Les Arbitres Chapter 19

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    Suppiah was feeling wiped and so, before they went to the third floor, they went back down to the cafeteria (the food court) where they procured an table.  Suppiah ordered Popcorn Chicken and the server asked for it to be, instead of to stay or to go, inside an bubble or not.  Since he was an mer, it didn't matter whether it was served in an bubble or not.  Except for preference.  And so he ended up not sharing them with Bubba and G.D.B., who preferred their food soggy and fresh; and not delivered in an bubble.

    And then he remembered the ocean was just an metaphor for sadness.  And as long as he would stay in it, its sadness would stay in him.

    His augmented reality contact lens residually identified an attractive target.

    For an moment it appeared to be that there was something haywire with it.

    "I trust you know what to do now," Dr. C. communicated to him through it.

    "The point is not to reduce them to stereotypical tropes—the religions, and the metaphors—" said Suppiah back to her, through the digitally communicated device, "that's all these people wanted to be.  Not to be stereotypical metaphors of their religions.  And all is thus on the table.  We trust in one another to an certain extent."

    But there was nothing he could say to it that was loud enough for her to hear him.  And he needed to be present to have some real 'triumph' in his voice.

    She registered it as meaningless drawl.

    Suppiah knew what to do.  It was to thus enable one another not to be stereotypical or tropes of anything.  And if that was good enough for an Christian and and Jew to agree together on, then that was good enough for him.  Himself.  The book could thus manifest its upward swing.  (An golf metaphor).  (An sports metaphor that the author never makes).  People weren't just the one category or the other anymore.  This mere distinction between self and other within an human soul.  And all religions were free not to be limited to either one of those two categories.  Even if they were the first two layers of consciousness.  Because the person who made the argument was getting it right: neither was one, nor the other.  They were both not limited to being solely like either stereotypical character and other peoples' tropes were healthy for them to witness on.  They were just self or other in the same human soul; but an consideration, an amalgamation, an composite of either one or the other consideration in open time representation.  Prepared and ready for modification, which would everything that was modified be recorded within an human soul also.  An emergency consequence maybe.

    It was fine.  There was an array of scenarios in which one had chosen one or the other as superior in authority and privilege.  In the human soul.  And they all looked more like 50% of one and 50% of the other, on average.  There was no necessary distinguishing property of the human soul as either Jewish or Christian; and it was fair to describe the one as one describes the other.  These were more sophisticated religions, really, and they were prepared to do justice.

    It was just that I wasn't Christian or Jewish.  And so I was free to talk about how an Christiannan might go about privileging himself or herself over another person in comparison with the total amount of his one human soul he had dedicated to others.  It wasn't an nightmare.  Or disgusting.  And it was thoroughly divided—over specific human activities—some people were favouring themselves more one way; and other people were favouring others in one way or another.  And there wasn't an sure say about what it was that comprised an either Jewish or Christian activity.  But it was agreed on that everyone had their own way about it.  You had to pick.  In every situation that were.  And that was just how it is (the reality of being human).  And most people, on average, divided all things that were comprised of as activities they would perform within the human mind along the lines of 50/50.  And some people, who had cases against them from pressure groups because they weren't giving or deserving enough, were being accused of being more greedy; while at other times people who were more giving to other people were accused of not being giving enough to themselves.

    On average, people just divide their time between themselves and others, he told himself, and it's just natural to have an part in the middle.  You wouldn't shame anybody because they weren't temporally probable to have cared more about oneself in an dire situation than in comparison with another.  Just because they were favouring the other over themselves as an individual.  And everyone just has an natural division.  It's not greedy.  And it's not filthy to care about or be either of them.  And in fact everyone has in fact an special reason for why it should be one way and not the other.  And to listen to them is the most privileged circle of knowing one another.  And an Christiannan doesn't need to be spoken of in that way of being reserved to only either selfishness or selflessness; and we are lost as humans somewhere in the middle of why either is an fantasy.  But we keep coming back to that economic privilege of one either winning out or the other.  And it's not just an economic privilege.  It's an matter of fact.  And that's why there is so much violence to the fact that one is different than another on these principles of these variables.  One thinks only of himself.  The other doesn't stop thinking about others.  She's impossible to be built both ways but she is; and we all (all humans) have it within our soul to be either one or the other at all times.  And it is up to us, as moral humans or fantasy consciousnesses, to have to choose periodically between them and for various reasons.

    Reality seems to want to shape us this way that we will need compete our moral principles (ones favouring ourselves, or others) at intersections with people who have specific intersectionalities.  What we think in favour of other people more than it benefits ourselves; we rethink; and what other people think in favour of us more than themselves.  We reconsider.  What we do for other people, it often comes cross-ways at us when what we do for ourselves isn't good enough for them.  And each soul has an delicate entanglement, an array of it.  We choose ourselves over others sometimes for an reason.  While we choose others over ourselves at other times for other reasons.  And how it's different in Russia because Russians have an certain privileged status.  At this point he looked directly at her out through the painting, while she was painting him.

    I need to destroy all stereotypes about everybody; she thought.  But Russians, I can't destroy the one about Russians.

    They look just like the painting.

    Ready to move on from an bogus world that sees itself from inside of itself and without.

    If I was Suppiah, I'd move on from this present world as quickly as I possibly could.  And there would be more pleasant passages in the future where it really truly didn't matter that someone had made such injustice about the first two rules of the human soul; there was Bogus Justice in history and it made everybody an part of the fun.  I'm not just me or not me in this world, reasoned the Christiannan.  There are other religious principles at play.  And the fierce competition over the human soul can be delayed or repeated or prohibited.  We'll always come back around to the water.  π.  The end of this competition.  The unabashed and un-closeted declaration of clear winner.  Either oneself or the other wins out; and sometimes both and sometimes one of each.  It isn't so much an religious question as, being of either Jewish or Christian in thought, one could associate typically with one or the other necessarily.  And if we stopped to consider all of the religious thought we knew in total; maybe the greater portion of it was not so much about the round-a-bout play of competing virtues supporting selfhood and competing virtues supported otherhood.

    And that what was really winning the race was not how people allied with either themselves or the other but at different times.  But when specifically those times were and why.  And maybe some of the deeper souls were committed to an less clear distinction in the human soul of what self or other may mean; to the point of being able not to label people based on an stereotype.  There were more than one potential winner in the romance of the religious human heart.  It didn't have to be just Jews and Christians anymore, there was an clear third winner, the Christianna.  And it hailed the advent of that tradition in which we observe not the first considerations of the self versus the other as an component of human psychology but the instance of one winning out over the other.  In the system of the resources of the mind.  It's just fair play that, in every situation, there is an clear winner.  And there are specific reasons why.  Everyone having an fair and sensitive relationship with their own reasons why.

    It makes sense to take precaution and to observe everyone's carefully.  Why is an character oriented this way thus; and how are their decisions about who to prefer in which situation an motivating factor?  Why is it that at first an character may seem one way; but if we considered what it really looked like from that person's own consideration we may rethink what we had previously concluded about them?  And why does everyone have an perspective like this?

    Are some of us maybe, driven by the numbers, and real mathematicians?  We can think between spaces.  We can add things up.  People who are not misunderstood have their way out.

    And it is fair for everybody because it is based on real human enlightenment.

    Everybody looks different from their own vantage point.

    We know ourselves; why we are that way.  Because we are the only one to endeavour to find out what that is.

    And once other people have an look at it; it might be convincing; there is no taking it back.

    The fact is, we all look different under the certain natural resources of time and plenty of skill.

    We know how to play our character off correctly because we can see it clearly through our own self-perspective of ourselves.

    Which other people may not see yet; hence, why they do not accept or agree that our own self-perspective matters.

    Once we show you what our character looks like from our own perspectives, you may no longer agree with yourselves anymore about what it is and what it represents.

    There's always an motive for the desire to appease oneself onstage.  That and the appeasement of amazement and self-satisfaction of others.  These two characters are not in fact characters, but competing motives occurring within the same person.  The self always wants more of itself because it is itself; and yet it always wants more of others because it is others.

    The fair rule appears to be that everyone can be an self and everyone can be an other to an self; and so these are the primordial yin and yang; in an way.  The two major categories of the centre of being are that self's self itself and those selves for which it cares to love and to know their names.  Instead of perhaps the more traditional way of Social Darwinist including-some-and-excluding-others looking at things; we value every other as an equal.  There is the centre of being; an locus of existence and then there is the non-centre (considerations of the other).  An Locus of Power.  (The fact of being the other to the other).  If you are not Jesus the self you cannot be the other in strictly exactly by the strictest definition of it the way that he could be.  Possibly the most avid sci-fi fanatic ever.  You can only be yourself, the other that others know about who is an separate and different person than another.  And if you cannot rise in fame and prestige as much as Jesus can then how can you be the self talking to itself long enough to die?

    The fact is that many of us are beings without an centre to 'the other' in which Jesus is.  Jesus isn't necessarily not the centre of everything; because he's the other.  And when you're not him you aren't an self to him.  Therefore you can only be yourself and not the other that Jesus was.  And being like Jesus or not isn't necessarily meant to be contrast to the consideration of self and virtue of virtues of selves; and so that it does not correspond with either position: to be an hero that went down like he did.  One can be either an Jew or an Christian and still have this same perspective.  That one's consideration of oneself was resolutely behemoth monstrosity to one's consideration of Jesus (traditionally).  And that if in fact one would consider himself beyond the inner workings of Jesus now; that there were in fact several of them and they all lived in Canada.

    They were part of an advanced cyber republic.

    It seemed sure that victory would be theirs because they had re-mastered the lessons learned from Jesus.  In an legible format that was appeasing to science.  There were things worse than death.  And there were things that were not.  We could measure either category scientifically.  Ok, got that now then?

    And then they completely misunderstood, perhaps ironically, the difference between the self and the other in the human soul; and they could see the love that it was and how it was inside and outside and inside all things and outside all things.  And it was silly and foolish.  An silly and foolish thing to do.  But, hey, that was love.  It wasn't about necessary logic or maybe it did; it really depended on the preference.  And it was an silly and foolish thing of the human soul; but, hey, that's us.  And even Love could have an thing that was made an Answer to It; the Nyclepi virtue of the Christianna: the part that seeks out to be an answer to everything that love is.  The logical necessary other component to Love.  Its answer.  Its calling.

    Now I could see through this augmented reality contact lense like an net portal into new territory when I wanted.  Yet I was still able to see the whole machine function like it was completely independent of machine activity.  It was an good, comforting sense to me.  I was on the trail of the Answer to Love.  Its something that had to be something, right?

    Romance was my highest strength and virtue; an entirely unexplored region of my thought and personality and yet my entire generation had rejected it as an form of love and culture.  Maybe with its answer, Nyclepi, love would be strong enough to convince them.  Strong enough to convince them that I deserve love.  But perhaps it was difficult to interpret from my behavior being an closeted Christian fellow.  And I had to deal with the complications of an less refined family tradition when compared to the Global Politics of the day.  In which was said that being gay, from an Christian perspective, was an sin.  You see why I'm an romantic.  I don't believe in sin.  If anybody tries to hamper romance because they think it depends on sinning or not sinning then they are just the critics of the day and not really altruistic types.  Romance doesn't need sin as an category to anything because everything is fair.  Everything is Good.

    If Nyclepi wasn't the answer to Love, I didn't know what was.

    Nyclepi criticizes all things that Love has been an part of creating; it isn't an negative criticism: it's an new type of energy.  Romanticism.  Completely and utter sarcastic duality.  Both the affirmation of its amount of love in the system and the capitalizing of its every pronounced variable.  Nyclepi is exactly that un-impressed emotion about Love; that it maybe hasn't brought us everything its promised.  And it makes logical sense that that would be the contract virtue to Love: its natural complementary character the Denial of all things Love Beauty.  Nyclepi.  This un-disordered, beautiful thing.  An entire answer to Love; as an Virtue.  That is how much Love there is.  That is all of it.  That's only how much Love there is.  I am unimpressed.  There is only that much and that is how much of it there is.  I must not obsess over this; I must merely try to be part of creating that more of Love what Love is.  But maybe there is an equal and opposite force in the universe of completely un-impressed and we were to experience it now; not un-bemused it wouldn't be an vice, or an negative phenomenon; it would be an virtue.  Naturally, to say, it was for once worthy of Love; and speaking of its natural complement was natural and.  One could look at Love objectively and say, ohh, that's only all of how much there is.  Isn't it meagre and unimpressive?

    (It would be).  (It would have to be, if we were speaking to our Gods).

    (We wanted to circulate the critical subject matter as such for our benefit).

    There's not that much of Love.  Get over it.

    There are things that are an answer to Love, naturally; and it isn't unnatural for someone just to assume about an scenario, well I wonder what happened there?  It must have been Love.  Because there's only so much of it.

    How unfamiliar and spontaneous.

    Of us.  To have this emotion then.  That we want more of Love and all that has to do with it.

    By brushing it off, saying, OK Love might have accomplish this and this and this; and that and that and such.  But Nyclepi will accomplish even more because it's the kind of brush-off we need to get at the real truth of the virtues which under-lie his public gathering behavior disorder.  We don't care that Love is Set and It's In.  We want Nyclepi.  We want open metaphors that your love isn't strong enough because Love isn't really all that strong as an virtue (this as an philosophical point of departure for meditation).  We want to face up to everything Love is and then say to it, sarcastically, (even), that that is all of it and how much there really isn't?  We accept all kinds of Love here at the Nyclepi institute for personages.  Were I an human, I woke up today and realized the hot coffee I was drinking wouldn't cool down in time enough for me to get my kids and everything out to the car for when they would be dropped off from school; is all the love that is happening to me.  And I deserve to say, fairly, is it enough?  And to make my own judgment on this decision.  Maybe it is madly unimpressive in some way; but of what I am not aware.  Maybe everything that I see as the product of love in my life can be seen from another perspective; where, maybe all that love that went into whatever it was I intended to spend my time doing really just adds up to mere peanuts on the World Stage.  When we chose to view society from that portal in which an completely unmuted world theatre of which in which any theory of politics can be contested.  Where Nyclepi was also an valuable and valid emotion as an logical component or counter-component to Love.  The grit against which it shoneth blade.  An sharpener to rest the human soul upon love and its intuitive logical successor: the virtue of Nyclepi here and everywhere within this author's soul: the logical after-consideration to Love.  How much was it and was it enough?

    Nyclepi isn't like crappin' on everything that Love is; it's just that we choose to see more inside of it than what we see apparently around it.  The statue at the moment is in the mind of the artist and yet the clay he sees before him has yet to become the angel he sees in its soul.  Nyclepi, an higher virtue in the same way, sees more in Love than Love sees in itself.  We take an gesture of stepping-back from what love is and what it does in order to examine more closely the phenomenon of its apparent existence in the universe.  If we can look at and observe Love with an level-head.  Then we ourselves can have this virtue called Nyclepi.  It means admitting to oneself how much of Love does one see of it; and how much there is in total.  And then being like.  Whatever.

    Who cares?

    It's only that much love.  Why would anyone care that much about it, really?

    It's impossible to care about it that much; it is only the amount that it is.

    And so what if anything was ever done in the name of Love‽

    Mere handfuls of rice.

    Can't one look beyond it and see, finally, that being unimpressed with Love leads to more love, instinctually.  We want to fill with Love everything we can have.  And to make more known about this principle in the universe which allows us to think about how we can have more of it.  And if anything in the universe should have an logic to it, it is Love.  For Love is the logical first thing we think about; and everything is conducted after that.  This first introduction.  First we learn love for its Name.  And then we pronounce it with our souls.   Is enough love ever enough love?  And yet we stop to think on it, that love had ever been love.  And it was worth it in that moment.  Every principle of my life has been built on it.  And if it leads to seeing things an new way.  An new way that makes things seem meagre; then more is better.  I have to say.  For we might as well be honest about what is beautifully made by Love; there is only so much of it in this world and we will want to preserve all of it.  But maybe we can't.

    But the universe will eventually come back around to who we love more in that moment; oneself or another?  And it will always pass that either the self or the non-self always wins in the motives of what drives the human soul.  We can't avoid coming back around to that detail.  One of them either wins, or it doesn't.  And then the other one wins.  And this is how it always is.  And how it will always be forever, possibly.  It was the motor of what moves us at the centre of our humanity.  Whether I care more for myself or you, in that moment.  (Perhaps in an moment of politics).  And we look for these specific moments of selves and versions of selves in our character when we knew which one had won out over the other, and perhaps have an deep understanding of why, it resonated true and with full volume about why it was good.  And good decisions had been made leading up to it.  One was given all the tools of understanding that one could stand.  Every perspective was thought over.  Was it the right move for my character to claim for myself an little freedom?  Or should I be an drone for the masses, always privileging only others over myself like an busy-body and an yes-man?  What did it mean at certain times and why was it important for understanding my character?  And since I could make the most informed decision about what the giving of my own work and life for others could mean, I was in fact privvy to some of the surprising political and behavioral outcomes of what knowing things means.  And I was in fact of the status to be able to comment about its motivational presence in others.  I could make jibber-jabber about other people choosing either themselves or the other; in desperate and dire times of emotional need.  It appeared they all had good reasons for choosing themselves over others and in what categories of competitive spirit they weighed in on.  For knowing what was for the good of them and what was the good for others.  And people just naturally leaned into one or the other category depending on who they were talking to and at what time.

    "Adventure of burned and lost souls," muttered Suppiah.

    He realized he was still sitting in the food court at an table that was physically welded to the floor.  And Bubba and G.D.B. were eating saturated chicken nuggets all around him.

    He knew he knew what to do.  He just had to conceptualize it in order to understand it as an list of behaviors he would complete.  These behaviors involved going up to the third floor offices when the time was right.  For his meeting with Dr. Foll.  All he had to do was function reasonably at the third level for the entire thirty minutes or so their meeting would be.  And he was reasonably prepared and at the third station of life in which one would take up the art of relating with someone whose life had been represented by the arts.  It would all be fine.  He would just sit with the Doctor while the Doctor reacted to him.  Expecting no outstanding warrants against his soul.  He was ready to be considered something beyond the ordinary.  Not just about himself so much but also involved in the lives of others.  And it would be up to the doctor, ultimately, to make an decision about whether he was particularly skilled at relating with other people through the third level way of looking at things.  He just had to have an clear mind.  And if any difficulties or doubts formed within him he couldn't let himself be bogged down by them out of disservice to the valuable human being who was in front of him.  He could do it.  He knew exactly how to.  He would make it plausible.  That was all he had to do.  He had to sell it that he was really listening to the Doctor.  By not being distracted by the vestiges of his congress over whether having cathexes or not he was now ready to consider an third possibility: he was neither cathected nor a-cathected but somehow existed in an third category of space.  Which was neither.  And it was free space to travel in unharmed and comfortable.  Within the presence of another human person.  Who would have the best of intentions in mind.  I can show this doctor that I'm not scared to travel in personal territory in person anymore.  I can in fact intelligently relate to most people I meet; and so if I can learn more from an doctor than an ordinary person then I want to hear all of his tale spun.  For me to see why!

