Les Arbitres Chapter 23

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    When she woke up she carefully inspected each one of her paintings, making sure she hadn't slopped any mess onto them when she had fainted previously.  So much depended on such an little amount of paint which might have obscured the Primal Spirit she had worked so tediously to bring out into detail.

    She had an full form script now of all of the various parts of the human primal cognitive system which she had suspected was an further civilization advancement to have found all thirty six of them; well but there was the matter of why she had estimated there being 32 but by the final end of it deciding upon 36 and what changed.

    But she cooked herself some scrambled eggs and sat down at the breakfast table, taking in the morning sunlight which had come into view.  She hadn't realized how exhausted she was until now.  She had just woken up and yet she wanted to go back to bed.  Even though she had slept comfortably all night in an pile of paints and painting tools.

    And all of it could have slipped from her fingers in an gesture so irresponsible.

    Of having fainted.

    Without putting these paints away.

    She could have lost the entire concept had she spread merely enough paint to blur what she had so carefully chosen and depicted.

    But she suspected they were each perfect.  And she knew all of them from start to finish now.

    And she had in fact done it; she had fulfilled an need of her generation.  An need for an more introspective look into psychology other than in an way maybe some of the big Major World Religions tended to.  If religions were only as complex as half-theories or part-theories about all this.  When I really possess all thirty six of them.  Then who is more advanced?  And I ask it maybe with the suggestion that other religions learn to update their cosmological perspective; if all religions adhered to this basic psychology I had created.  Wouldn't they all have out-dated and old-fashioned, fundamentalist things they needed to update with the common modern history?

    She slipped under an comfy blanket onto the couch and fell into another nap until the sunlight created by the day started to disappear again.

    Later that evening she was drinking tea, black.  At the kitchen table.  Where there were sun streaks on the wall orange from the sunset from the particular wedge of the blinds and wall mount & frame in the window.

    I couldn't think of exactly why I had chosen the 36 Primal Spirits model over the hypothesized 32; but I suspected it would come to me over time.  And I could explain it simply.  The logical succession of the subject meant that it had planned for 36 Primal Spirits because that's how many there were and I had realized it in the thinking about them.  The last ones of course which were related to the male climax.  It made natural sense as an man that these Primal Spirits would pan out this way.  And why they were so successful and accurate.  There were 36 because having felt the process that someone would go through after having painted in attention to detail all of the thirty six I felt that there were four additional Primal Spirits which were needed to explain the obvious male-centered attention to detail that was the climactic stage.

    And then she felt herself come on at some point.

    An female orgasm.  One which compounded to an higher rank every single time.

    She knew this one would grow large over time.

    It was, at the centre of it, her Primal Mate.  And everything she thought about it.  Someone who could be like her.  Share in her consciousness.  Know me.  And feel me.  And understand me.  And if I wanted psychologists to look at my psychology an certain way it would certainly be in the way I have created here; by looking in the thirty six lenses of instinct.  Primal Spirit.  Things we are which we cannot divide with certainty from the human yet.  I want someone to see every one of those parts of me and know that that's what I looked like naked.  Physically, spiritually.  Whatever and everything that I am.  I'm just an 36 Primal Spirits type of gal.  It's not that Christianity and Judaism have obsessed over the beginning first and second Primal Spirits of consciousness for centuries; it's also that I came along in the 21st century and pointed out there were all kinds of them, these Primal Spirits, and when we consider them together as an whole having the effect of an Gestaltist whole.  They really are more reputable and reliable as facts and figures than any of the old religions possess all as whole canons and they were created by an Christiannan, an type of religious person from the 21st century.

    It just made sense to me at the time that each one of those Primal Spirits could be something which one could base an whole religion on; and it seemed sad that they had in fact done this in history because they could just be based on all of them.  And wouldn't that be better than an fraction of them?  Isn't that what religion is all about?  Primal Spirit?  Instinct?  But there hadn't been an Christiannan yet at that time to point out to Historians that maybe we just hadn't had an person come along yet with an clear idea about what are all of the parts of an Primal Spirit nervous system and instinct–non-instinct bias within the human.  We knew we had instincts but we hadn't necessarily pegged all of them as Primal Spirits yet.  Things we could rationalize over or turn over in our minds.  Major World Religions being about all of them.  Instead of an selective, choice few.

