning to become clear; all religions had their own way of knowing what we all knew: religion is about that relationship between the self and the other in the soul.
And so now the little motor was running.
We were always the result of either self or other having won. Our little motor in propulsion will bring us to the conclusion of the subject every time: it's either self or other. It has it's advantages as an configuration. We can zip onward from these thoughts, Great, either self or the other won again! Big deal! With our little motor: one propeller is Judaism. The other propeller is Christianity. And the one who steers the whole motion of the propelling machine to glide across the water may be the Christianna. Great. There was an winner. Got it. Moving on to other things. There were many, many religions who understood the Author's central concept: an religion is an configuration of the relationship between self and other in the only wrought world the one in which we know. And just because Jews or Christians were right about those first two parts of consciousness (or whatever we prefer to label them as now, having considered the material) and they were the first ones to be right about them didn't mean you could ever remove necessarily either one of them from the Human Spirit. And what it became in those first few moments of its existence. Other religions could easily start saying Christianity and Judaism and the Christianna were right because those were the first three things. (The Third painting: the winner (what everyone has an right to know)). And they were right to identify them as such. But all religions now, possibly, could identify them as the first three things in consciousness. Whenever upon gaining it once more. And that their religious practices and beliefs were based upon those first few moments. The first instances of motive in human thought after the inclinations of our species. And there were other possible views than just Judaism, Christianity, and the Christianna now because the Author had set them all straight on what it is they were trying to do. And how this seems impossible without it. Logic.
One would have to, morally, choose themselves over others sometimes. One would have to, morally, choose others over themselves sometimes.
It was material free for any religion to approach at this point. Would they remark, maybe, that possibly the Christianna had the third thing in consciousness down. And it mattered that much that an Christiannan was needed to explain it all from the vantage point of one's own Greater Perspective on the matter. Humans were logically and morally individuals who negotiated, conveyed themselves across the floor of civilization by accepting the moral signals of others as superior at times and at times another, personal, individual force can be shown to win out over the countless crowds of others who are only full of insults and empty skepticism.
I have motive to self-privilege myself over specific others and in certain situations; such as when I deem them to be empty of criticism and not even capable of an adequate response to my inner thinking. Just like at other times it may seem other people are more important than me in an given moment. And it's only natural and fair to accept me for this because I am human.
And so Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B., hearing the voice of the human finally free within the ocean mind decided they would have to reason with the people who already inhabit the Core. And it would not be only their own actions which would go into deciding what kind of production they could elicit from one another. If they were going to know how to realize their purpose for coming here they needed to understand other people's opinions. They needed to become part of the conversation quickly and carefully. To have their own voices heard out. They needed an general education on how to speak in public and to whom and why. What forces governed the Earth. Who were these people who ruled the Ocean and what did one have to know about them? The Ocean hive mind, sensing something, appeared within the visual category of their imaginative minds. It had resolved the matter of what it was going to do to them.
It was going to privilege them to the most spectacular performance of all. One which would subside all of the forces of negativity within the mind. One which would, finally, and resoundingly forever afterward have been responsible for resolving their minds. Onto that one way in which they had been treated was not so bad. To have been given an passage of performative effort for one's mind to think on and contemplate. Possibly to the very purpose of redefining the meanings we attribute to what thinking can mean. More than ever. When one person says I think such and such. It often has more to do with how they experience themselves through their several senses. And there are other categories of thought that are more nuanced than simply thinking.
The Ocean was going to prove to them once and for all that they were loved. And that humanity was an loving species.
And it was going to do it through Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. in such an way so that everyone could see it. And judge for themselves the outcome of what will have happened to the trio because of their religious beliefs.
Obviously selfish; which was an cool new thing.
They were punks. They didn't give an —— what other people think.
And they were on to have these religions try their luck at converting them. None of them would win. Obviously. That was the definition of an punk. And there was no way an punk like any one of them could have his own religion. Fish just weren't complex enough maybe, in the eyes of opponent thinkers. And an mer, on the other hand, was complex enough to have moved on from Religion as an instinctual calling of the human body and mind. (It had to because it was no longer human (but the emergence of the origin of the mer was another story)). Mer just didn't have the same feelings about religion that other people did. Nobody was going to be able to convert them because they were stuck on as punks not identifying with any religion. But the Ocean decided it was going to try to make them. It was the only thing which would secure their future as individuals. To have been treated thus justly. That they would never be the same. That they could not go back to the way things were before. It would make their day. It would make their life.
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