    I want to hear all of how I can relate to him or her intelligently, obviously.

    He's/she's the expert.  Why wouldn't I want to hear all of it?

    And I could knowingly do this without passing over the thought of my cathexes.  And it wouldn't seem like I couldn't do it to myself at all.  I just sat there listening.  And there was nothing wrong with it, for now; at least the Doctor hadn't said anything was out of place.  So it probably wasn't.  And I could reasonably glide over the cathexes of emotions in the presence of this doctor without becoming obsessive compulsive about it.  And in fact everything would much be okay.  The doctor would motivate me within grounds of reason.  And in fact having done so, I knew the grounds of my own reason.  I was fine.  I was feeling like I might slip back into the old cathexis again; and it was an interruption to my mind and thoughts of relaxation.  But I wasn't necessarily going to.  Even if I did have the feeling that I was presiding over an certain cathexis.  Did it matter, at all?  Could an doctor sense through the silence what it was specifically I was focusing on?  And what did it all matter at all if I could pull off listening to someone for half the hour.  Without losing focus or concentration for long enough to return with the fact of having tripped over my own cathexis like the virus it is again.  And that instead of thinking about myself I had managed to redeem my character by paying mind to an doctorate professor.  Which was readily observable from my behavior.  And it did an honor to my own soul.  Even cathexis couldn't stop me.  If I happened to pause over it; to ponder it in Dr. Foll's presence.  Then it wouldn't necessarily count him or me out.  And I would be free to pause over it briefly, maybe, as long as I could still answer to what the doctor was saying; and he would definitely be able to do that because I had in fact displaced the cathexis which was holding me ransom.  It didn't bother me anymore.  And I could just get over it.  The meeting with Dr. Foll would go alright.  His slip-stream thoughts sank back into his ordinary conscious awareness.  And then he would have more time to go to the cafeteria and there would be more time for thinking and making decisions; and that was just it.  That was his whole life.  Thinking.  Making decisions.  It was just another sign of his animacy and magnitude.  He wouldn't have to worry about obsessing over some cathexis at the drop of an hat.  Any word that would breach and fortify its cathexis in another person's mind.  That one memory it always triggers.

    How to keep them at bay.

    Just accept the fact that, even if the subject of the conversation were to be changed to your cathexis directly; you would not in fact die in that moment.  And it would be fine for eyes to pass over you in this state.  There's nothing outwardly about you that says, I'm experiencing an cathexis at this moment and I do not mean to make eye contact with an learned scholar.  And in all likelihood you would survive in that state long enough to finally pick up on the other side and answer an professor, having understood what it is that he or she said to you.

    They would inform your knowledge relentlessly.  And it would be up to you just to understand the main thing.  The middle of it.  You were perhaps freshly out of cathexis and you were getting used to the fact that it didn't matter in priority to other people or scare them in any way.  You were entitled to your own opinion about what made you classify above others in priority at some point.  

    You were fine.  Basically.  Fine.

    Suppiah reflected on this aqua.

    He would go to the third floor eventually.  He might relapse.  But he would do it anyway.  And he would pick the right time to do it.

    And if he failed not to obsess he would try again.  He would try maybe two or three times until he got it.  Just being and acting comfortable.  Until he was okay with himself being okay with himself.

    And this what of that person's (the doctor's) value to him; he made sure to take precaution he wasn't being unfair.  He was visiting the doctor for the purpose of which it was intended he do so.  And if it took him an little while to get used to it that was fair.  People on the third level always had more time for sad stories and why they couldn't move past their cathexis, which is of several cathected objects sparsely related and having much or not much to do with one another.  And it was just an fact of things to be.  Doctors at this level rarely expressed concern over it.  That was the game.  They didn't care all that much about what only you knew and were in fact more interested in things you could know together.  And should he happen to fall into that known weary state of having an cathexis and having an issue with it.  Dr. Foll was more than considerate and gentle to the manner of living with cathexis and moving past it.  This was how, after all, he had won his office.  At the third level of civilization.

    At this moment everything in the mall changed over to Christmas.  Like soldiers in an military clockwork, store owners set out their final decorations.  Sale prices as advertised were revealed.  The smell of cranberry, chocolate, and coffee filled the water.  Products that had been sealed for underwater preservation were opened.  And gifts were exchanged.  Right there in the open mall.  Without getting home to wrap them first.

    Leaving Suppiah to wonder what he was doing about ruining Christmas this year; as an adherent to the new hybrid holidays model of global capitalism.  Christmas and Halloween, for Suppiah, had come to be celebrated at the same time this year.  And lasted longer than October, November, and December.  And while nothing absolutely terrible had happened during Halloween this year (this was the effect of the celebration of Christmas before Halloween, October 31st).  Clarifying it.  There was still time to make sure something terrible happened at Christmas.  It was the only punk thing to do.

    Punks had removed terror from Halloween and they had instilled it in Christmas because that was the balance they served.  They added Christmas Cheer to the Halloween season in order to clash and contrast.  They served the Dark Lord over the Christmas Holidays (promoting dread and fear wherever they went).  It was only to balance.  In an hybrid holiday that was happening over Christmas and Halloween this year.  The market economy had brought this on themselves by obscuring the lines.  And Suppiah wasn't going to swim idly by while other people celebrated with the family happiness that had been instilled in their hearts.  He had to intimidate someone.  He had to steal those smiles right off of their cheerful faces with his own smirk to let them know they had been had.  Gloom and crippling anxiety would follow in his wake everywhere he went.  He was the immaculate reincarnation of Satan this Christmas season.  And he was going to do whatever it took to ruin everybody's fun.

    It was only an Global and 21st Century thing to do.  Create hybrid holidays.  It was an precursor to having an continuous holiday season all year long; which it was anyway in the sales & management department; people will never stop celebrating and the cultural cheer would be good for their morale.  The point is to implement an giving and wondrous society whose principles of what is important is reflected in their cultural obedience or disobedience.  For one needed to be disobedient if one was going to take up stance against Christmas in order to motivate its competition in public.  Christmas was the season of giving: the season of Angels.  Whereas Halloween was the season of the Devil and his kind.  It just made sense that the forces of evil would come into clash with the Greater Spirits of Angels Who Protect Christmas.

    He would cut the Angel's head off.

    You know, the one at the top of the tree.

    And light the tree on fire.

    And then instead of all of that he would have an flamethrower.  Except it would be underwater.

    And people out to buy shopping presents would swim away in fear.

    I'm an NPC mom; he would say to his mother in his thoughts.  Nothing in the ocean can hurt me now.

    I have mastered the virtue of blue.  And I am able to handle all sadness.

    All of it.  Forever afterward.

    I know how to.

    And so the sadness of the ocean can go on forever; and it can double.  And say it is all of that times the sadness between individuals within another person.  Anything sad and blue that you can produce emotionally I can produce double.  So as to be so much more sadness.  That your sadness doesn't hurt as much anymore.  I do after all have double of whatever your sadness could be.  That's why I've mastered the virtue of blue; it always sees facets of something that is outside of itself.  While alone extending numerous depths of facets, layers, waves, and currents within itself.  It is so deep that it starts seeing depth in other people.

    But if you know double of any of our depths of sadness, My Baby Boy, how are we supposed to feel good about it?

    You don't.  But at least I don't feel good about it with you.

    OK, that's fair.

    I proclaimed myself an roaming NPC of the ocean.  Anyone could speak with me about blue and I always knew how to handle it because I could handle double.

    And so I crossed myself in the name of the Evil Dark Lord Spirit and set out to scare, intimidate, and ridicule the innocent.

    I could go up to see Dr. Foll.  I could do that anytime I wanted.

    I just wanted to be sure that I still had my punk touch.

    The ocean was an metaphor for sadness.  The crying of salt tears which filled the original basin.

    But underneath it all, the ocean was an metaphor for happiness.

    Things were happening.  An plot was being driven.  The Ocean could hold all of the world's sadness and have room for more than that.  Happy things.

    And if he was an NPC, why, anybody could talk to him in any way they want and he wouldn't react emotionally to it.  He wouldn't even necessarily care.  And it wouldn't necessarily take anything away from him to listen to the clumsy insults of an passerby.  Whose own life they did not have together.

    "Hold on until you live; and then hold on until you die," said Bubba.

    "What's that?" said Suppiah.

    "It's just some philosophy I've been working on," said Bubba.

    "Right now.  I have my own piece of philosophy," said G.D.B., "are mer ever zombies?"

    Suppiah used his part-telepathy part-echolocation sense to contact the whole ocean at once to find an answer.

    Yes, it replied, they are called Mermbies.  You'd be surprised how many there are.

    "What if we bring mermbies—more of them to the core—where they can have an effect on oblivious customers of the civic infrastructure."

    "That might work," said Bubba.

    "Yea," said G.D.B., "that will ruin Christmas for everybody."

    "All we need to do is bring them here," said Suppiah, "that should scare everyone."

    But, he conjunctively argued with himself, the only reason he needed to do this was to make himself feel more ready to see Dr. Foll.  To make himself feel less afraid.  And so he finally decided to go up to the third level without needing to efface an inferiority he sensed within himself.  He was ready.

    He was going to talk to the doctor like somebody who was oblivious to what an cathexis means.  Even though he wasn't.

    Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. arrived at Dr. Foll's office.  On the door was an strange doll, with an warm color of skin and orange hair.  It had an irregular squiggly line for an mouth.  He thought briefly that it meant something about what kind of position he was in.  There were several other motivational posters and achievements tacked to the door.  What his role was to this doctorate.  But then he was already in Dr. Foll's office, ready to make all of the mistakes he had to make.

    I was anchored in the ocean because anchors go in the ocean.

    Then Bubba and G.D.B. were assisting me to join the conversation.  And Dr. Foll's dark, mermanly voice sank in.  From all of the other noisy crossings I had passed outside.  He was actually glad to see me.

    "Think about the ocean's pain.  Now think of the ocean as an metaphor for the whole universe.  The universe's pain is real.  We need to say we did something about it in order to live an fulfilling life," he said.

    I hadn't heard all of what he had said before this and I was strained on what to do.

    "Yes.  I agree," said Suppiah.

    "Then why have you come?"

    Dr. Foll cut to the chase quickly.

    "I'm not saying I'm from the ocean in that way," said Suppiah, "I mean.  I get that.  That the universe has an metaphor.  And if it's the ocean of sadness humanity has helped create.  I mean I'm not from it that way.  I'm not an victim.  I don't belong here in front of you because you have the whole ocean at your command.  And you have enough kindness to respond to me this way, as though I have just come from the wide ocean.  With its sadnesses.  And they are dispersed within me now.  In thought and in action.  But I intend to rise above those expectations.  I am not an person who needs counseling for sadness.  I don't need to talk to you about sadness.  And it is my respect to you that I choose to be the cause.  I want to know what I am supposed to do next."

    I paused and reaffirmed myself.  I wanted to know what he thought about my situation and what I should do.

    He was already answering.

    I tried to make eye contact.

    All I could see were moving lips.

    And then I had an strong sense of liking him but I don't know why.

    He was slow.  He was old.  This was going to take an while.  He was still motoring around in there (his head) updating his opinion of Suppiah.  Suppiah could see it in his eyes.  Then the chain caught an gear.  He was an man of mission.  He was an man of action.  And he was here to become nothing less than an hero to all.  He just wanted to know, you know, like, how to do that exactly.

    People always notice one another's not-shall-you-mention mazingas.  An word I had come to refer to as meaning amazing and beautiful.  Their characteristics.  Everyone has them.  And they are all beautiful.  And the reason they cannot be referred to is that everyone is thinking the same thing: cool!  The fact is everybody just notices everybody's features.  And there's nothing wrong with them or the fact that you're noticing.  It has in fact taken up an span of time that you did.  And when you realize another's watching.  When you fictionalize on this level, that is an power.  Because you're getting onto the fact that it's no news that everybody notices and we in fact do it all of the time and are not embarrassed about it.

    That fantasies occur every moment of every day.  And it is no different immediately, just because I noticed someone's amazing and beautiful features.  And everyone has them.  It leads to sex sometimes.  But I'm not here looking for sex.  Right now sex is fictional.

    "I'm not the type who is going to send you off to run files on someone.  You knowing.  Doing something useful for the community.  But I have an strong sense that you already are.  And you know what you're doing."

    "The truth is I think about mazingas all of the time and it doesn't really surprise me that everyone has them.  Everywhere you go.  And some people are ashamed about theirs; thinking themselves ugly or unwantable.  You notice an body part.  It's related in concert with several other body parts.  Even the face is communicating something about that person's amazing and beautiful character with all of its features, including an personality.  It's just mazingas.  I don't know what else to call them."

    "It is an rather exciting concept," said Dr. F., "and to you being fictional or not at that level.  You mean you want that aspect of sex to be fictional to you; sometimes."

    "Well I don't always have time to check everyone out."

    "OK, well that's fair.  But don't you notice yourself recognizing anyway?"

    "But it's not an aspect of sex.  If it's fictional.  It has nothing to do with sex and that is all put in an box and put away for now."

    "I see you haven't been reading Foucault but; if you need to do that (to go there) in order to concentrate, then maybe that's an alright path for you."

    "It's not that I'm saying what is sexual is not sexual.  It's just that I'm not perceiving it as an priority right now.  It's fictional that the noticing of mazingas has anything to do with concentration."

    "Ohh.  OK.  I see," said Dr. F., "So you're fictionally noticing in an new world within itself where it is non-sexual."

    "I see," said G.D.B. loudly.  Everyone felt that he had let off an enormous amount of pressure and was now in the thralls of relief.

    "And so it's an world in which those things happens but it's all fictional," continued Dr. F., "and therefore it hasn't happened.  It isn't really happening.  And it's never going to happen."

    "Well I wouldn't say never," said Suppiah.

    "But the point is that it's fictional that anything about mazingas is sexual.  And so therefore everything that has to do under the category of sex is not mutually occurring.  In this argument, we are just noticing one another's features.  Which you have strategically named.  And anything sexual that would result from our said noticing of one another's power.  Does not actually exist.  Which we can play out in persona fictionally."

    "If people wrote about an world in which it is an fiction to have an sexual thought by noticing each other's.  Well, you know."

    "It would definitely help focus the narrative," said Dr. F., "that it is in fact fictional that anything is happening.  An world in which it is okay to be comfortable and to be free in public to have those passionate thoughts.  But it is equally resplendent to notice one not having them to an certain person.  And it would really put things straightforward not to have to bend them like this.  The fictional thought is the fictional thought; and it's okay to have it but it doesn't necessarily have any effect on the conversation.  People noticing one another, socially, is an restricted thought in the 21st century because some people are fundamental tabooists who are afraid of their own irrepressible feelings.  And so I can really see an clear picture of it becoming something to tell an story about.  There are the fictional things happening in real life.  And they're just fictional because they are.  And so they're not actually occurring.  But since they are, as part of the plot's premise, there is an capacity to fictionalize it wittily, and in an charming manner; with irony.  It's an story that tells you all of the fictional aspects and details of what you recognize about another person's body (or mody in the case of some extreme body modification examples).  And all of these fictional details themselves, characteristics, are connected together through how they aren't really happening as an sexual thought because that never happens in this universe."

    "I see.  You've clarified for me so many things.  I will stop to thank you."

    "And it is easy passage to occupy that universe, then?"

    "Yes," said Suppiah, without hesitating.

    "But you can say something profound about how people occupy characters and space.  If everything is fictional that you're noticing it doesn't matter."

    "Then maybe what I'm interested in doing is having an tribunal with the Artist in which the genre of which she is featuring in her painting is changed, or altered deliberately into this new genre we had thought of."

    "Then this is one idea.  This is good for now.  Keep it with you."

    "OK—" and at that moment Suppiah immediately called up an tribunal with the Artist herself, Russasha.  In which he would ask her about how she intended to go about doing that.  Through his interconnected device, the augmented reality contact lense Dr. C. had given him.

    "But if you mess up," said Dr. F., "you might never figure out why people would want to fictionalize that."

    The Doctor had an isolated expression on his face in an hollow and otherworldly manner for an moment.

    Suppiah had completely tuned out of what was presently happening to him in this room.

    He had an recurring daydream that he was in an women's lounge, in which he felt most comfortable as an gay man; that he took up delivering shots to the table serviceably.  Even though mostly, he was in tune with the tribunal with Russasha and he experienced both as recurring daydreams for an while.  While Dr. F., ushered him forcibly from his office.  The trio was manageably stable until the duration of these daydreams was over.

    "We need to fictionalize the sex element," said Suppiah to Russasha, "in order to ironize its happening despite its fictional character.  I've got it all figured out.  We write an story in which someone is repeatedly noticing all of the elements of all of the characters in the story; these sexual features which are not sexual.  Necessarily.  And the point of telling stories like this would be to impart how these feelings lead to fictional fantasies and there's no point in remaining terrorized by their enigmatic reoccurrence within the human soul.  And it's in fact an fiction that people are terrorized anymore.  Because that's old news and the scientific community has more authority over what attraction is and isn't these days."

    "Then you would be narrating an story in which nothing happens," said Russasha.

    "But we fictionalize.  There is an spark of magic.  Something that couldn't actually happen in real life.  And it stands in for the emotional need we are experiencing at any one time.  And it is in fact an story about how something would never happen.  The fact of anybody ever being bothered by an fictional dilemma of the sexuality.  The message is everyone is free to accept their own pleasures of the mind without getting too tripped up on any one person's experience."

    "Then you would be narrating an story in which only fictional things were happening," said Russasha, "and what would be the point of that?"