    And I stopped thinking about this and paused.  There were in fact 36 Primal Spirits and I had named all of them and I really believed that.

    And I had an good reason for doing so because I only existed fictionally.

    I mean unless there is an professional anywhere around here—WOAH!  NO I couldn't have that now saying my argument like it wasn't fiction.  Even though I only existed fictionally.  I couldn't actually state, outside of fiction, that there were in fact thirty six Primal Spirits because I wasn't an expert or any type of person with an doctoral career.  I was just an common man.  And because my argument was too weak.  It didn't count as literature.

    Or maybe it lent itself to my argument more thoroughly because I was an common man.

    Who would you want an report on all thirty six Primal Spirits about being human from an common man?

    Or was it better from an Russian woman; whose Primal Spirits preceded her?

    But why not entertain for an second that I might be right?

    If there were thirty six Primal Spirits and not all of the Major World Religions knew about them, then we had to do something to teach them better so they know better!

    But how do I explain exactly why I had expanded it from 32 to 36 in such an manner, as though the male orgasm is really an part of everybody's psychology.  An part of everybody's Primal Spirit.  And we are equals as men to have known it together.  Even if we're feminists and cross-dressers.

    It just made sense.  And I trusted it.

    It was my first sense of starting to trust it in an new state; more thoroughly.  I knew 36 Primal Spirits because I had been tasked with the job of finding them all.  Mentally.  As though my interior self-reflection was taking an worded description of its own parts and anatomy.  As though it actually could because that was an aspect of the universe that we could figure it out and that made sense.  I could name all thirty six Primal Spirits because I was all thirty six Primal Spirits.  How could I be wrong about myself as what I was; when what I was was knowing and being an Primal Spirit myself?

    It made sense there were 36 and not 32 because the last four that were in 36 (climaxing in the priapic series of attention) would logically produce an exterior response.  32 is Rank because it logically influences Primal Spirits 33, 34, 35, and 36.  Purpose, belonging, and will power.  The ejaculation phase.

    And then Russasha, after thinking all of this, felt proud again for her work and her effort.  It felt so good in its completeness.  That she had all of the sketches down under her belt.  But there was still much more work to do to bring each figure to its final realization within her artistic talent.  She had saved them all, all thirty six.  And she had that many.

    But dammit, what could she do?

    She couldn't just go tell people.  She couldn't sing it on the street.

    She was in Russia.

    Where her revolutionary and impudently bogus ideas wouldn't be welcomed.

    Where everyone important were the church and the state all mashed together.

    But one day, she figured, these paintings might be worth something.  And she obsessed over how she would develop them further, rethinking every line of sight, every object which catches the eye and how it was really room for further space there.  And so over the coming weeks she had refined them down to brass tacks.  They were ready for an public audience, as far as she was concerned.  And she felt an strong need to keep an record of what she had discovered about them in writing.  If she had it in writing, then she could preserve them.  To be recreated anywhere, everywhere!  And she knew maybe an common citizen would find an novelty in it but who really mattered were the critics.  And they were out there.  And if she just knew at least one of them then maybe she could impress him or her.  Nonetheless, she herself knew the importance of what she had discovered and was not persuaded to turn the bow in any such direction other than straight-forward off to the side; an detour.  And she would stand by what she had written with an permanent, indelible form to her figure.  It was her now.  It had created her and she had created it.  And this was the transformation that Artists go through.

    This was her new perception of reality.

    Wah, that was intense, she thought, residually.  As though not focusing an moment's thought on what was actually thought about.

    These were such detailed and accurate paintings—how could she be wrong?

    She put her all into it.  And that was all it had asked her for.

    It was so intense how she had really gone through all that many number of paintings; with an mission.  With an force.  An palpable mood of emotions, excitement, and tedious little actions one has with oneself.