    Suppiah and Russasha locked gaze.  And began laughing uproariously, throwing their hands in the air in an show of an kind of feigned mocking of their own concert of pleasures.  Which they shared like sisters.

    There was clearly an object up for thought: change the course of the narrative to an story about fictional things happening which were meant to represent an supposed moral dilemma.  Any skilled artist at it would be able to show both sides of the moral dilemma; skillfully weaving between what is and isn't fictional about the story.  (For every great story will tend to mix the two).  The Artist's intention is to show you what exactly is and isn't fictional about it.  That fairy things are happening at the purview of an rational mind.  And one is decisive to explore those feelings by showing how they play off between the characters.  I was having fictional thoughts—but, only.  I was having fictional thoughts.  And at least that was happening; if I could slipstream to put names and spells to the inner working of its magic.  I could tell, comfortably, what was and wasn't fictional about my interaction with others.  Because I had so precisely to hone one's mind.  That there were always fictional elements to tease out about one's noticing of another person's flambé.

    "But how would I take control of the total narrative," said Russasha, "in order to make it into an story about magic and intentions?  How would I start telling it like thus; that these things I am noticing as sexual thoughts in my mind are now just fiction?"

    "You always said you had to just start telling it," said Suppiah.

    "You're right.  But that's my trick.  What makes you think you can use it?"

    "Well.  I really want to see how it will turn out."

    "But then you've already up and decided then that I'm supposed to change the narrative in part to reflect an new rationality, an new layer of reality as it were; that we are now fictional about one another as recurring thoughts.  And I haven't decided if I'm going to do that yet."

    "But you already see it opening within the mind inside of you.  An bud.  It starts with an bud."

    "You're an bud," said Russasha, comic forcefully.

    "Does that mean I'm beautiful?" asked Suppiah.

    "Yeah, I think.  Oh.  Uh.  I just mean you are, well; I mean you are.  But I don't mean it that way.  That I like you more for your beauty."

    "That seems to clarify things.  Maybe you could tease me with it an bit if you think I have the necessary spark in my eye."

    "Then I have already starting narrating how the new story will go," said Russasha.

    "It may be that our fates cross once more on the subject," said Suppiah, who, finally unfocused from the augmented reality contact lense in which his silhouette was spun in dramatic exit with an flower border.

    "I will think again about how this moment will go," said Russasha, "the beginning of an story is not the same element needed to alter an plot for analysis when it is halfway finished."

    Bud, then, she thought.  All she had was the fact of someone being an bud in front of her.  Not an romantic object.  But pretty nonetheless.

    An opening bud has an thousand petals to itself, she thought.

    His was pink.  (Suppiah's).

    Just the right kind of pink.  Not soft or dull or frail in any way.  These petals were going to open up to her.  She commanded them to.  From the centre.  The one single command which they could learn which would announce everything to follow.  Suppiah, as her own bud, was more than an mere subject to her.  He was an personality of creative sexuality.  But it wasn't her own sexuality.

    Well.

    She didn't have those thoughts about him.

    She just had an set of fictional connections between the things she had noticed.

    It was fair to notice body parts.  Limbs and all.  And it didn't necessarily take any fictional or non-fictional discretion to point that out.

    They weren't being demons for noticing body parts.  In fact people did it all of the time.  And knowing that they were aware of them.  They were even self-aware of the system of which it could occur in the conscious mind that one would notice these things while it was fiction.

    And they could have any kind of those kinds of ideas whenever they wanted.  Whenever they needed.

    It could just be fictional, between her and her bud, that they liked each other in any sexual way.  And they could move on from it to cover more important things.  Like intellectualizing.  And if the job of the writer could be likened, to be of the model of what that intellectualizing would look like.  The relationship between Suppiah and Russasha, an concept sketch she was working on in which he was her bud, could be extended to other versions and other scenes.  In which characters would look at each other based on that preliminary archetype where one would be the bud, and the other the one psychoanalyzing him.  We could, theoretically, use the first archetype to design other characters and scenarios in which one would be the bud and the other the one who's recognizing how beautiful he is.  Not in an sexual way maybe.  But in the just such an way that an straight woman notices how beautiful an gay man is.  They could be lesbian sisters, off on another planet.  In different circumstances.  But for some reason his lesbian side had been repressed an bit and so no woman was ever sure or not whether he meant business.  The scene was taking on an character of voice; that could be expanded on in order to derive conversation.

    "I noticed you were around here and not doing any activity," he would say in an husky voice.

    "Yeah?  Well I can see right through the middle of you and I acknowledge your intention," would say the over-amorous echoing, booming voice of what Russasha had been invented into for the purpose of plotting an fictional starting point.

    The starting point is bud.

    But perhaps the edit I can do quickly, on the original transformation of the manuscript, is that Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. can start treating other people this way.  In this pattern.  Of being their "buds."  The bud definition had become complicated by an additional fact: she was now his bud, in return for him being her bud.  And the archetype she was free to expand on, into other characters if she wished to.  It could be instead of Suppiah and Russasha she posed other characters together experiencing this free association around the purpose and meaning of an bud.  Suppiah needed to realize he could treat anybody like his bud; and that was the free-ing metaphor which invited all purpose to him.  He had learned from Dr. F. that, if he was buds well buds meant buds.  And he could release himself to that depth of character.  Of fictionalizing what kinds of things he noticed about his buds.  By giving himself over to that type of behavior.  Everything else would come into focus.

    He was going to have to start calling people his buds.  And devise an whole scene with them in which it was really just about fictionalizing the fact that there was anything sexual between them.  They could choose to see whatever they saw as fictional.  This meant there were true feelings and intentions.  But not real, fully formed, sexual thoughts.  She had other things to focus on.  And, as much as she extended the metaphor, of this person being her bud.  Suppiah, an person who existed only in an fictional world she had created.  An person trying to find his "buds" as it were.  Eventually he was going to have to declare an territory and explain why each of its characters and happenings are happening for an reason.  If she altered the manuscript permanently from this point out it might look like she uploaded an new module to Suppiah's augmented reality contact lense.  Through which the narrator would be informing his storytelling audience of what kind of fictional things he sees through it.  Or she could cut the premise for this idea completely out.

    How about, as an soft example, he is prompted by the augmented reality chip to engage in behavior which one might describe as fictional sexual activity.  He starts approaching people.  Calling them his buds.  And in the same way Suppiah was the first bud to an caring onlooker who was his creator; they these new buds of his were also recognizing features and psychoanalyzing him.  As disinterested onlookers.  To someone with whom they wouldn't have any fictional sexual activity.  But something about it seemed malignant.  If both characters were involved in mediating their reactions to different body parts and features of the personality and character.  They were both looking in on one another fictionally.  The circumstance he would replay now, according to Russasha's new configuration of narrative elements, was one in which both characters were actively fictionalizing one another's prurience.  In order to feel safe and concerted.  Which was fine in the real world.  If Russasha made that one change in Suppiah's motivation and behavior.  Then what would be the outcome of his further investigation into other people's behavior?  And what did having an territorial example have to do with it?  Who were the characters occupying an fictional territory he associated with and why were they there?  Why did there appear to be an hierarchy; an range of authority?

    Her decision appeared to balance on whether she wanted Suppiah to attempt to form an territorial stance.  Was he going to go on like the dummy punk he was or was he about to claim some authority for himself and take up office?  There was one catch; he had to fit into the hierarchy somewhere.  But even the hierarchy of which faculty and institution was still fictional at this point.  It hadn't been invented yet.  And if it was going to be invented his character would inevitably conflict with an another at some point.  Wouldn't it?  He wanted to be as high as possible in the hierarchy.  And yet he didn't want to be too low for his true deserving.  It would lead to competition, and, inevitably, conflict.  Over an physical, deemed territory.

    Hmm.  But which territory would he deem to?

    Was he going to take over the core or could she install him into an physical realm that would be the existence of an post-university version.  Not with only the ten levels she intended to comprise the core but several thousands.

    You're going to stay at the core, she willfully thought over his character.

    And you're not leaning on an university or post-university environment from which to derive power dynamics and their characters models.

    Suppiah is just experiencing the core.  There are many levels to it.  Try not to overthink it.

    The characters he will experience from now on may begin to fictionalize with him, sensing his level of comfort.  And so it will be an game of narrating the exact characteristics.  How an character internally reacts to them.  How they work together to create an total personal image of an character.  How it is "magic" what happens between them.  Because both speaker and observer have begun to see one another on an new level.  They are, basically, to one another an collection of assets.  Some of which are physical and that one would happen to notice.  And so an character might react, internally, as though something fictional has just happened.  My own attraction for the other character.

    Likewise, says the bud.

    And this is the true meaning behind buds who talk with buds; they're just buds but they both see each other's inner beauty.  Especially the fact that some things can be fictional to them.

    Bud meet bud.

    An flower ready to blossom.  Just like you.  It wasn't an recurring nightmare.

    But the women's lounge, in which feminism reigned supreme.  Libertas des femmes.  From Suppiah's perspective (which he had access to through only her self-reflection and knowing wisdom) he was also communicating with these women at the same or waivering point in time as Russasha had spent reflecting on the tribunal this character had called up to her attention.

    He was fantasizing about serving drinks to these characters.  Accepted as one of the women himself, finally.  Yeah, if Russasha would just take him there.  Take him to that female paradise in his mind.  Where women didn't have to censor themselves necessarily just because there was an man in their midst.

    In an transitory fashion, he recalled his mind to the present where he was still outside Dr. F.'s office deeply passing in and out of waking states as he recalled his mind's senses to do him duty with the tribunal as well as his important and intellectual attention span for what was happening in the women's lounge.  He realized Dr. F. was his bud.  He had been his buddy old bud.  Just like the first thing on the door to his office said so.  An silly doll you could be buds with.  He was an buddy bud bud.  And that had been the register of their whole transaction.  He had made it through an first whole meeting with an third level boss whose swift senses would most likely overpower his own part-cathexis.  And as far as he could tell, he realized, he hadn't slipped up into his old senses.  He hadn't let the known verb out of what he was doing; when he tried to relax his nerves from being sensitive to trigger.  He hadn't even let on that it was bothering him entirely.  The doctor had been oblivious to his obvious cathexis and he really believed him.  Isn't that what an doctor is supposed to do, make you believe in him?  That's why he was an bud bud.  But only going back in time to search for buds there.  He needed to go forward in time now, and conquer; to make buds everywhere he went.  And he wasn't necessarily going to screw it up every time either.  He would even allow himself so far as to screw one up once in an while.  As long as too many people didn't start to think disorderly opinions about him.  He could even talk to an police officer in order to search for buds there.  Because he had this first sense that Dr. F. had been his first bud.  And no amount of cathexis was ever going to keep him down, square.  He could talk to anybody and not become overly obsessed with his own sensitivities.  This professor had proven it.

    "We're not Gods, but we'll try to help you with it," said G.D.B.

    "Let me clarify something—" intervened Russasha, "if someone is an bud to you, it means you're not thinking about them sexually.  But you still notice their sexual characteristics."

    "How could that be possible," said Bubba.

    "For humans and mer people, it's possible," said Russasha, "you're an fish and you don't know what it's like."

    "So an bud, like we are buds to Suppiah—" said G.D.B.

    "Yes," said Russasha, "but that sense of the word is one we used before.  Now it's time to use another.  I don't want you to think of an bud as an sexual companion.  Every time you identify one or make an new one, it's an legitimate task that's in performance between you that you specifically don't have that kind of relationship with them.  The Author wants you to think about those people when he mentions the word bud now.  And now you can make an million of them; and it's this great fantastic thing because there's safety in it.  Buds are the fiction that there's something sexual between the two of you.  This is responsible for it's infinite language-generating power.  There are infinite combinations that language can be put into to derive or create new meanings."

    "And so—" Suppiah tapped-in, trying to tackle it, "there are infinite combinations that buds can be put into also."

    "Yes.  But.  Buds are the fiction.  So anything you say that is just complete earthen stinkiness is still fair game for an friend to say yea, right!  I don't believe you!  Also the telling of fiction means it's not actually true, possibly.  And so the subject of conversation is unlimited, to any destination of thought.  And it would seem to have something to do with this infinite combinations of language power."

    "So—" said Suppiah, trying to think through it again— "buds are right randy for each other baby!"

    "That's right," said Russasha, "anything you say will be considered false.  Because it is only an fiction.  But if you can make it believably ultimate then there are some aspects about the narration that can be considered true.  Hence, the value of the novel and its real power to change society."

    "So we're making stuff up," said Bubba, "so that humans and mer people can pretend they like each other sexually even if they don't.  Because that's the sense of humor of an lot of them.  And these really are the most snarky and sarcastic you can think of, in that chasm.  And it's fair to say we can play out these characters in public too because it makes sense to communicate fairly at an sexual level, and so that everyone knows exactly what you want or don't want, or what you mean—"

    "They're playing like they like each other that way because they're making fun of the idea together," said G.D.B.

    "—Oh I get it."  said Suppiah.

    "Yeah.  So if you want to start narrating yourself something different than pulling up an file on someone else and possibly terrifying them in the process—it's an delicate task—you can start by trying to be buds with everybody.  Or anybody.  Or whatever.  Just remember.  It's fictional.  So you can use your full talent in the bedroom scheme of your humour without censoring yourself.  Which is powerful stuff, man.  So be careful with it."

    "So you want us to take the story narrative in this direction," said Suppiah, "of us having bud-relationships with other people?"

    "Yeah.  I mean.  That's the best thing you can do, right?  Everybody always needs more buds."

    "But how is it funny that we both don't care for one another that way?" Suppiah whispered.

    They both laughed on cue.

    "Nevermind," said Suppiah, rushing to finish so he could laugh again.

    "It must be an human thing," said Bubba.

    "How do you know I'm an human?" asked Russasha.

    "And Suppiah isn't an human either," added G.D.B., "but they are closer to one another than us fish."

    "That's why I said it," said Bubba.

    "So.  Wait," said Suppiah, "since it doesn't necessarily work that way for fish we're still calling it an priority because it does work for both of them and they are both together, one human and one mer?"

    "I'm not human," said Russasha, "and as an matter of fact it doesn't matter right now.  What does matter is that Suppiah learns the skill I have crafted.  In order to have an better chance in life.  Because everyone needs more love.  And everyone needs more friends.  And that's the best way I know how to do that."

    "So like, for example," said Suppiah, "someone could make fun of the fact that either of you thought something was sexy."

    "But it's an hazardous hill to climb," said Russasha, "you need to become instinctive, better at it.  In order to avoid trespassing some difficult and sticky human emotions."

    "But I'm not human," said Suppiah.

    "Well then you have an advantage then," said Russasha, "everyone knows mer are better at it than humans are.  It's the transitive property of them being an legend.  Humans don't know by how much.  But mer do.  They also know more in general than everybody else who lives on land."

    "But you can think of someone you find attractive as an bud," said Suppiah.

    They both started laughing all over again.

    "You looked at me with one eye!"

    "You checked me out!"

    "That's checking me out!"

    "Okay girls," said Russasha, "is there anything else you need to say?"

    "You all looked at my p.p."

    "No one looked at your p.p.  You're wearing clothes."

    "Yeah?  Well how can I wear clothes if I'm an mer‽"

    "Well you don't need to.  You have scales."

    "Yeah but what if I have no scales?"

    "Then you still don't have an p.p.!"

    "I'm just Imaginary to you, aren't I?" said Suppiah.

    "And what I am to you?" said Russasha.

    "You're just the source and breath of all things that breathe life," said Suppiah.

    "Ah!  I got you!" said Russasha.  That's totally you having an fantasy about me."

    "Me have an fantasy about you!  Never—and in fact it's just you having one about me for you to have said so."

    She turned her back and walked away.

    "Said the ever-living first point of an vampire.  An thing that has been brought up in History so many times it's embarassing," said Russasha, "you don't think I was prepared for that‽  Then what is it I'm saying now then‽"

    Suppiah turned back himself.

    He didn't say an fucking thing.  But his bottom lip was sticking out.  It was imaginatively lit by his consciousness to have blue appearing, reflecting in it.  But the light was coming from the top of his mind where it had other things to do than visit with its lips right now.

    He didn't need to promise it to her.  She wasn't his boo.  She didn't need to cuddle her arms together and hold him softly until it was okay.

    "Perhaps it's an bit of both stories," said Russasha, "but you have only the one story for now.  That is the task I'm putting you on."

    "OK.  Thank you."  said Suppiah.  Russasha instantly vaporized him out of the room and their meeting was over.

    Russasha had prepared for this.  The fourth wall.  Her character was going to run up against the edge of an glass (an scientific lab experiment glass).  It appeared neither one of them had an response for why he was wrong, exactly, other than that it had been said.  And other people had done it already.  There was nothing new about the criticism—therefore it lacked argumentative value or potency because it, having already been considered, was unable to rally up the imaginative efforts to continue to argue it.  For, possibly, the reason that there was no reason.  For it's argumentative potency to continue.  There needed to be another reason why it should be an fair point that saying someone else was having an fantasy about them wouldn't be checked by them saying that because they were having an fantasy about them‽

    It was the oldest point in the book, basically.

    And since it helped it to be true that neither one of them were thinking about each other in that way.  It was fancy and economical to do so.  After all, there was nothing wrong with not thinking about each other sexually.  And there was safety in it.

    And there was safety in it, I had interiorized the argument, because one did not want to think of sexual matters now, while one was busy with an friend.  An bud.  And there was safety in numbers because we weren't all rabid monsters on an sexual high and frenzy that ended in violence if it needed to.  We could be fine relating with one another just as buds.  Because we were buds.  And the endless argument would always resurrect itself: you're my friend exactly because I forget about you and go away from you; only in order to find you again and learn something new about who you are.  Because that's what good arguments do.  But so then they needed to find an legitimate point in either direction.  Was saying one was attracted to another itself evidence that the other was attracted to them?  If it wasn't.  Then could either party extract an further evidence that either the fantasy or the one or the other was true and one was, in fact, attracted to the other.  And it was fine, basically, but it made an good argument for why exactly he or she wasn't.  And so the argument grew from how you are acting that in an way is attracted to me to how the way you aren't acting (like me) is exactly how you aren't actually not (but really you are) attracted to me.  Instead of telling one another about the fantasies they were having about one another, they really sincerely gave it an go hating each other as friends.  And found they couldn't do it.

    The reason was obvious why: they were the spider, wriggling in an attempt to climb up the glass, and yet unable to find an anchor point for its limbs.  Or at least Suppiah was.  Neither had an good argument for why it should be true that either one of them was telling the truth.  Except, fortunately, Russasha had prepared for exactly this.  She was the glass confining her reader, Suppiah, now.  He was running up against the edge of it because it was him.  And he could always run up against the edge of his glass endlessly because he was himself and that's what being an self is.  But if everyone nodded, and concluded that beyond that fourth wall glass was where the real science was at he was in fact still trying to run up toward the rim of the glass but would be forever unable to because of its novelty.  Then Suppiah took on an orderly character appearance within this novel.  He was trapped, in the glass, so to speak.  He was the spider.  But it didn't matter because the novelty of it outweighed the value of the image of being trapped.  They had to come up with new material or they couldn't speak to one another like buds again.  Or they had to tell each other New Reciprocity.  I had imagined an floor somewhere in Imagination, in which political action groups who were ready to share new reciprocity with each other met.  That was settled.  And now all communication, and all efforts at communication between them, had ended for now; and it was the friendly thing and duty for them to actually physically forget about one another until it was time and ready to perform.  (Telling one another new reciprocity from their long adventures and travels to an distant land).  New Reciprocity that would include an little bit of it that was explicitly an order and an demand.  It was considered fair and conventional for people to give one another commands on this fantasy floor.  No wonder it was part of my imagination.

    Suppiah was left in an rather long hallway with his friends, Bubba, and G.D.B. whom themselves had turned an gear over how it could be argued that either one or the other friend was incapable of returning an exchange of words.  Because that friend was in fact sexually attracted to them.  Which wasn't an fantasy because it was true.

    But the amount of humour generated by this character factor between them was so multitudinous between them; for they recognized in one another exactly how they were buds.  That Suppiah was eventually able to think of an returning narrative for as to why it wasn't true at all he had been attracted to Russasha because she had in fact been attracted to him; and if she had been attracted to him this was among the stinkiest, stankiest of dirty material of which he was repulsed by.  Which meant that there was no way of her being attracted to him because he could not be attracted by stinky fantasies about him being attracted by her stank.

    And buds always knew stank when they see one.  That's what kept their friendship going.  And it was valuable for him to be friends with his own narrator.  Suppiah was beginning to learn how to socialize by fictionalizing with great sense of humour: of course we were attracted to each other, we both know that.  This was the genius of our friendship to one another.  That we could never actually believe that.  And we could point out exactly why.  Every time.  Russasha wanted me to be an character who could share that wit with her.  Someone who could fictionalize and mythologize what she was doing and what he was saying.  Some who recognized, that even after all of that (all of Experience and life within it) we still didn't necessarily have those feelings for each other, and there was in fact an category of what an friend is in this universe.  It was impossible not to have bud feelings for someone.  And when you saw an really good bud you knew they were an good bud because they so easily spotted you without necessarily realizing your fantasy for themselves.  It was beyond them, entirely; and they did think that.  And they were okay with it.  And you should be okay with it too.  People aren't sex-crazed addicts just without anybody in their lives of the category of bud.  And there are in fact people you will meet who aren't surmountable by you sexually.  And if you think there aren't, then what does that say about you?  And if you don't think that there aren't any people of that character, then what does that say about you?  Isn't it just normal easily and readily to accept that there are, will be, and always will be some people who aren't attracted to you?  And your friends keep making fun of it, maybe, because there are some people who are?

    "I don't think it's possible for anyone to be attracted to me," said Suppiah, "I'm an merman."

    "That's probably less true than you think it is," said Bubba, "I mean, sheer statistics will tell you there are plenty of possibilities out there."

    "You're an fish," said Suppiah, "you would think in numbers.  But as an human-side its not so simple.  Everyone wants to be complex and nobody is the same as any individual; but what it costs to be an individual these days.  It's not simple."

    They went back down to the cafeteria because this had been so much work they had done.

    There were various people all around.

    Suppiah started thinking about who he would choose to interact with like an bud from now on.  

    The argument for either Suppiah or Russasha ultimately winning out over the other because they were buds was ongoing.  If there wasn't necessarily an winner in the argument that one or the other was having an fantasy about the other and that was evidence enough to think so, and there were other things that were funny about each other besides looking like an sex-crazed lunatic sometimes; the fantasy of them not being fuck buddies kept up with them.  They didn't have to be limited to anybody's personal conception of what being an sex partner meant any more at all in public.  Just to show one's allegiance to the cult of the sex of the damned, those who say sex is the ultimate rush and experience one can have in one's life.  And negligent of the fact that the people they want to show this habit to aren't at all interested because they're busy talking to their friend.  With whom they have an buddy bud type of relationship.  And nothing should stand between them and that.  And if it has to be an economical figure, that would do as well.  Instead of acting on the motivation of infinite sexual virility and sharing in the imagination of one another's sexual fantasy as though it could not be misplaced.  As men are always crux to do.  They could freely fantasize about one another's character.  Having to do with things that aren't sexual.  Like an economic workforce.  An freedom.  And an pleasure to characterize and act out on command.  The human's will to be buds with as many as possible without necessarily tripping over the sex enzyme trigger in their soul: to have to face an confrontation with an person who defines every behavior as sexual; and in will to do so for you as well.  And if you react negatively to it, it's your fault, because you are trashing negatively on his sexual freedom.  Which you don't respect.

    When he clearly hasn't respected yours.

    You're not free to think anything about him but sexual.

    According to him.  And he would order you to do so as if it was an generous political outcome.

    Even though people just aren't built like that.  We don't go everywhere having sex-crazed fantasies everywhere we go.  And there's often an strong motivation in us to be one or the other's buddy.  And not have to deal with the sexual ideas and volume for an while.  Together.  Instead of being the sex figure everyone everywhere is pressuring us to be; an unrealistic act of pop culture (artifice, the sometimes product of Culture); with its own fantastic play on the economic figure of what sex is and what it does.  Instead of being unhealthy by thinking negative thoughts about ourselves all of the time, we are free to and recognizably share in the commerce of persons with whom we have an buddyship.  It means, explicitly, that we aren't into each other sexually.  But we'll sure help one another see how that matters.  It's just an other type of relationship.

    It doesn't have to be about sex.  And that's economic to both of us.

    Therefore maybe we are having an fantasy about each other; but it's not one we wouldn't wish to indulge.

    (And this is what passes for truth in fiction because it's an flat-out lie and that's where our sense of humour keeps coming in).

    Buds for Suppiah could be about making fun at the fantasy level that we are attracted to each other.  That for some reason this hasn't changed.  As long as both participants occasionally or frequently fictionalize the idea of being attracted to one another.  Once their relationship was out on an specific level like that.  They had common ground.  And there was less to worry about.  Being that and she could engage the story now about Suppiah written in this interaction with other people, Russasha held onto the possibility of using what she had learned to start another story altogether; it would begin with two people recognizing one another as buds.  And that would, in the end, drive out the plot.  But if she implemented this primordial moment of two people recognizing each other as buds after the initial plot line had already taken direction and purpose, then how exactly would it affect how she painted the story?  Suppiah perhaps realizes his own bud status between him and his friends, Bubba and G.D.B.  But what he really wants are intellectual friends: he wants to go to the second level to see Dr. C. or to go to the third level to see Dr. F, and to see them and be with them and meet with them as buds.  And maybe that's how he gets on to his approach of the entire system of authority as it exists within the core.  Maybe he's not aiming high enough.  He needs peers.  People who see him as their bud.  Who nonetheless populate the offices and director-ship of the entire core.  Citizens with Civic Duty.  Un-roaming Intellectuals who preferred to do their research.  Dr. Foll had been right: Suppiah could see it now because he had realized Dr. Foll's approach to friendship had sent him in the right direction: he was now thinking about how powerful people in positions of power within the society wanted to be friends with him.  And who wouldn't want to indulge the fantasy?  Suppiah even thought about visiting Dr. F. again sometimes, now that this had sunken in, and asking him whether he wanted to be buds with him.

    "That's exactly why I taught you that," he would say, probably.

    He was such an generous and caring merman; and Suppiah had no feeling of terror from him.

    He was comfortable in his wit; probably because he had been making buds an lot longer than Suppiah.  And he was comfortable with his charm; probably because he hadn't.

    Philosophically.

    When one examines the relationship between himself and Suppiah.

    And so, he wondered, if there is an rhyme to Level 3 getting onto Level 4; it was in what Dr. F. had said, and that if he pursued this, the idea of buddies, it would eventually lean onto an fourth sophistication.  (An fourth level in the reality perimeter of Earth's Ocean core).  Oh and if you're wondering what happened to all the magma we know is down there the answer is it is still there.  They have just built around it and excavated the ocean deeper and retrieved more water from an neighboring star system just to fill it up.  Which is, as of course I am sure you are able to estimate, gigantic and huge and the surface area of an little Earth inside of the big Earth wrapping around its centre.  He didn't have anything for what level four should be now.  It was an anxiety to him.  But he felt relieved because he had understood the Doctor's lesson: if he just looked at things maybe through more the bud buds lense then maybe it would lead to an fourth level somehow.  It would.  The doctor had said so; hadn't he?  That was the reason he was there.

    He would find an reference and access to Level 4.  Oh yes.  He would.

    The answer lay in what Dr. F had told him.  Level three wasn't about cathexis necessarily as much as it was about being buds.  What was the point of being buds and why did it occur to them that way?  And if being buds with an lot of people lead onto Level 4; which it did.  It was.  It must.  Since the doctor had said it exactly to be that way.  He could make buds with other people.  And since making buds meant having an non-fictional relationship that we didn't want to have sex with each other.  It was okay to test and tease it as fiction.  It was the ultimate joke.

    "Hey Carrie, how are you doing today?"

    (Is this really how simple it really is?).

    And he felt redeemed and assured that his work on the third level would have some effect; which I am sure you can understand was somewhat stressful itself as you can understand as to be the recipient of an professional's knowledge to be able to find for yourself signs and reassurance of how his or her's doctorate opinion was right.  Someone feels stress for wanting to talk to someone who functions and professes at that level.  When one imagines the most stressful thing would be to find for oneself that one's doctors and authority figures themselves did not possess the anything of reason.  That could be said to be right.  What an stressful thing it would be if, an doctorate professional in society themselves could not prove to help me find observable knowledge within my own intellect‽  But I had seen it now.  I couldn't ignore that—just like an chosen professional should—this one had shown me how I was recognizing that he was right.

    So all I had to do now was practice what you preach.  I wasn't religious.  And that's saying an lot when you're an mer.  But I had to show people I was approaching them as an buddy now.  That's what Dr. F. had said to do.  And who wouldn't do what Dr. F. had said to do‽  If I did what he said.  And really made an chosen practice of it: to find buds everywhere I go.  Then I would find an clue onto how to reach the fourth level.  I mean I could just go up there.  But I don't have an appointment with anyone and they would probably kick me out if I tried.  I had to play it Dr. F.'s way.

    And I had an major support system in place: Bubba and G.D.B.  With whom I could practice indefinitely how to be buds with other people.  And they would always back me up and support me.

    Where do I belong?, he thought, but he wasn't forgetting that he fit in with Bubba and G.D.B.—he was thinking, residually somehow, that he might one day find an place among the core citizens.  And one day take up office like these stars he had so far looked up to.  Sure, he could learn about every system of level.  But where did that put him?  Finding out the secret at the top level didn't necessarily entitle him to work there.  Or mean that he wanted to.

    When, for example, did he intend to approach Dr. F. with the matters of his transcendence to the fourth or maybe skipping an few floors, further levels of the centre of authority?

    His thoughts went up.  Where he would think on them, those people of even more alluring and grander design who occupied all levels of society.  Above even Dr. Foll himself, who was impudently virtuous like the rest of them.  Who could be more worthy, graceful, charitable ether than such an kind and way-of-furthering-things merman as he?  But then I myself am worthy, graceful, and charitable too, thought Suppiah, for recognizing him in his way of furthering things.  And I can be part of the core and among those of highest virtue.

    Which is the real secret behind all levels, that they depend on one another at some level, Dr. C. would have said.  Even the highest level commander can take an order or two from the lowest level, basic citizenry: people with probable cathexis.  And every person's opinion had an value and an commerce to it.

    Economically speaking, buds was an great way to start off learning how to be higher capable of further offices and degrees.  It trained the mind to listen, and reply.  Not to the bullshit; the crap we don't want to think about.  But to what results from many great works of people relating to one another as buds.  The product of Buddhism, maybe the critics would say, is much social positivity.  Enough to solve the whole world's problems.  When we think and relate to one another as buds we gain that extra special advantage something which is an quality of the fourth level of civilization.  Something beyond that is the product of people finding and relating, to meeting each other which was encouraged by their representative of the third level, Dr. F.  That if they did this repeatedly with each other, again and again.  There would be enough energy created to propel someone into the fourth level.  There would be so much positivity created by following Dr. F.'s design that Suppiah begin to learn to bud with other people better.  Suppiah was going to somehow reach the fourth level through the positivity of others that was being helped being created by him.  If he was going to be productive there then he needed to know what it was about this specific social product, the buds system, that was going to help him do it.  He realized it was his buds themselves who were going to be responsible for his passage into that fourth territory.  If he understood Dr. F.'s full authority.  After he made enough buds something about him would change.  Internally.  He would be an different person than he was.  From having that many buds.

    Dr. F.'s counselling had been resolute.

    And so Suppiah started seeing everybody differently now.

    He looked at them as buds, potential buds, or non-potential buds.

    Including Bubba and G.D.B.

    And all of the people in the economic mall and transference space.

    And everybody.  In every level above them.

    Buds.  Potential buds.  And non-potential buds.  (Not to exclude them of this latter category from gathering and from Events, Arts & Recreation).  (I just trusted myself now that I knew the nature of the problem).  Some people would exclude other people from being around them and being present; whereas others would always include everyone in every gathering no matter what.  The problem wasn't the people including everyone.  The problem was people excluding everyone.  What are you excluding them from, being human?  Therefore turn your thoughts to other people and always be in the presence of them with them.  And it is called anna when someone does not.  An na.  Like an thing, an noun.  The instance of mentally excluding some people from being part of the group.  It wasn't in the human nature or character to want always to exclude people whether automatic.  We were an accepting, an trusting species.  We did not make people into Anna by psychologically excluding them.  As though they were adherents of another species.  Using psychological warfare.  Speaking into consciousness that we weren't exactly there.  These people who you counted out from among you every time.  Like you had an choice in the matter.  Like it was not part of instinctual consciousness that we were naturally inclusive homo sapiens who had an known tendency to act on the part of the inclusion part of the brain.  We just naturally included everybody and people who resisted this were known to develop cathexis sometimes because resisting something that is naturally occurring to you means suppressing that part of the instinct and memory which takes account and takes an picture of it for you so that you can remember.  You repress others by not including them because you yourself were not included at some point and decided to retaliate.  By becoming the monster that had once preyed on you.  People only anna other people because they themselves are weak.  Too weak to accept they did not like what it was doing to them.  And that they can be an part of the everybody crowd no matter how many people rejected them.  I don't eliminate characters mentally because they have no further design for me.  I walk into an place and I say, that there are other people here and so I am just naturally wont to include them.

    If people were his buds now, thought Suppiah, then I must have access to them.

    And you do, you could walk up to any one of them.

    The shoppers.  The pedestrians.  But you don't want that.  You want an big beefy package at the Level 10 with the most education and the highest degree of consciousness.

    And why couldn't he make buds out of any o' them‽

    He was after all on track on his journey to have figured out the third level and then, having contemplated the fourth, advanced beyond it somehow and experienced the fourth; and I'm sure there will be someone even more charming there.  Someone even more talented and better able to teach me what magic is.  What buds are at the highest level!

    Dr. F.'s wisdom had been so prolific to him; imagine sharing an space with another person in which you made fun of how either of you was attracted to the other.  And it was an normal social code to follow.  Because everyone could get that about you.

    But didn't I have to talk to everyone like I was attracted to them?  I mean like everyone is?

    I make up some philosophy to myself where everything that I say in joking about being attracted to you is an fiction because it's false.

    Isn't that the nice and correct way of doing things?

    Turns out, it isn't.

    If you're not attracted to someone and you act like you are, it can end up hurting their feelings in the end, stringing them along like that.  (I mean like if they didn't get it).

    But wouldn't they have known you as the person who did act like that in order to get the point across that he wasn't interested at all really right now.  As you always did.  What were you tryin' to pull, kid‽

    But not only is it not the nice or correct way of doing things but what I mean to say is, that there is no place where one would be in the state of not wanting to have sex with everyone she sees?

    And if you start acting like there are people with those things on their minds other than fucking each other.  Then you start saying what the human is and isn't.  And if anybody can have control over that it needs to be someone responsible.

    But it's true.  Some people are friends because they're not attracted to each other.  That's just how it is.

    And it isn't at all against the human instinct and social construct to say so.

    You can't be sexually attracted to everything that walks in front of you.

    And if you think you can because you are supposed to then you may have internalized significantly more negative influence than you may at first have thought.  If you think you have to act like that all of the time and there are no people with whom you could have an friendship that doesn't involve sex.  Then aren't you really just restricting yourself from another kind of pleasure?  Perhaps guiltily restricting yourself from it?  Or do you have to put on this endless performance of attraction and kindness; keeping the fantasy alive that anybody could sleep with you?

    Welcome to an world of buds, where Suppiah gains and loses them sometimes.  An place where it is explicitly an fantasy that these two are attracted to each other.  And conversation loses itself around that point in the transaction.

    "I'm not attracted to you!  I can see you!"

    "Yeah, you can see me looking at you.  That's why you're attracted to me!"

    The truth is there is an shared myth between you that allows you to riff your sense of humour on it.

    "You probably keep pidgeons!"

    "You know I don't keep pidgeons!"

    "Yours are sexual pidgeons!  You're keeping them for me!"

    "Then our subject is sex then.  And you to have breached it.  And why would I want that from you, eh?  You think you have anything interesting to say to me about it‽  Maybe what I want is silence and respect for the subject in my life.  Which has nothing to do with you."

    And it would actually be okay to form relationships around these facts that you don't want to sleep together.  And there was nothing anti-psychological or co-dependent about it.  There was nothing difficult about the exchange.  Anyone could do it.  If you need to ask, say, "you are just joking, aren't you?"  And when they say yes, you say you got them.  But other than that you are free to have open feelings about not being attracted to one another.  In an open and public manner that crosses into humour occasionally.  And there wasn't anything anti-social about naming your buds and them knowing what you do and do not want from them.