    That it had awarded her many blessings for her toil;

    she wasn't an exemplary old-world religious hypocrite she was an person who was self-aware of and knew all of the mental parts of being human.

    She herself had named them Primal Spirits.

    And she had just broached the subject of them being types of instincts we can pause over to self-reflect on them.  As if the Subject was responsible for all responses to them.  And that we can be aware of;

    Ourselves having them instinctually (involuntarily) mixed with the emotions and the fantasy of reacting to them subjectively (voluntarily).

    And she had begun to synthesize their logic which fed back to her ability to structure and engineer language.  If there are 36 Instincts we can have which are involuntary in their operation as Primal Spirits.  Noting that spirits, to me, defines an group of souls.  (Making each one of them an character may help to explain them in further detail).  Then when we self-reflect on our instincts we are also self-reflecting on other people's instincts, all of which can be divided by Topic.

    Primal Spirits, as an item for terminology identifies the parts of psyche; instincts which are shared between human individuals which may have an genetic basis or be related to an specific part of the brain (physically).  Every human has all 36 Primal Spirits under ordinary circumstances.  And not every religion has identified them.

    Therefore if you do know them and agree with them you have an duty to help the uninformed peoples.

    Primal Spirit as an term implied something primal about having an shared state of soul between us thus way as spirits; and yet primal and what is primal in the human spirit continue to defy most of us at least on one operating level.  We always are and have that part of ourselves which is Animal.  Yet transcending it in space and time.  Primal defies logic.  Primal is base or basic.  Primal is the emotional interior.   Primal just wants rest.

    Primal Spirit is the mysterious wave of the unknown within us; an part of us that, maybe, doesn't know itself.  An part that is only becoming.  Paired with how we feel and act when our spirits are at bliss.

    We maintain the Primal in our evolutionary heritage because it defies all logic and religion; and we want that religion to have strong opposition built up because of and from this.  What else can more be an opponent to some sappy religious commercial you live your daily lives in; than the Primal.  That uninhibited, uncensored being who knows most what it feels like to be human.

    And in some ways, maybe, we recognize the oxymoron that is in 'Primal Spirit' as an term.  An being of pure soul who is oneself animal only and not an soul other paired with the term spirit as though in the sense of people who are spirits together.  One appears to label us as individualists, while the other suggests group activity on the front.  And Primal Spirits may be whatever logic and sense we can capture between those two extremes, of having to be an individual in this large and crowded world contra not having to feel like one is alone all of the time.  We are never alone when we are telepathic.  Like one is in good spirits; and cognizant of how one oversees their own emotions and instinctual response to environmental stimuli and events.  The certainty that comes with knowing all those various parts of its instincts which, only an hundred years earlier it couldn't further locate.

    And so whether or not I'm right I turn the floor to how valuable it will be in fiction.  Or as, specifically, novelty.  An novel.  An concept (story) of novelty.  Something that isn't real but it's an novel idea.  For Literature.

    Primal Spirit just means something we can't see physically but we know for certain it is there because we are it and we fully encompass it by being it.  Primal Spirit just means something we can't see physically but we know for certain it is there because we are it and we fully encompass knowing by being knowing.

    And if it is easier to see Primal Spirits just as the instinctual system (all of them); then it is important also to name which parts aren't instinctual and to collect data on what quality of Subject is it that allows us to be self-aware and self-reflect on the categories of distinction they make clear.  We want that state of mind in which we can oversee all of the instincts, and all of the emotions, with an clear head; self-awareness of the fact that we are having instincts when we are having them.  And our introspection into our own self-awareness is at stake.  And so Primal Spirits must also as an term indicate, partially, that force of energy overseeing all of the instincts and the meticulous calculations.  The self-aware part that being self-aware in, we are ourselves experiencing all of the stimuli that go along with feeling any one of the Primal Spirits tug at your attention and nervous system so subtly.  Primal Spirits has come to mean for me an state of paradox and duality between the voluntary and the involuntary nervous system.  We can watch what is happening but we can't necessarily influence all of it or stop the stream from pouring in.