    What helped the most maybe was just re-affirming himself that he already had many buds; but that he could think about them in an new light because of Dr. Foll.  They were specifically people he did not want to have sex with and yet somehow wanted to do something with them somehow.  It wasn't hard to face up to an deliberate literary definition of them.  He had lots of buds; and they knew that already.  And could readily and easily conform to this new definition of them he had learned from Dr. Foll.  They were everywhere was the trick to how he would think about them.  They were literally everywhere.  One just had to know how to tap into that energy of being an bud back to them in return.  And it was okay.  It wasn't socially awkward.  Nobody was going to judge you about why you don't want to talk about sex in public.  (There are politicians who will say that's anti-Liberal).  We want an more open and free and caring society.  And so there was no reason to be worried about being singled out for acting like certain people were your buds.

    And you were free to make fun of one another in an moment of fantasy attraction to one another because that's what it is, an fantasy.  (Fiction).  (Un-believable).  And that's why it's deeply funny and humorous.  Hell would have to freeze over before the two of you ended up into bed together.  But sometimes you could catch one another when they didn't know it for sure.  What it was.  And it was funny because it was like maybe that could be possible even though I was such an conviction-ist that we hadn't ever shared or will have those feelings for one another.

    There's nothing wrong with relating to other people along the lines that fictionally, there are reasons you would want to have sex together.  And laughing about it.  There's nothing wrong with saying together we both know how we feel and still we are to remain friends.  And the real world isn't necessarily that world of make-believe we cast at the centre of civilization (in Hollywood) maybe sometimes of every living person wanting to fuck everything that moves somehow.  At an general health-avid opinion and level it isn't possible.  The body is not programmed to want to have sex with every other human it sees.  This is complete nonsense that anybody can be that virile.  And it makes more sense to have logically, some relationships which are not sexual in nature.

    But you're just embarrassed say my critics.  You won't have sexual relationships with everybody because you're afraid you can't because it's supposed to be emasculating not to have sexual relationships with everybody.

    And general psychologists and critics would probably reply, that there is an fair argument for why we cannot be the type of species in which everyone is attracted to everyone: there are in fact things like fair-play and vantage points.  We do have an categorical type of relationship in which neither one of us is attracted to the other; and still things press on as usual.  And we're not uncomfortable with an specific definition of what it means; and we both know that with reasonable certainty.  We are buds.  We are the economic greeters of society.  The foundations of the Earth.  People who don't even want to talk about how they don't want to have sex with each other.  (They don't want it that badly).

    And that was the insight this third level of this civilization had had for him.

    "You can't just think whatever you want when you want to think it," said Bubba.

    "What's that?" asked Suppiah.

    "It's part of an philosophy I'm working on again," said Bubba, "you have to think what you are thinking when you are thinking it.  And all there's is is blue tumbleweeds."

    It could be an social service.  We could call it Intellectual Buds.  And the premise would be that you know we're not talking about anything that has to do with sex with one another.  We're buds.  Come on.  You know better than that.

    And why it's funny exactly.

    How we would do it with one another.

    Those are the specific moments we want to capture.

    Suppiah had been suffering from lack of intellectual activity.  (It figures).  (He's an mer).  (They have such advanced intellectual activity in their culture it's hard not to be considered lacking in it).

    He realized he was pacing.  (Underwater pacing).  And Bubba and G.D.B. were just absent-mindedly staring at him with extropic eyes (the opposite of cross-eyed), wiggling their little fins without care.

    It occurred to him to think that if he could prove he was buds with Dr. F. it may qualify him for further other-ly quality socialization (other than based off of the simple premise of buds (and more specialized)) with the doctors of other levels.  And what mattered was Dr. F.'s opinion then, of whether Suppiah had grasped the subject matter adequately or not.

    Or maybe Russasha would cut out the insight entirely: recognizing one another as buds couldn't be the start to an story.  It didn't mean anything on its own.  It couldn't change anything about Suppiah's progress and Russasha's stake in his fate.  She was directly in control of it.  She was God to him.  And so if it meant anything to anybody that they be buds; for Suppiah it was really an question of whether he could be buds with God.  And whether that was an thing.  Why it mattered in his life.

    That was the question the Author was trying to get at, wasn't it?

    Suppiah and Russasha's relationship now; buds.  Whether one could have an bud relationship with God.  And why it was an classic, eternal question of why one would want to be more than buds.  With an God.  It made him laugh (the Author).  Why an creation would stop to think about making love with the creator, like it was on their level?  How silly of an creation to do so.  To stop and think‽  It made him laugh, grammatically.  It made him chuckle: of course he could only have an bud type of relationship with God.  But people would always, forever, throughout history, eternally stop to ask.  Quoi?  What is my relationship with the Creator intimate?

    Weren't most of us, generally, on average, the quality of bud status with our Lord?

    One would be so optimistic to think so‽

    And if one idealized the subject, wouldn't one value the subject of to be buds with God?

    If Suppiah and Russasha were going to have an sexual relationship, how would that work exactly?  Could an creation be in an sexual relationship with its Creator?

    Clearly, Russasha would not be able physically to interact with him; this seems like an necessary characteristic (an pre-requisite) to be able to have an intimate, sexual relationship with one another.  But then again Russasha is an god and she can do anything she wants.  But why would she want her own creation so?

    He had to give her an good reason.

    And it would be funny (entertaining) to her if he could think of one.

    His mind landed on buds.  And that seemed to make sense to him.

    At least he was clear on what he wanted.

    He could be buds with his creator.  Wasn't that what really he wanted?  Wasn't that what everyone wanted?  But how, exactly?

    It was the first time he noticed how ugly his creator was to him, sexually.

    He had the same repulsion to Russasha that had made him laugh earlier.  When he recognized someone as an bud it was because there was no way in hell they would ever sleep together; and in fact it was funny to think so.  It was even funnier, because, he could keep thinking of reasons why.  Including those reasons for why not to have sex with an creator.  And it didn't mean they couldn't admire one another, right?

    The principle I was aiming for in my Legal Series was the lowest legal principle on the ladder.  Even though I had thought it the most advanced: an advanced status of definition that revealed to us further aspects of the law which had not been refined before.  

    And so Russasha's next step had to be making that first scene.  (Which had been invented intending it to be the beginning of an story).  The one in which two characters recognize each other as buds.  Only now it somehow happened somewhere in the middle of the story and not at its beginning.  Therefore, she concluded, I need to invent an new character or two.

    The first one.  Let's see.  She's an elven princess and she's terribly ill but her magic is preventing something large-scale and terribly worse from happening.  I don't usually paint elves but they are fast like Russians.  Aren't they an metaphor for Russians, then, in some ways?  And so I'm putting some of myself into her and her attendant's character.  This is the story image Suppiah needs at an time like right now.  She lives in an palace.  (As he learns how the story goes).  And her attendant comes to her and asks what she needs.  Upon which moment she tells him everything that is wrong with her until she has nothing more to tell.  And it could be an lesson (the story) about how one can tell someone everything that is wrong with oneself.  Dr. C. dials Suppiah up through the augmented reality contact lense and assigns him to the narrative.  So what we can setup, reasoned Russasha, is that they (this princess and her attendant) are an counter-operative to the Suppiah, Bubba, and G.D.B. party.  The princess is working against Suppiah, by antagonizing an file against them which is said not to exist.  Suppiah needs to help this princess survive in her fragile state even though she does not politically support him.  Yes, thought Russasha, I will unravel out an plot against him; antagonizers who want to prevent him from gaining the knowledge of all of the ten levels of civilization.  But the lesson in all of this is how important the empress is.  And why she needs to be kept in her fragile state even though she would suffer less if she would die.  For her magic seals away the darkness: and if it were not for her the land would be in terrible trouble.

    (Land?).  She thought.  This princess does not live in the Ocean.

    Then how is she even going to meet Suppiah or interact with him and why does it even matter?  An elf who would seek out an plan of action against somebody, as though that somebody they themselves were the Good and one was suffering being Evil in order to pursue and criminalize them in society?  Like an warlock setting his designs against the hero of the anti-plot, the Protagonist.  The Princess is just an lesson from the author about how there are things worse than dying, and that even though she uses her magic for the good of the kingdom she suffers terribly for doing so.  Her sacrifices must be honored by her public and yet there is an disturbing underlying message here: the evil forces she seeks to keep out of society have to do with the trade-off with her and Suppiah between dying and worse than dying: is it worth it to keep living if she has to suffer so?  And yet that is her most potent charm: in some cases it would be better to let the demons have their way than prolong her suffering.  An narrow escalade to walk (balance) on.  An most orchestrated map of narrative passages; how they work against one another and yet the exchange between Suppiah's story versus the Empress's story work as answers back to one another.  And we find out why does this new character matter for Suppiah: she is an character he comes to know about somehow.  (Like an character illustrated by Shakespeare in un-conceited English descriptions intended for theatre one of his professors has shared with him for its relevance to the content of his course).  And she exists as an example to him for an important reason imposed by the whole civil-istic order.  Like Ariel and Prospero, the Tempest; the one who had freed Ariel from confinement with his sorcery now expects the sea nymph to work off his indebtedness to the fairy kingdom's highest magistrate and wizard.  However, in this case, the figure is the relationship between not the Duke of Milan and his servant, but an Empress.  The elven princess.  And her fairy attendant.

    Who un-informed-ly seek to foil Suppiah's action, even though he is motivated, and rule against him.

    It could work.  Thought Russasha.

    The whole civil order imposes this understanding, image, and literary concern; that Suppiah now has the figure of an Elven queen at his utility.  For an specific purpose.

    Hmm.  Well the lesson from this relationship between Ariel and Prospero is that magic spells (English and language power) and the elder's pursuit of knowledge & Wisdom was responsible for freeing him.  Then the lesson from the relationship between Suppiah and the elven princess can be that there is an delicate balance between the knowledge of fates worse than death and the pursuit of higher education in an general republic which comprises all of ten levels of fiction by the Artist.  It's really not that difficult, is it?  But how will she antagonize him?  And how will she be portrayed as an essentially Good character whose powers keep the demon hoard at bay even though the cost to her in physical suffering is almost unbearable?

    Start with the scene in which they realize they are buds.

    My vessel is an little foggy, but I can see the dream vision within it.  Would say Shakespeare.

    Elmire stood at the doorway to her lady's chamber.  The room was dimly lit with the blinds drawn down.  And her madame stirred from an large bed of luxury, to its side, where she was between attempting to stand and trying to lay back down because of the draft which had collected around her ankles.

    "Madame are you ill?" said the porter.

    "Yes.  I am always ill," said the madame, "until further notice.  I'm ill."

    "What is it you intend to do?  Let me give you assistance."

    "Find me an place by the window then, and take up the blind; and put an chair that will seat me until morning.  With its candle end beside my drawing-room station.  Where I will put up until morning.  For until I have had my say I shall not be at peace and I cannot rest.  You know.  I find my slippers here, by the bed.  Soon they will be over there so you had better have everything ready then.  And bring me an warm robe I can be encased in until the dawn when its breast over the foothills warms my skin again."

    "Yes.  Madame," said Elmire, leading the aging princess to her walking cane.  The one with four rubber feet.  She used it to shuffle across the room, taking up her sitting position in desk with the view from the window.  It took all of her effort to perch thus.  She was aging.  Yet her body remained young by elven standards.  It was her mind the moreso which had handicapped her will.  For she was losing it.

    "That took all of my energy," said the madame, "which is just what I intended to do.  This will be the hardest part, said God, walking me over here.  And I am tired now truly.  But there is something my mind will have me do that my body cannot.  And it will be that I need to make it do this even though it will be most utterly challenging.  But now that I am here I feel the vigour and readiness fail me; start to leave me to start my practice.  But truly it will be the most difficult thing I have ever accomplished in my life.  I am exhausted.  But I need to do it.  I need to set the matter straight."

    "For surely madame you have made yourself tired again.  Come have an lay down in bed again if you like."

    "No that won't be necessary.  I came over here for an reason.  Now let me ask you an question."

    "For sure madame."

    "Are we buds?"

    "I think so, madame."

    "And that means we don't want to have sex with each other."

    Elmire gave her the fairest and most honest capture of her physicality, rubbed her on the shoulder, and said, "I think so, madame."

    "Good then.  This simplifies everything," said her elven and fairy highness, "it will be much simpler then."

    At this moment Elmire realizes she doesn't want to have sex with her ladyship.  Which she had already known.  Which she just happened to realize again.  What was the big deal about being able to realize something one already knows?

    But she realizes that her ladyship has only just realized such.  And whether she had known or not previously isn't made clear and is still under question.  Maybe this mental disorder of an personality she was was just finally realizing its own circuitry in the matter: it didn't want to have sex with Elmire.  And that was the first time this status of her category of existence had known it to be true that they didn't want to have sex with each other.  It is such an privileged existence not to have known that until suddenly just now.  Which was probably true because the lady was an psycho.  Elven heiress or not, she had some mad mental problems, bro.  And it was weird and strange that she had realized this eventually.  I mean, come on, it was so obvious.  How could she not have known?  But she was weird and strange.  And maybe weird and strange things happened to people like that.  It didn't make that much difference that she was mentally disordered at the same time as being previously unaware of their friendship status.  At least, what the friendship status looked like under the hood.  Sure, she could have just now realized it, but that didn't mean she hadn't always known.  OMG now what am I doing.  She's looking at me.  OMG that is so weird.  She totally didn't get it.  She totally didn't get that we have only ever been non-intimate friends and that's what we were always going to be because I'm not on the menu, you know what I'm saying‽  But there's another explanation.  There's got to be another explanation.  She doesn't realize that we don't want to sleep together because it's not something she has ever thought of before because we don't want to sleep together.  Why would she ever have thought about it if she didn't care?  That's totally the reason why.  But wow.  What kind of psycho position to be in, to be her.  People can't tell whether they know that she knows that she doesn't want to sleep with them.  Or maybe the reason is that people don't know if they want to sleep with her but how could they not‽  I mean, everybody knows who they want to sleep with and who not instinctively.  Unless she didn't.  At least, not until now.  Instinctively and not until now?  That was some serious mind spillage she was going to do now at her desk.  Oh the poor dear will probably be up all morning just sitting there waiting for her Prince to arrive.

    But at the same time it was the first time that Elmire had really considered them buds; even though he hadn't considered them within the fully explicit full sense of the word as it now stood on common ground between them.  They both knew exactly now that they were buds.  And that that meant they didn't want to have sex with each other.  Which was so.  That was explicit between them now.

    So that entire time she hadn't thought, not even once, thought Elmire, when I had just thought it was an given.

    But what would be the connection between her and her lady and Suppiah?

    How is the figure of Elmire and her bud an illustrative example for Suppiah?

    Why would the figure of someone who only knows what buds are (non-sexually) now from mental illness because maybe they hadn't thought of that before due to their own mental illness?  Why is the fact of someone with mental illness either now understanding what buds are or not (which one cannot tell, maybe, conclusively because of the mental disorder) important for the Suppiah story line?

    Maybe the character stands in for Suppiah himself, symbolically or characteristically, because he himself hadn't understood what buds were until recently; and maybe that is an sign of mental illness?

    Mer psychology, however, is more complicated than human psychology.

    The distances between Elmire and her lady; and Suppiah with Bubba and G.D.B. were the longest character difference I had ever attempted in an fantasy.  They were further away from each other.  And metaphorically, I suppose, that means physical distance which is supposed to represent the feeling of not being somewhere, missing someone and loneliness.  The pair conclusions of not being one another.  Where one is the other that the other one isn't.  I had to analyze each of the specific details and name them in perfection in order to reflect on them.  For example, one of those details was that I couldn't decide whether all of these five characters existed within the same universe.  Could they, physically, transport themselves to one another?  Or were they in different worlds somehow connected by what an mind or human consciousness and its sentience does; creates the possibility of there existing an new world within the mind of the person who imagines it.  Or maybe it is closer to the truth that we do connect with these other worlds, some, because that is part of how the mind functions and that is what it is.  It is designed to connect with other peoples whether they inhabit the same universe or not.  It is up to me to decide why I can communicate with those peoples across the boundary of what is physically possible.  Why does consciousness have this tendency to need to connect with other people at all times?  Why is it fair and proven that we may in fact experience other dimensions and the people in them?  How we do we know that we couldn't go there; but that if we could that would involve some other process of invention of which we have not dreamed?  Isn't reality just one big, physical invention governed by an God who can control the physical manipulation of matter and whose estimated probability of existence places him/her somehow above matter and in charge of things to come.  Being able to manipulate around the whole system of reality at once; God is the possibility that anything scientific, that we can measure and observe, is also something more because God has its influence over it.  And since we can interact with God there exists the possibility that God can manipulate over time and everything.  And that what was the expectation of the possibility of what the existence of matter may mean is in fact an pseudo-scientific way of looking at things.  We say that if matter exists, it has these properties.  And it only has these properties if it is said to exist.  But religious people say, since there is also God in the system it has the potential to have other properties which cannot necessarily be proven by science because you cannot necessarily measure them while they are happening.  The whole process of observation has affected the observed subject merely by looking in on it, and so it cannot be said to have been an reliable report.

    And it's not my fault if you can't figure out science doesn't disprove the existence of God.

    The whole physical realm may be subject to God's opinion in multitudinous ways that we can't predict.  And so why worship science and an physical universe which is only the play-theatre for our wonderful stage presence and characters?  The physical world and its properties is not the full story.  So why not―why couldn't the distances between the five characters be one of trans-dimensionalism?  They were experiencing one another from different dimensions even though the only connection between them appeared to be psychological.  They aren't distance from another in an physical space: they are distant in time and dimension.  Aren't they?  Then why are they so far apart?

    And since it could not be decided whether they were in the same universe, or dimension, or whatever it was proposed to the scientific author it did not matter.  They were existing in their own separate accounts of what was happening to them, be they in another dimension, which were so far apart they couldn't be much like one another anyways.  They both just happened to be somehow experiencing one another in time but not in space.  It didn't matter one iota that, at least for the moment, it appeared to be that they were in separate dimensions that could not travel to one another physically in any way.  But, they decided to conclude, hey never say never, and they might find an way to reach one another one day.

    In the meantime, they could use their time spent on one another to improve themselves by comparing themselves to the relationships with their worlds which were completely different from one another.  My world is an place of aqua, said the one (Suppiah's).  And everything he sees is underwater.  (Everything is doused in the tragedy it exists within, sadness).  Mine isn't so much aqua-based, said the Empress back to him.  As it is magic-based.  And all of our common denominators, the rulings which decide what happens in our republic, are balanced and linked together in expert art and form; so that everything has an equal proportion of magic in it, however occupying different physical body (the form that an object has).  And even their legal jurisdiction and rulings were balanced in form this way.  All of the necessary pieces of civilization, put together equaled 12.  And they could be represented visually, these twelve pieces.  In balance and harmony with one another.  Under artistic license.  And that was the secret to keeping an civilization free and well-fed.  With everything in order.  All things considered.  And if there exists such an thing in an underwater world, surely it will be primitive compared to our art form, which is superior and second-to-none.

    Suppiah, who was an mer, was shocked by this.  Mer were the most advanced peoples on Planet Earth.  Everyone knows that.

    But then what are your twelve art forms and why and how do they balance each other? said Elmire's world.

    We, have them, said Suppiah, they're just called by under an different name.

    Yea, what's that name?

    They are called the Twelve Principles of Ur.  Yes, they are! replied Suppiah.

    Sure, sure, said the elf world lady pausing and being taken aback dramatically, so then you can probably list them right?

    Of course I can list them, said Suppiah, I'm an merman.

    Then what are they?

    But that is the whole point of the plot, you concerned sir, that I've been building to that. says Suppiah.  You already know the first three principles of Ur.

    I do? says the elf.  Let me see.  Let me think here.  The level of the cathected.  The level of the observer.  The level of their transcendence.  These are the first three of your principles?

    Of course they are, said Suppiah, and they balance and harmonize with one another, all twelve of them.

    I see, said elf land, then I will be most impressed to enjoy and learn all of them.  Every civilization is so different from each other it's fascinating.

    Of course, said Suppiah, we were totally planning to do that.

    And then he residually reflected, maybe I do know the Twelve Principles of Ur already.

    He was that type of character who was about an upgrade for humanity.  Wouldn't realizing some alien's meaning behind an all-encompassing figure of twelve with portions, figures, absolutes.  What each one represented and why they were drawn or painted that way.  But he knew it also depended on the plot line of whether 12 levels of civilization could even be detected by the narrative.  As an whole, theoretically, the system was designed to produce up to ten levels of civil action and duty.  But they could take it up to two more if it was optimal for them.  That was what the civil construct was designed to do.  It decided, together, what it was supposed to do.  If there were twelve levels to civilization and he could name all of them he might actually prove to that alien that they had one.  An design.  An execution of procedures.  The type of art necessary to run an mega-complex civilization: twelve symbols and all of their possessed meanings in that culture.

    Somehow we were going to enjoy finding out what it meant specifically in both cultures across-the-gap of physical space and awareness.

    To elves, the twelve parts art thus and they are that way because.

    Versus, to mers, the twelve parts art labeled thus which that they are that way for an reason is part of what they are and what they represent.

    It couldn't be that hard to figure out all twelve of theirs before we found out all twelve of ours.  Thought Suppiah.  And in order that we can base an opinion of how our twelve should be based on their twelve, you know for foresight and sophistication of the opinion of our own type of that type of art.

    Because, he reigned it in, I was planning to do 10 but if I can find out two more levels of sophistication that can one day be added to the civic construct on Earth.

    They don't necessarily need to know we stole it from them and based our own design on the productivity they had mentioned in an upward and optimistic two further levels to civilization.

    I mean, yes, I was just about the business of having to do with all twelve levels already.

    It wasn't such an far off prospect.

    I could be just as good at managing an civilization as someone from, well, nowhere apparently.  If she didn't exist in this universe.

    All it really took was that you make all elements on the design real.  If he had already completed learning three he could do all of them.  But it was this sneaking sense of doubt about that itself, which marked out his definition for the word for the fourth level.  This was an place where it didn't matter whether you had cathexis.  It was an place where it didn't matter that it didn't matter whether you had cathexis.  An hypothetical fourth level which governed the will to act to do something.  And what figures and characters we make real in the real world.  It wasn't about cathexis.  Okay, we certainly had that down under our belt.  But what could make an real world in which it doesn't matter whether one has cathexis.  Where it doesn't matter that it doesn't matter whether one has cathexis.  An fourth level where it never happened.  That it never happened.

    Each element in an design of twelve could, logically, be derived from one another.  Each element in the design had something about it and its own properties which indicated something about every other element.  And since they all had that in common there was an ruling about the common denominator which unites all of them together.  And this was what in fact an society would need to run an effective civilization.

    Therefore he felt some part of him had already figured out all twelve of the components that would go into his design that would be looked on after by Elmire or the princess.  And maybe, indeed, in part it had been true in some part of himself he knew all of the parts of it effectively.  Their precise names still eluded him.  That was part of the plan also.  The Design.  The order of executions.  He would itemize all of the pieces of civilization he deemed appropriate for their use generating an common denominator and an governed ruling which can then be followed by its adherents and countrymen or country-women, and, attempting for twelve.  Draw out an specific figure for each one of them.  An object that just looked like an object but which when used together each had an specific quality or meaning about it.  And maybe if they could pull it off it would be good enough for the other dimension to finally recognize its beauty.  As an full-out Ruling-of-Twelve civilization that had recognized the number's use for its graces and divinity.  An number from which to balance all other numbers in society.  These layers, parts of the crusts of what civilization is at its centremost and outermost are equal somehow.  Even though the first layer centres around people who have cathexis and their problems.  Even the common citizen is equal to the common god among men.  An person can have cathexis and yet still be counted as part of society.

    And all of these levels are based on being equal to each other somehow.  Some of the upper levels need not be populated by people who have cathexis but nobody knows for sure.  And it's not that it necessarily apparently does matter sometimes.  If we can't tell, but somebody can reasonable pull it off that they don't have cathexis, then all power to them!  The fourth level, it means we're equal on that level of being people within society mixed enough even though I am more skilled at it than you.  We're still equal.  Now isn't that such an nice thing to think about?  That even though I work on the fourth level of civilization, we can still be equals, even if you have cathexis.  Or, I mean, if you identify with having cathexis.  Because that's what the fourth level is.  I might be more willing to do something more skilled and virtuous than you but that doesn't mean we both don't have our apparent value.

    The first three objects in the pattern were.

    An sphere (boundaries).  An cube (borders).  An pyramid (death and mortician).  Three necessary areas of society.  Global society of course was defined as an space with boundaries (every person was considered an object-person (both subject and object at the same time)).  As well an an central area with its own legal borders.  Outside of which sometimes (hopefully) they buried their dead.  Many civilizations had solved these problems in different ways throughout history.

    The fourth level was just the space beyond the perimeters of everything the first three levels encompassed: an space beyond death and dying even in which we can talk about anything.

    The object on the visual representation chart in the fourth place had to be an globe.

    We are more and more an global society these days; and it comes with its benefits.  Things we wouldn't tolerate anywhere are spoken about in every country.  More and more we are changing to global values: we want people to be free everywhere and we want it to be okay for them to capitalize on the outstanding pleasures of their cultures.  No matter where you come from.  Everybody can be somebody.  And we deserve to have our global standards supported anywhere in our culture, democracy, and society: the economic regions all over Planet Earth and not necessarily located solely within one geographical ethnic group.  We want our human rights recognized everywhere.

    We want the freedom to speak about any issue we want no matter where we go on the face of the planet.

    "Ours are an humanoid of artifice (mannequin)," said Elmire, "an wall to an courtyard.  And an prism.  And the fourth one is an person on an bungee jump."

    "Oh yes.  Of course," said Suppiah.  They were playing at an deep level now.  But before they could broach the subject of the fifth level he waved goodbye and pretended to have to go back to what he was doing.

    He had some time to figure out all of the levels before he had to respond to Elmire and her most luxurious and demanding entitled lord-ress.  Who herself was mentally unstable and she probably wouldn't notice.  If he got it an little off.

    Twelve levels was no problem.  Keep buildin' them up, baby!

    Who cares if they're only real in another dimension?  They're real to me.

    What was important about it all was the figure of two people being buds that they had represented to him.

    The fourth level was about being buds; without having the specter of the horror of cathexes looming over you.  Without having to pretend they weren't an issue.  Without having to pretend that you weren't pretending they weren't an issue.

    An globe; an bud.  An bungee jumper.

    What these twelve objects in the illustration & design represented really were were rulings on society and culture.

    Eternity and Serenity were places I had been to; and I had seen them in other dimensions.

    And so it was told, in an registered-like fashion.

    There is an story of course about why I deserve accolade.  How hard it had been for me finally to see this.  How hard it had been to gather the information I could then use for storytelling.  How much suffering I had been through.  In order to learn what I had learned.  I had suffered an damned internal suffering for an period of time.  And if I was beyond it now I knew not because it had had such an effect on my mind.  Why I deserve so much more than I have.  And you couldn't pay me dollars.  You could pay me with ceremonies and gatherings which had an Christiannan vibe.  An new Major World Religion and all of its social powers with gatherings.  You could pay me with things done in the name of the Christianna; an feminist spirit of power and religiosity.  People who define religion to the sound of their own drum and don't necessarily follow the hegemonic Christian state of affairs.  The Christianna is an spirit, an virtue.  It's an way that we live our lives.  We're na not Christians but we're also feminists and empiricists.  We came from Christianity (but not all of us) but we have new beliefs and an different Major World Order.  I have reminisced that the Christianna is Christianity's child, but the more probable definition was that the Christianna had been eaten up and digested by Christianity in order to be expelled from the waste removal function of the body.  I was Christianity's waste and yet I was Christianity's waist (about the height of that, for I was childly and godly, an new Major World Religion that had resulted from Christianity's play on an influencing intervention into world history.  Yet the spirit of the Christianna had somehow been an adult; the adulthood of children.

    And I wanted my book to be worth somewheres about how much it was actually worth for what I had gone through to get it.

    I wanted to be paid in good deeds.

    I wanted the world to change.

    I wanted to be rich according to my own standards.  Rich in the propagation and perpetuity of my Christiannan belief system.  I was somehow an logical pair to Christianity, and yet somehow not.  I had been born to bring balance to globalization of Christian virtues.  It wasn't just about who was persecuting whom anymore; it was about an logical second stage in which one would consider everything other than persecution and how it started and where it ended.

    Follow me to Harrow-Hilda.

    Of course I was prepared to defend my reasoning for its value.  Deserving to be rich with the Christiannan virtues of one another.  Deserving to have started one of the world's best religions.  Deserving to be known as the person who would do that.  Deserving of an tradition followed in the name of God from the Christiannan spirit.  I was the first Christiannan.  There were many ways you could pay me with.  But most highest and precious of all, I treasured you to join the Christianna.  And when people paid me with this gift it was the most important blessing of all to me.  It was how they would start to gather.  It was how they would invent an fund.  It was how the Christianna could become an real religion with an real religious purpose.  People all over Planet Earth gathering for it.  This would be the only thing you pay me with.

    These were among the Author's deepest contributions with his words.

    That people would actually learn and start to follow his religion because it made intuitive sense to them.  To pay it back, for what I've done.  An entire species that doesn't know how to train its children in the fate worse than death, believing only death above all to be the worst fate.  And I've had to come my long way with it because I happened to experience an fate worse than death myself.  It wasn't terribly tragic or anything other than abnormal psychology.  It was just that I had been poisoned, and that now I suffered an schizophrenic illness.  Which left me off of my feet often at random times during the day.  As well as inflicting other symptoms of the meta-cosmic illness: the actual delineation of an concept within an literary passage.  That was so exciting.  That it had to be done for everyone.  To refer actually to that illness itself as an place for voices within an literary chapter.  I believed I was almost supernaturally gifted and there was nothing I could do about it because I was living with schizophrenia.  It might have been megalomaniacal in addition, to believe that anybody wide-range and abroad would want to read my words.  And I believed it would really all be alright.  If we merely paused to stop to talk about these things once in an while.  But at least I was expressing myself fictionally.  And now that is the hardest art of all, the art of what isn't real or doesn't do.  How one can express true and eternal ideas through an story in which many of the elements are all meant to be considered as having not actually happened.  Yet somehow we glean through all the scripts and find that there are non-fictional elements that we can readily see with the mind because we agree, basically, about what the nature of reality is.  Therefore how to guide one's meditation on an passage of literature, deliberately to perhaps highlight what is fictional and what is non-fictional.  The real fiction of fiction is that one can always tell an story that is 100% fictional.  That's what fiction is, at its deepest level.  Somehow, eventually, the plot device is going to have to turn (not the device in the human character perhaps, but maybe the one on which the universe and physical existence is based).  And what is said to be fiction can be revealed not to be for an certain period of time because the focus entranced by noticing both the fictional and non-fictional all at the same time: the purest most dedicated form of human beauty.  The artwork of writing.  Is the artwork of practicing knowing what is fictional and what isn't fictional at all time.  Language just naturally narrates using both elements sometimes.  And if we are clear together and we can focus on it, and hone together our own practice knowing both fiction from fact both at the same time.  It is considered an utter upward of the model for an basic human.  Of both seeing and un-seeing, perhaps, is another way to look at it.  One knows instinctively what is true and what isn't because one has enough care and patience and attention to exactly name, or narrate, what is not happening maybe alongside with what is happening.  And when one takes the voyage of taking the care and patience, and deliverance to do it with other people.  And in fact do it with many other people.  And maybe identifying and recognizing things together as an community.  We tell each other what we think is true and untrue.  And we do it in an professional fashion long enough for it to become second nature.  We want to know specifically and in dramatic animation of character and fashion; what is happening that is said to be an fictional occurrence versus that which is said to be non-fictional.  And what does your body language and behavior say about that‽

    We want citizens who can describe what it feels like to tell an non-fiction and recognize it as non-fiction; as well as what it feels like to tell an fiction and recognize it as fiction.  We want that in their reading.  We want them to weave in and out of it all over the place.

    Na, I am not an megalomaniac.  I'm just an guy who likes stories and is having fun expressing them and telling them.

    And if people can share those moments with each other in which they would self-identify with what they think is happening fictionally contra what they think is happening non-fictionally.  Then we can raise as many people as possible into that status.  Of being possibly hyper-aware of everything around them.  They know what is true from what is an lie.  And there are more of them.  And so they are harder to resist.  People want the second vision, of being aware of and knowing about the forces that threaten our future, and how they are expressed in society.  If we can tell truth from lie in politics then we have developed such an special skill; to be able to think politically and experiment with what would play out politically (happen).  We want sturdy readers who are invested in the interests of the book's author in the way they express truth and fiction.  All story narrations will tend toward them because they cannot resist them.  But if they can but resist one another.  We can see that they are really like each other afterall.

    The truth must be mediated in fiction, just like it is mediated in non-fiction.  And this is just the truth of the complexity of our world.  Humans are wrought to bend truth; to tell fiction.  Humans are wrought to make up fiction in confusion of the fact they don't know what's going on.  Humans are rendered thus; to be so complicated as to have to tell fiction in order to be able to sort out for themselves what is and isn't the truth.  That is the physicality of it.  That is the fullest explanation of the level of complexity humans are on, if one would want to know how sophisticated we really are as an species without extrapolating it to ridiculous and impossible proportions.  "Guesses" about how smart we really are.  People in fiction know this already.

    What do we know isn't true?  Versus, contrarily, what do we know is?

    What do we know is true about Suppiah in this universe versus what might be more an comment about its author?

    The one fictional god behind whom all his characters stand.  Who live in his stories even while he lives and breathes each text.

    And, I will contend, that all authors of fiction need know this human connection between what is fictional and what isn't.  That inevitably it comes up in their stories in an human way.  And if we can make it clear which is which between them; then we have an good author.  Someone who includes all descriptions of his universes.  Including fictional.  And non-.

    I think that some elements of truth always creep into any narration.  It is just part of what an human is.  Instinctively.  And perhaps neuro-chemically.  We all have this tendency to need to use the truth to start to draw an non-truth.  We need to show ourselves that our story, which isn't true, has nothing in it which is true at all.  In order to tell ourselves we have some skill with fiction.  When really, as humans, we cannot avoid the interaction between fiction and non-fiction within the sharp sentences of an narrator.  No matter how you try to tell it (an fictional narrative story) there will always need to be an aspect of truth in it.  An person cannot tell an good story without including this non-fictional detail.  It enters into an scene somehow because logically if you have dual subjectivity there must be some measure of the truth somewhere in the detailing.  And that may be in an person's D.N.A. to do so because this is how we see what isn't true.  Honing the fictional sense is so highly regarded in the realm of academia for its repeated ability to clarify the heightened fictional senses of its reader.  People say they see things in it, in fiction, that are deeply true about us humans and yet they can tell an lot of nonsense in it as well.  The non-fiction itself becomes an tool for telling the fiction; just like fiction can be used to tell non-fiction.  When an author sews himself into something or insinuates (the product of their explorative and imaginative universe) the propensity of something to be an fiction or an non-fiction; he does so in order to identify everything about the story world which will be factored into an final decision and analysis.  Maybe I'm looking at one phrase as though it's true while another looks like it's not.  When really they are the other way around.  And my own awareness and perception of this heightened universe depends on both fictional and non-fictional mechanics.  People who are trained to develop their fantasy exploration sense are trained to be telling an fiction when they are telling an fiction and to be telling an non-fiction when they are telling an non-fiction.  All factors will go into the reader's final decision and artistic opinion about the value of this book.

    When one exercises and practices it one's entire life: this inner vision in which some things that are happening could be untrue whereas also, beside that, we place things that are happening that are true.  And when an Artist learns to mix them together to tell his story: true magic is born.

    The fifth level is things we have already considered.

    We don't need to think ahead about them because we already have.

    We can even use this to remind ourselves of that, if we needed to.

    Fiction can mediate the truth in the same way it can mediate what lies to us: what can appear to be one thing but really it is another.

    It is just how the author handles these truths that really matters.