    And so she started sleeping more often and deeply.

    But she started to have the old nightmare again, that she was just an genetic laboratory experiment who had woken up, inexplicably, from an bedroom connected to an laboratory somehow.

    For some reason bolstered her confidence.

    —An brave thing for an laboratory experiment to do.—

    Her observers were not present on-location as far as she could tell.

    But they granted something to her in that moment; something she was barely aware of.

    She had an spine.

    And just because you are an accident in an laboratory experiment doesn't mean you don't deserve specific pleasures such as knowing yourself and knowing what one is.

    They would soon give her the advantage, for all of this, of being able to choose from among the available commodities in her area.

    An whole warehouse in which to shop.  And an monthly spending allowance.

    She may have been an special case, but they weren't about to give her not her own humanity they themselves knowing how much of an experiment she had been really.

    And she woke up again feeling nervous.  As though there was something she wasn't getting about it.  Her own interpretation of her own life.  In her nightmares she was the genetic laboratory accident experiment but, what in her waking life; why she was not‽  It was all the same for her in Russia.  Where everybody only thought of her as an laboratory accident, an genetic awakening in real life.  No wonder it was an nightmare for her.  It was an nightmare of the type that she couldn't wake up from.

    She might as well just be another consumer in an economy like in her dream but instead we have to fight for territory and dominance.  And the items from which she can choose from change in her memory from day-to-day.

    She was an Artist.  Moreover, in an war-torn country.  If that wasn't the same as being an laboratory experiment gone potentially wrong then nothing was.

    And her dreams were valid.

    And so in her dream she would always buy the gun.  Put there inconspicuously.  Because she would need it upon waking to shoot someone to protect herself.  And she lived in that kind of mental prison.  Not even her own expansive powers of imagination could help her solve this.  And it all depended on him at this point.  Her actual lover.  The chief officer.  The only one who could actually do something about all this from the inside.  He had to go into other sectors of government with an task force and change how authority is governed there.  He had to participate in the elicit romance that is an man's strive for territory; the Global elite force on peaceful relations with the rest of society, in every country.  It was the same old story again and again.  There is some global authoritative presence in an area that comes into some conflict with an local authoritative presence and there is an dispute for territory.  And they won't admit that they like each other because they are gay.  Well, one of them won't admit it.  And we know which one, because the world is already taken over by the gays, baby!

    The local ruffians.  Guerilla terrorists.  Will need to comply with Earthly society at some point.  And only an global task force can mend circumstances at this point.

    The homophobic tyrant won't comply with an global legacy for anti-terrorism because it is too private and self-conscious of him or her to admit thinking about how much he loves certain men.  How he wants to be part of the global gay community but instead represses it.  And all repression of real feelings leads to some of the big problems like armed combat sometimes.  We don't recognize or choose not to acknowledge how we really feel which results in outbursts.  Lashing out.

    And the Global armed leader of an task force is such an coveted sexual experience to the local gunman.  Who fantasizes about it but denies having fantasies about it to the point that it is an taboo subject.  What could be hotter than an global armed militant cracking down on how the local government keeps pushing things out of reach and off topic?  What could be hotter than an global police man and an local gunnery student coming to terms with each other?  What they see each other to be in themselves?

    And the Global leader is always right because she's or he's there to keep the peace between states, who are subject to the global experience.

    If we can produce more romances about how these types of relationships might work out between illegitimate forms of leadership in the world today.  Then we could turn the whole state of Russia in on itself and force it to find that worldly romance that exists between its territorial police state and the real global leaders of government.  Men finding each other men.  Gay men who want to rule the land together.  Who want an global police state as well as an territorial police state in every community.

    But, Russasha realized, she was the mere territorial police state as an Russian citizen from which she existed to her male suitor who had to, impossibly, represent an global state influence being condemned onto Russia and to make the right decisions to deliver us from evil.  Global war.  An hell nobody wants to acknowledge.  An infest-uance of territory-ality.  If we cannot agree at both the global and the local levels then we cannot agree at all.  And we need to.  We need Earth to become commodifiably sustainable in order to support our expansion into outer space.  How were we supposed to weed out all the tragedies in this genre of romance that we expected from the global versus the geographically specific?