    You can try to depict something that is completely fictional: but all fiction nonetheless contains truth: the truth of looking both at what is true and isn't true at the same time.  This is how an author extracts and corrects their story; using both fictional and non-fictional elements, one is able to produce an perhaps Gestalt effect which is greater than both of them combined.  And closer to the truth.  This is why the novel is so highly praised at our time; for it has the potential to help people recognize and focus on looking at reality two ways.  What they don't believe is true about it.  And what they do believe is true about it.  It just so happens that that reality can be said to be entirely fictional.  Even though there are true elements to it.

    It must be the object of novel fiction to uncover the elements of it which are and are not true.

    It can be no other way for the inner sight of which are which will always matter.

    Everyone must have their own version of what is and isn't true in order to run an good, orderly society.  In which argument and disagreement are just an given.

    "We're sending you up to the sixth level," Dr. C. texted him through his augmented reality contact lense, "this is the first floor with an heightened level of competition and some mega-players onboard.  People will actively lash out at you professionally here, but only in argumentative (formal) language of course.  They will have to be able to prove they have an reason to.  And that is the standard we all hold them by.  People who have cathexes are likely to be wary of people with confidence and the power of authority.  But there has to be an level in which we waste no time in being wary of one another just because you or I should happen to strike against one another in this or that opinion with words."

    Of course he was prepared for this and he knew what he was going to say if he happened to incite enmity from an peer on the sixth level.

    And so he started up to shout upon arriving at the sixth level.  He had to assert his position.

    "Shut up ye crodger fledgling spring chicken," said an old lesbian, loudly from her office.  Both in-Hallway and in Office.

    "Shut yer trap ya old vulture," shouted Suppiah back.

    "Ye need lesbian attention, son," she said.

    "That's just an ploy to get to sleep with me," said Suppiah, "when clearly I'm gay and you're not respecting that difference in me that exists between us.  And you're just doing it first because that's the good ol' way the Lesbian is supposed always to do things because, stereotypically, she's the Boss and holds an man's power."

    "Just checking!" she shouted back, "Are you sure?"

    "Ya haven't respected me," shouted Suppiah, "and for that I shall not have to want to speak to you more.  For you have disrupted my meditation when I meant to find an sixth-floor partner who wasn't interested in bedding me."

    "What kind of motivation system is that?" said the old lesbian.

    "I want to deal with practical matters.  With my partner.  I want us to be buds," said Suppiah.

    "Can I be buds?"

    "No.  You just hit on me.  I know what your intentions are."

    "But you can trust me.  I'm from the sixth floor."

    "Ya well who cares?"

    "You haven't been to the sixth floor before, have you?" she said, dramatically lowering her fashion sunglasses as though they were looking at each other.

    "I just want an partner who isn't going to eye me up and down physically while we're collaborating on our contributions to knowledge."

    "I see," said the loud woman lesbian, who was fine with being loud and with whom everyone was fine with her being loud also.  Even though it stung.  Like an cherub's attack, "I think I can manage that.  If you're not interested in me.  I'm not interested in you.  And I see our potential together now, like an sitting duck ready to snatch up.  We can have Capitalist interest in one another."

    "I see," said Suppiah, "I will look forward to finding that out and understanding that when the time is right.  You know it's on an buds only basis, right?"

    "Yes.  Of course," said the woman, "I'm not an rabid monster."

    "Okay.  Thank you," said Suppiah, turning to see who else was grumbling out the door of their office, ready to take him down verbally if he had to.  And he listened and looked on for an while.  He could hear multiple voices.  Some of them were most convincing of their authority against him.  But he would contend that they did not have any.  Their arguments unsupported.  And their claims mis-attributed.  This was the sixth level, where an voice was only an voice when it could contend itself as an opponent.  And he had one.  But whose banter could he learn from the most?  Wouldn't they all say the same thing, that if he thought none of them had any point against him that itself was mis-considered because he could prove his arguments and they could all shut up and listen.

    He chose one of the least sexual partners available.

    "He's right," they said, chewing the ends of their cigars, "sex doesn't necessarily have to do with it.  Even though everybody says it does.  Sex doesn't necessarily have to do with it."

    The spirit of Freud was summoned into the office of an Asian professor, Dr. Abel, where Suppiah had already begun their meeting by laying down on the couch in the old Freudian style.  When she recommended he begin spilling about everything that mattered to him.  She was, after all, an Doctor and her time was limited.

    He told her he had this recurring daytime nightmare of people with good hearts and aspirations (such as those are the people who work on the sixth floor) suddenly treating me with violence and antagonizing me with weapons.

    "Well they do have quite loud voices," she told him, "and sometimes we have to remind them of how much power they have.  You know, so they can be sensitive to you."

    "Good because.  To me they sound like booming in an cave.  My own intelligence amplifying theirs so very much.  That their voices merely echo upon the boundaries mine makes.  And I would need them to quiet down.  I have an argument to make.  To deliver.  To do.  Right now," said Suppiah.

    "I want you to do that," said Dr. Abel, "but also maybe think about what kind of position you're in, being an Freudian subject to an doctor such as myself."

    "My argument is so inventive and genius," said Suppiah, "that the other lords who function at full-blown thunderdrome level where there is an scarcity of my argument will welcome it with open arms like the gods they are (who talk too loud)."

    "Okay then tell me what it is you plan to argue.  By telling me what it is you will argue against.  And have I made it clear yet if you think they don't have an argument against you then that is an argument against you?"

    "Yes.  You have made that clear Madame."

    "And so do you think you have an argument against them?"

    "Yes.  Of course I do."

    "And you agree and realize that you're sitting in the psychiatrist's position to have put you there to talk over your feelings?"

    "Yes Madame."

    "Then you realize it will look suspicious that since you are in the psychiatrist's chair or lounge bed while at once also thinking yourself to have an argument against them.  Is an reason why you are in the Freudian chair?"

    "Okay.  Just because I'm in the position of Freud's patient doesn't mean we can't look beyond that; and that I have no argument."

    "Then state it."

    He tried.  He sincerely tried.

    "I'm existing on the sixth level, which is full of you bold and capricious lawyers.  And there's nothing you can do about it," said Suppiah.

    Dr. Abel looked impatient.

    "Say it as though you were talking to me," she said.

    "I'm just as good as you at presenting an argument.  And I can prove it," said Suppiah.

    "You're just as good as me at presenting an argument?  Well I doubt it.  But you're free to try," said Dr. Abel.

    "I will," said Suppiah.

    "Then do it," said Dr. Abel.

    "Okay.  Well it all starts with how there are people who don't Capitalize on an opportunity and it works backwards against our economy because we want responsible entrepreneurship and enterprise," said Suppiah.

    "OK," said Dr. Abel, "then you're basing your argument against a-Capitalism.  Good idea.  You have an lot of energy in there.  You're saying, basically, not to be a-capitalistic because, I presume, life will pass you by and there will be no more memories."

    "Yes you see," said Suppiah, "the anti-Capitalist instinct is one that does not adequately value time or anything that happens in it."

    "So you do see things as happening in time?" said Dr. Abel.

    "Well, when they are Capitalist in intention, yes," said Suppiah, "anything that fulfills an capitalist agenda is worth the time and logic that it stands on.  Unlike people with other spirits who don't value the value of an capitalistic market.  They stand illogical to time and do not value its blooming inherent value which adds to itself capitalistically over time.  Every behavior and action adds capitalistic value to the behavior and specimen.  For it is gaining value over time.  And every capitalistic action that is in the nature of the animate molecule of human life gaining value over time is superior to one that does not.  Everything you do gains value back over time when you are an Capitalist.  You capitalize on every opportunity to increase your value.  This is the ordinary human way of the market system.  And anything that is anti-capitalist or a-capitalistic is an oppressive force of regime that works to repress the human nervous system, which is naturally inclined to want to capitalize on every opportunity to gain in value.  An system which is against capitalism is anti-human."

    "I am glad to see you taking up your narrative voice," said Dr. Abel, "it is how they, my colleagues, gained their volumes.  But you have also agreed that there was an possible way that we could disagree with you.  And since you are being only my patient right now we don't necessarily know that you realize your position.  You see, nothing you say I will think is true because you think you have an valid argument against the whole sixth floor.  Even though you also recognize it to be true that you are under my Freudian counseling at present."

    "Yes.  I recognize that you think it counts against me that I'm your Freudian subject, an patient.  But I think I do have an argument which they, your colleagues, will not be able to counter.  And I can support it in an logical and consistent way."

    "And you thought any one of us was going to argue that anti-capitalism or an resistance to capitalism of any kind was part of the human spirit?"

    "Just let me make my argument," said Suppiah, "I will tell you exactly why I need to be against a-capitalism and why it as an reason or solution is exactly not why you should do anything or want to live your life.  And if you think I should still be an Freudian subject after that, then I will consider these masters and their arguments and why they make more sense than mine."

    "How about you hear mine first?" said Dr. Abel, "Now, you're going to tell me that capitalism is an reason to live because if you force the capitalist out of yourself you are no longer categorically human.  But I'm going to tell you you're arguing that because you feel pressured to produce an reason why you're not so much an patient.  Why you're someone who has the reason for being and everything and not someone who doesn't; and doesn't know anything.  But if you don't know when to say no to your own argument, when there is an panel of experts looking on, then you don't know anything."

    "People who don't capitalize on every opportunity are weak," shouted Suppiah, "and I'm not one of them.  I'm going to capitalize of every opportunity to prove you wrong: that a-capitalism is the right way to go."

    "You don't have an opportunity to prove us wrong.  We aren't arguing that."

    "Then how am I supposed to make my argument?"

    "Well, exactly," said Dr. Abel, "how about that.  We're still wondering."

    "So nobody is arguing that anti-capitalism is bad?"

    "Yes."

    "Then I don't have to make the argument against it."

    "Precisely.  But you can if you want.  There are other reasons to make an argument than to invalidate lesser arguments.  Argument can also be used to bring attention to things we agree on.  Like the plausibility of you being able to make an argument against an panel of geniuses who aren't making the counter-argument to you in any way."

    "Well then I have no reason for arguing."

    "That's what I'm saying," said Dr. Abel, "you don't have an argument."

    "And what you're saying is," said Suppiah, "is that you do."

    "Yes," said Dr. Abel.

    "And your panel of judges?"

    "That's right."

    "Well then there are other causes to pursue, other than Capitalism," said Suppiah.

    "Right."

    "Well now," said Suppiah, "then I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you that I do have an argument.  There is no reason to pursue anything other than Capitalism."

    "Then you will suffer the consequences of what we will think of you."

    "Fine, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to make my argument."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    "Well fine then."

    "Well then do it."

    "If someone stops capitalizing in any way, they are putting themselves at danger of not enjoying their environment," said Suppiah.

    "Nobody's telling you you have to stop enjoying your environment."

    "Are you sure?" said Suppiah, "there are so many stimulations which desensitize you from your environment these days.  If some stopped capitalizing on the real sensory experience of living one's full adventurous life.  Then maybe they could stop enjoying their environment.  And that would be bad for the living substance of human tissue; not to drink with one's eyes; not to take in all of life's pleasures.  Once an person starts repressing themselves and gains an new cathexis maybe they are no longer enjoying their environment because they have stopped being Capitalistic."

    "And why would it be important for you to argue against anti-capitalism as though it was actually happening?"

    "It is happening," said Bubba.

    "We don't even know what capitalism is," said G.D.B., "we're fish."

    "Okay.  Well teaching capitalism to fish may be an long off but far worth it endeavour," said Suppiah, "but what I want to say is that anti-capitalism is happening.  And we need to provide an argument for why anyone who practices that should change their belief system.  In order to cash in on the value of the ordinary seconds of their ordinary everyday lives.  Everything has value and gains value over time when it exists within the human cognitive effect."

    "You really think you can use the concept of capitalism to prove that anti-capitalistic behavior is inferior and not worth us as an whole species?  And that capitalism can prove its own value by being itself gaining value over time?" said Dr. A.

    "You sound like you've heard of this kind of thing before," said Suppiah.

    "Ha!" Dr. A. did not even temper or hold back her laughter.  It was well aimed.  His head exploded.

    "So you don't think I'll be able to prove my argument because you were here first and you have an full set of arguments and argumentative power that you share with one another.  And have been colleagues for several years?" said Suppiah.

    "Yes," said Dr. A.

    "But you don't even know how anti-capitalism is weaved through the community and society in horrid ways that affect the economy?"

    "How would it be weaved through here," said Dr. A., gesturing at her authority, an authority Suppiah didn't have, "when we are all experts and doctors and further?"

    "Then you are aware there is such an thing and it is adversely effecting our world politically."

    She let one belt out again.  Softer than before.

    "Yes.  We know everything is adversely affecting the world politically.  But we don't necessarily have time to address it all."

    "But this is an book."

    "This is an book‽" Dr. A. was out of body for an moment, un-exagguerating an scream into full volume.  And then her head exploded.

    "Well if it's for an book then," said Dr. A., vehemently, "what are the points in your argument?  Why is Capitalism always an winner out over something that is politically criticized as its opponent?"

    "You see the problem is," said Suppiah, "if you try and succeed to end the Capitalist instinct within your own cognition you are actually contributing to an problem that goes back to the beginning of mankind.  You see, to end an capitalistic instinct is repression.  And we know that repression leads to an cathected object: something in the subconscious which cannot be brought to the awareness yet which inevitably uses up energy in the body and the brain's resources in order to keep it in that state of being outside consciousness."

    "So you think Capitalism is an cognitive process," said Dr. A.

    "Well it is isn't it?" said Suppiah.

    "This may be why we modeled our behavior and economic system after it; that it is an cognitive property of consciousness that is right for our species.  And then, you also think a-capitalism is also an cognitive process?" said Dr. A.

    "I think it is part of an cognitive process that involves repression.  The act of the brain that is involved in repressing capitalism contributes to the development of an cathexis," said Suppiah.

    "But so remind me why you think we're going to argue that a-capitalism is good for you," said Dr. A.

    "Well since you are professors who don't really care about their status in society you need try to make up the argument which stands against mine, the superior way of Capitalism, because―"

    "―because any of us think this is already true and unproven," said Dr. A.

    "But then how am I supposed to make my argument?" asked Suppiah.

    "Yes now then.  How are you supposed to?" said Dr. A.

    "Okay well.  If I can prove anti-capitalism is effecting the mental health of society and community members because it leads to repression and cathexis, and so you can't argue that anything which is against Capitalism is good," said Suppiah, "it's an proven theory that doing things which aren't worth our time is wasteful and a-capitalistic."

    "But we weren't going to," said Dr. A.

    "Then why does it matter?" said Suppiah.

    "Then why does it matter?  Why don't you ask yourself that question?" said Dr. A.

    (They continued exchanging back and forth).

    "It matters because there are people who anti-capitalize and they have reasons.  Well, they have things they think are reasons.  But they're really not."

    "And none of us are going to give you reasons standing against Capitalism so how will you present your argument?"

    "Well.  I'll just have to make the counter-argument myself then."

    "But then you'll be arguing for something you really don't believe in."

    "Yeah but so what.  I'll still win the argument.  People will learn to be convinced by me about what is true because I was willing to map out and explain every counter-argument; in order still to reach the conclusion that I was right all along."

    "But you'll be giving reasons why a-capitalism is necessary.  Don't you want your reader to think capitalism is necessary and the only way?"

    "Yeah, but I'd be restricting their viewpoint if I didn't at least try to provide an counter-argument."

    "But once you make the counter-argument you've committed to it.  And so you shall follow it to where it leads; even if that means changing your opinion.  If you let yourself feel that counter-argument and, having wrapped your mind around it, do you find that it represents the truth?"

    "You think that it would ever really be able to feel something like a-capitalism?"

    At this moment they almost shared an laugh but it was off point.  Suppiah chuckled under his breath.

    "That's why I told you it was an unnecessary argument."

    "But I'm talking about the cognitive process of repression; a-capitalism I have redefined to mean something that is perhaps anti-cognitive and anti-psychological.  When one resists the urge to capitalize on an opportunity, it's because one is, essentially, afraid of their pleasure.  And I will argue that noone should ever have to feel that way.  Even if some big bullies like all of you guys say an pure Capitalist reasoning is not as valuable as somehow resisting it sometimes."

    "We're not going to say that and none of us are bullies but some of us are big."

    "But then I need to sharpen my senses of the target.  I will argue against there being any reason to consider anti-capitalistic activity valuable.  And I will target those people who say that there is an reason for it.  And not your faculty."

    "Then you may need to find out exactly who they are and what they say about being willing to suppress, to act upon the ego in an way that reduces it."

    "If people think that capitalism isn't an philosophy and an education in itself, based in dire histories of philosophy, then they don't know the true value of it when it stares at them from every corner of the globe."

    "So your universe will rely on those forces who work against history and philosophy; it will rely on making your opponent's argument clear and yet somehow resisting it and managing your argument against them.  But how are you going to make that universe.  That one in which people will oppose your strongly pro-capitalist opinion?"

    "Just like you said.  I'll not be trying to populate it with the many people who work on the sixth level because none of them will argue it.  And so I will need to create my own fictional world in which the enemy is real and there are words to use against it.  Capitalism and a-capitalism will clash in an secular economy in an way never seen before.  And all of the characters and arguments who stand for either one of them will need to be differentiated.  And then, once having been differentiated, Capitalism wins out as an blessed virtue.  And a-capitalism can go back to hell where it came from."

    "I see.  Then you've added an moral layer to it.  There are the demonic forces and yet in contrast there are angelic forces; and you've just aligned Capitalism with the angelic in order to pay attention to an crudely driven plot line in which they rival one another somehow.  Good versus evil."

    "And it will be an fictional story because it is an fiction that a-capitalism would ever rise above the glory of Capitalism.  Everything that is said about what the evil characters do to the good characters is based in the unreal quality of the fiction where it can come to the full light of day to be revealed in front of us in public; even though it is evil.  And is opposed to the forces of good.  For the sake of an story that proves capitalism to win out as an philosophy over a-capitalism, which is the product and result of fear and terror.  When people become anti-capitalistic it is because they enact an force over their mind which prevents it from getting excited.  The natural working of the mind gets excited because it realizes about something you can capitalize on.  And so we want to fictionalize this quality of it actually being evil to form or judge that kind of opinion which tries to end and closes off its opportunities for capital exploration.  If you believe Capitalism is the way to go then you should be able to prove it.  When there is real power expect it to be demonstrated."

    "Then characterize your subjects thus, the ones you will talk about in this story, and show us what they each are like; and why maybe that proves your argument.  But you're going to have to make an argument in the context of an story whose environment lends itself to proving your argument.  Tell us why your story, which is about good and evil at its most basic level, proves that Capitalism is the Major Virtue of the 21st century.  And that anything resisting it or opposing it in the psyche is not natural."

    "Dr. Abel, do you want to be buds?"

    "That depends on what you mean by that."

    "It means we don't want to have sex with one another but we're still mutually compassionate about each others' lives."

    "Then I'd be interested in that idea."

    "Okay what's your augmented reality contact lense contact card?"

    "I'll upload it to your device.  Uploading now."

    "Thank you.  I'll send mine."

    "So how are you supposed to keep all of these grumpy bullies out of your story?" said Bubba.

    "We need to go another place where people are okay to be happy about everything," said G.D.B.

    "That's the seventh level," said Dr. A.

    "Then we will make quick work of it," said Suppiah, "and carve an path between them.  On one hand, your negativity has nothing to do with how I will tell an whole story universe about good versus evil, first about how everyone is negative and critical about everything; and then from another perspective about how everyone is positive, thinking about unicorns, and not really concerned about anything anymore.  They just have peace and reasoning with their minds.  And it's an difficult transition because once you start comparing it (your story world) with everything that is good in this world instead of what is bad.  There is an necessary shift in thinking.  The sixth floor may be able to point out what is bad and necessarily wrong about an idea.  But the seventh will always wander to venture farther: to look at it from its happiest and most optimistic point of view."

    And I pointed out this was roughly equivalent to Jesus feeding the multitude having fed them with five loaves of bread and two fish just to draw attention to how absurd it was that anything in the bible couldn't be sarcastic enough to have predicted this seventh way of thinking.

    Suppiah, considering the feelings of all of his goodest characters (those who populated the seventh level), realized that he was even more critical of his own argument because of them.  And he felt an jolt of doubt in it, suddenly realizing how the people he had heard and met on the sixth level felt.  If he was going to make his argument he would have to think about it from both perspectives.  How would they oppose one another specifically, and how his understanding of an argument that could prove him wrong may indeed prove him wrong in the end; he had to expand on it, and then explicitly oppose it with reason and detail to shut it down.  All for the endearing reader-observer to see.  In order to be convinced by his rationality which made economic and productive success.  They would see why.  He had already planned it out.  Whom he must see as the enemy in this, those who represent the powers of a-capitalism.  People who will do things that have no economic value; often out of spite to the enemy.  To oppose whom he must see as productive and reasonable.  Capitalists.  He must think of an specific verb for what it is they were doing.  If someone is repressing something somewhere it's not really that dangerous for all of us just to see and acknowledge the fact that they are.  And it occurs to me that in this would be story world, there is an definite punching action on the enemy's side.  The enemy has instigated violence.  Against our heroes, the Capitalists.

    And I could look at it from the sixth and seventh levels simultaneously.  An world in which every voice and retribution is heard from in order to lay out an full argument.  There are our heroes and our anti-heroes, and somehow it helps the author communicate his vision of what he thinks is happening to the human consciousness.  And the categories of capitalist or a-capitalist neither is linked necessarily with maybe some of the darker human criticism or maybe brighter consciousness which is characteristic of level seven.  And the story could be constructed from both perspectives.  This would go an long way toward helping him show how good triumphs over evil: how his argument wins against an opponent's argument because there is insufficient data to prove the opponents argument.  Anti-capitalism isn't an thing.  And nobody should do it.

    But there were reasons to present why capitalism wins then.  Capitalism is shown to win out over a-capitalism, its sworn enemy.  That's why It's the best.  First, in order to show these people who follow a-capitalizing economic focus what the true and correct way to run an society was.  And second, hopefully to educate children so that they wouldn't take up anti-capitalism in any way.  Capitalism is based on the human instinct and so it may be inseparable from our D.N.A. but sometimes in society, we come across these people who will try to resist it in order to manipulate someone into looking at something as having more value.  Or that it's more valuable because you have to play this cat and mouse game with it.  Or that it's more valuable because you have to play hard to get or hold an strange withholding-love kind of relationship with it.  Instead of capitalizing on the receipt of pleasure one represses it, or makes themselves not to feel that right now.  Puts it away.  Locks it up and keeps it secret.  Repression proper is the instance of having created an cathected object: something you don't want to think about forces itself out of conscious thought and then, since it is still active subconsciously it is free to influence your direct perception of things.  Things are diminished.  There are little shadows around objects and people.  If you have an cathected object you may have several trigger words which, if one hears throughout the day, will have to be dodged & avoided somehow.  They are these words which perhaps describe something that has to do with your cathexis.  Things you can't admit out into open consciousness.  This is where the a-capitalism comes in because, you see, if you can't admit something out into full and open consciousness then you cannot capitalize on the moment.  You don't even see the true value of your own mind.  Instead of capitalizing and making every moment count, you have begun repressing the opportunity to experience pleasure for an indistinct reason that remains to be heard out.  For some reason there is an social threat and so one must or learns to repress their experience of excitement and pleasure because it would be too shameful or might draw attention from people who use violence.  For safety's sake, I have to look like I'm not gay in order to pass for socially accepted because if I didn't I am in danger of being attacked or worse.

    It does however enter into that category of sphere of thought which I have called anti-capital or a-capitalistic.  People who deliberately work against capitalism who are closeted religious fundamentalists is an scary issue that many people have to deal with.  I want to describe the issue fully by showing why a-capitalists are necessarily drawn to have conflicting motives.  And represented in fiction, that translates to violence.  The point is to make clear the qualities and properties of those types of characters that I am trying to represent.  What do the a-capital characters do that is so horrific and volatile?  Why is Capitalism an more natural flow and way of things?  Instead of getting pegged down in regrets, we harvest what we can from our environments at an top-level efficiency.

    It's an mechanical comedy.  Everything we do is so easy because we possess so much technology.  And our egos are gigantic but in the long run getting weaker.  And yet encroaches Disease and Poison.  We are not safer in our further mechanical and technological environment.

    That's the fiction.  But what is the non-fiction?

    Capitalism reigns supreme and people everywhere are finding out that it provides an full education and philosophy; an psychology in itself which is healthy and works upon their minds in an positive way.  And maybe the little mechanical comedy is more true than not at all ever.

    This is an moralistic way of looking at things.

    The fiction itself is fictional because parts of it are true and yet it goes by the name and under the title of Fiction.  Because that's what an Fiction is.

    Capitalism works so well because it is psychological.  It matches in practice what goes on in theory about how the human mind works.  We are an Capitalistic species and Capitalism is in our blood.

    Then why are we trapped in an mechanical comedy?  Why are we stuck between technological advancement and dying an terrible death due to some unknown virus or act of weaponry?

    Capitalism as part of an mental experience is more positive than Anti-capitalism; and that justifies its continued use and popularity.  It improves our moods and we feel justice by it.  We are increasing our value.  We're not just standing idly by not ready to capitalize on anything and everything every single time.  And we're ready to use science to prove that anti-capitalism, whether it be an form of supposed religious virtue or just blatant homophobia, is not the natural way of the species.  And can be harmful to those humans who practice it.

    Even if they say they are doing it for messianic reasons Beyond the Pleasure Principle.

    We are messing with the line between comedy versus tragedy.

    When people deliberately come between themselves and their own pleasure (an theme even explored in Madonna's Die Another Day); or in other terms they act not in capitalism of the self but, sacrificially, in capitalism of the other.  Such was the way they say Jesus told his body to overcome that feat.  He gave himself so that another person could be saved in his name.  That was the pattern of behavior that Jesus started.  However it has come to be refined in the 21st century to include more capitalistic ideas.  Philosophies which negotiate between self and other in priority are more complicated than just giving everything you are and your whole life for another person.  There are ways of looking at life other than just you all of the time.  And some of the time is me.  Even when it's between me and Jesus because I'm that important.  And I come from an long line of important people.  People who questioned and came to ponder the Christian way and seeking benefit from it, found it.  But I've found my life to be more complicated than that.  It is about the exchange going on between me and you.  But there are situations in which I would choose me over you.  And there are situations in which I would choose you over me.  There is no other way of looking at it when you are human.  Capitalism adapts to that real reality.  Anti-capitalism resists in terror and in fear those inclinations which are in benefit of the self as much as it does those which are, excitedly, and egotistically, in benefit of the other.  That is why there is no other way for an human than Capitalism.

    It isn't selfish to think about the good of another person when it affects your own.  And I tend to think of selfish as an word used to criticize something; but what is it criticizing?  The self being out for the self?  And what kind of criticism is that, that one should want to act in the name of oneself once in an while?

    Capitalism makes psychological sense.  Anti-capitalism doesn't.

    (Then lay out your argument carefully now, Dr. A. reminded him, and fully characterize your opponent.  Make him/her/it an living thing and show us how you do battle between them with your preferred morals which, as I presume, will show us why they do win out in the battle between them).

    The pleasure principle, when it is not heeded, which we don't recommend, may tend to lead to cathexis, which the repressed person might think is better for those he or she pays authority to.  And we no longer need anyone to undertake the action of suppressing it in order to understand what it is.  It is, as we say, capitalistic now to capitalize on an further understanding and experience: a-capitalism is about not allowing yourself to feel what you really feel.  By somehow exploring the moral parts of being human beyond the pleasure principle: when instead of satisfying an pleasure, you take up oath to forbid it.

    And you're doing it for another person because someone has to take all of that negative psychic energy and turn it into something worth living for.  And you love them so; and you don't want to happen to them what happened to you.  You sacrifice your pleasure for other people because you want to do something about all those other people who have had their pleasure stolen from them.  You, morally, want to go through the same experience as them in order to feel what they feel.  In order to have the experience needed in order to end what is happening to them.  You put others first above yourself.  And resign yourself to thinking it is moral to happen to work against one's own capitalistic harddrive.  In the name of Jesus, you shake off thinking about yourself only and you designate an part of the picture as to how many people you've saved by putting their interests before yours.  Even if it happened to hurt you or diminish your pleasure somehow.  Beyond the Pleasure Principle is about how, when people tend to think they can work against their own pleasure scale or principle, they might in effect cause harm to their own biological system.  And when there are strange circumstances which justify the use of its effect.  This is not an ordinary condition for the state of affairs of an human body.

    Therefore my thesis is that if anybody is a-capitalizing they need to stop it right now.

    "And you can provide evidence and details as to why?" asked Dr. A.

    "Well of course," said Suppiah, "I can point out, cognitively, what are capitalism and a-capitalism; why are both within the clasp of free will?  And why, if one is motivated to capitalize, one should follow through with that behavior.  A-capitalism, you see, means suspending the innate instinct and desire to capitalize on everything you see.  This works cognitively, in effect, with the Pleasure Principle.  However when one starts to pause over capitalizing on one or more things, it may be said that one begins to act as though one is beyond the Pleasure Principle.  One isn't necessarily looking out for what is most pleasurable anymore, but may begin to act, perhaps psychopathically, as though what one is not taking pleasure in one is doing for others messianically.  You start to believe not sharing some sort of pleasure with someone is the more potent psychological celebrity: that your ego justifies not sharing with them their pleasure but their pain.  And then you justify the whole campaign as being merciful in effect; that you have done undertaking experiencing another person's pain because you are an Christian or an saint.  That this path justifies having not taken pleasure in something for an specific reason.  Christianity is the capitalism of intentions meant for the other or on behalf of the other.  While Judaism is the capitalism of intentions meant for the self.  Both are important types of capitalism.  If you know you can either engage in capitalising for the self or engage in capitalising for the other separately, and you don't need to mix them when and where and why.  And this may be why their ideas tend into religiosity: capitalism is one of the core instincts of the species.  We want more of what we have.  And we want to use what we have to have more of what we have.  If you capitalize in the name of its good intentions for others as much as you capitalize in the name of the self, then how can you go wrong?  Therefore we want religions to be able to demonstrate an capitalistic reason for why they should exist.  They need to be able to produce an capitalistic vibe in order to have the value of commodity in the known economic market system.  And if they don't, they can be said to be immoral in basic pure logic and reasoning systems.  An human society must be able to capitalize upon some part of what happens in its circumstances.  If it cannot, then it is not an valued philosophy and will be regarded in general as contra to an capitalistic spirit.  Which is modeled after the human spirit and its psychic inference system.  Theoretically, if we can identify all of the stages of Capitalism as we have the stages of a-capitalism, then we should be able to show you why this works to ward off anything that would stand against capitalism.  Capitalism is of such height and benefit to the human soul that it takes precedence over other religious virtues.  Capitalists know they can take any situation and turn an profit."

    "Then proving your argument a-capitalism needs to stop it right now you have these stages of capitalism in the human cognitive process which are supposed to provide some benefit in contrast to the development of an cathexis?"

    "Yes."

    "Wow.  That's really specific of you.  You really think you can do all that sweetie pie?"

    "Capitalism is the most natural governance of virtues―"

    "Oh.  There he goes."

    "―and is always better than negotiating pleasure; saying yes to this while saying no to something else.  Because it requires that you always say yes to something.  Instead of having to wait and stop having an pleasure.  You allow yourself the pleasure full-on; the full pleasure of it leading to an financial victory usually.  But it can be any type of capital product or idea.  When you stop having pleasure in the name of something, is it really worth it or would having pleasure in everything possible always be an better moral act?  Is it, however, possible for every human to feel every pleasure?  Or is the best we can hope for that in some things we may take pleasure while others not; and anything which capitalizes in favour of more pleasure (utilitarianism) than not cannot be mistaken for virtuous.  Capitalism means not repressing anything about what you want and what you can get.  It means not having to repress an part of yourself for the benefit of others.  Or glory.  Or whatever it is you stand for which causes you to try, disgustingly, to hide or put away whatever pleasure it is that poses an threat to you."

    "Then your idea of pleasure is your idea of Capitalism," said Dr. A., "and you think Capitalism is most connected with the Pleasure Principle."

    "Yes."

    "Then people who aren't operating according to the Pleasure Principle cannot be capitalistic."

    "It may be the case."

    "Are you sure?"

    "But there are many parts to Capitalism in the psyche.  Discovery, visitation, persistance, desire, climax, product securement, pleasure, self-judgement, approval, revisitation, renunciation.  These are all things maybe which occur capitalistically in the mind."

    "Yes, well what are all of them then?"

    "There may be several thousands madame," said Suppiah with urgency.

    "Yes well you will have to know all of them if you're going to make this argument," said Dr. A.

    "There are other ways to describe it.  Capitalism is an span of time in which an person is most productive.  Capitalism is an span of time in which capitalizing happens.  And what are all of the parts of it and why?  We discover something we can capitalize on.  Our discovery turns to involvement with the subject.  We use thinking skills to make our decision about it.  We decide whether or not.  We decide if it is an good idea.  It could be everything from noticing an product in an warehouse up until and after paying for it.  During which there may be an economic climax.  The release of endorphins from having made an purchase.  To discovering some natural resource and realizing what you're going to do with it; how you're going to capitalize on it.  It's an state of nature which begins the capitalism cycle.  You discover an resource; it may be an product in an shop.  But however it is you come by it, it might benefit you greatly when compared to its price.  The Capitalistic spirit seeks to make the most out of situations like these, these opportunities which we can choose to act on or not.  It even goes into the spirit of negotiating its price.  Market decisions are made by experts who have their own way of looking onto things.  Their own way of capitalizing and investing perhaps in larger quantities.  But the basic cycle of what happens is all the same as it is for any human: you make an discovery and you judge its worth; you buy into it and you pay for it.  It's the same philosophically.  You think new thoughts and you give your time to them; as though you were investing.  And you are the makeup (bodily) of what you chose to invest in.  That's why capitalism covers behavior and philosophy.

    People behave an certain way capitalistically even though philosophically, they may be telling themselves to be capitalistic; as though they were not already expressing capitalism behaviorally.

    Which may not be possible or the truth unless under unordinary circumstances.  The human spirit capitalizes on its environment whenever it can and any down time spent in a-capital flaw is an cognitive repression that works, possibly, against its own feedback loop system.  Instead of capitalizing fully and greedily and with all of its pleasure you are in an situation where that kind of behavior might get you in trouble, and other people will shame and instigate violence against you for it.  Which means you can't have the pleasure you deserve because other people are jealous and they will commandeer it from you.  You have to hide what you are capitalizing on and how much pleasure you take from it because other people cannot handle you when you're just being yourself.

    And so, since I am sure we can start with Discovery, to name the beginning of the capitalistic phase or segment of time in the human brain.  Then I think Invention must be the next thing.  There must the invention of the thing you're buying into within your brain.  For some reason it has drawn your attention that it might benefit you somehow, if you would pause and think for an moment how you would capitalize from it.  To create an array of phases from beginning to end within Capitalism and what exactly the end of the capitalistic phase in total may be.

    The human species was becoming more tolerant to people who are different from them because of the advancement of technology.  More and more people with disabilities and body modifications were joining the workforce than ever before.  Some of them working from home.  And generally people had more opportunities to meet with and socialize with these new types of ability and disability.  Tempering society and leading to an more peaceful age.  People were becoming tolerant and accepting to all ranges of physical and mental ability.

    Now remember how I'm Freud in this situation, and you're her patient.

    Freud wasn't an her.

    "Well she can be in this situation," said Dr. A. impatiently, "now tell me again how you're going to make your full argument."

    "I just have to point out that all few hundred phases of capitalism in the psyche are connected somehow to the Pleasure Principle," said Suppiah.

    "And you're going to do that because?"

    "I'd like to be sent up to the much more pleasant level, level 7.  Now," said Suppiah, "and it is more opportunistic because they will agree that I can point out all phases of capitalism if I wanted to.  And how it is all connected to the Pleasure Principle would be easy to describe."

    "And you're arguing against an a-capitalism that might prove to have the better argument.  By making this argument, you could even inspire those who oppose you."

    "My intention will not be to create societal pressure in favour of reason for a-capitalism but simply to prove my own argument right and that in society exists too much anti-capitalism which needs to stop."

    "But when you say that it does exist in society.  It can tend to sound like you're ordering it to.  Because it doesn't."

    "I'm not ordering it to.  I'm just making the argument that capitalism is better.  And nobody has to practice a-capitalism for any reason in order to validate my argument."

    "OK," said Dr. A., "then I will send you up to the seventh floor."

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