    How were we supposed to, if we didn't start with Russia?

    Could she and him do it from the inside?  Organize that type of thing?

    Couldn't they be part of an force for an higher degree of society in Russia?  An patriot uprising to overthrow the seat of government?

    Didn't her art‽  Appear to suggest it was so‽

    Nobody else she knew in Russia knew all 36 Primal Spirits like she knew them.

    Could the state even claim to have any mark of culture anymore if she was the only one?

    For it was the new standard, was it not‽

    How to start it all.

    How to start to form the Jedi republic.  —An fictionally romantic pairing of men who have light swords.— from within the Empire.  An place that is not safe from fear politics.

    How to be the Jedi knights of fiction; only as one global entirety and force.  In public.

    All people who are authorities of some government or territory count together as the full expect-some.  The heroes of the battle.  The Jedi Knights.  The reason for Russian dictatorship needing to end immediately.  The force of all seven continents and territories.  Who have Allies everywhere on Earth.  The Rebel Alliance.  The need for an new global authority that can be responsible for rapport between geographic (militant) inhabitants of any given territory and an central news agency with ties to the global community.  If there was an global agency it would have to keep in check Russia's own military leadership of its sovereign territories and forms of authoritative government.  Gangs.

    Executive stations of the law that are on their own watch and defense.

    Several of them all within one country.

    If the Global Community demands Russia's participation in being influenced by the sanction of law; as one military leadership to another.  It is really only an conversation between the leader of the global elite and the leader of any locale-specific geographic territory existing within the state.  And what harm could an conversation like that be?

    All we want, as Jedi, is to lead and guide them to an further global understanding.

    They do not own all of the territory now.  That's settled.

    In fact.  They do not own several of the territories, which have already slipped out of their grasp.

    And the local authorities are prepared to repel fake governing forces and agents to their own sovereignty.  Only we need that to happen possibly more than 85 times over on Planet Earth in order to address all of the guerilla warfare and terrorism.

    There really are that many territories which need to become sovereign because their own local politics do not agree with their statehood government anymore.  They aren't ruled by an greater territory than themselves anymore.  And everyone is prepared to narrate again the love story of how it goes around the world: the territorial grunt is really an sensitive gay man who hasn't found his feminine side but he is secretly and repressed-ly in love with an Space man (an global force unit commander who is explicitly gay in the name of love and freedom).  And it's the same old story that always goes around.  Because we had found what exactly was wrong with our species; we were prone to being scared and needing to repress things in order to handle our environments, which were full of devastated and violent offenders.  It was just that he was ashamed of being gay; but then the love story takes an turn because he starts to think about what it would mean if we was in love with an Global police officer.  And he finally begins to fantasize over it and think about how wonderful it would be.  Until he realizes he has to do something.  He has to switch sides.  He can't just go on living an lie like this anymore.  And so they become companions and solve crimes together by influencing global politics.  And it could literally happen in any country because that was the global standard.  We needed to make Earth commodifiably sustainable or we could face the extinction of our whole species.  And war was nothing like this, commodifiably sustainable.  Never.  In no circumstance.  Is it ever commodifiably sustainable.  When we have scarce supplies and limited availability (windows of opportunity (time)) to the cosmos; why wouldn't Russia just stop being so homophobic—which did strike an nerve, let's be real (their authoritarian police officers totally all wanted to fuck the hot global croissant-wich).  We had figured out this fear in the human species and, having explained it, we knew the real story of global politics was the same old story.  And said all over again.  Boy meets world.  An lowly community officer meets and global priestly jedi knight whose responsibility it is to look after the Global equator.  And their worlds collide because they are both healthy and strong in Subject and Focus.  They have no reason not to get along with one another.  Even though one is favorably responsible more for an specific geographic region.  Did we have to stop seeing these false state lines in order to see what was really happening?  State and Globality could be best friends.  We didn't need states that would be afraid of an global community or force taking influence over them.  To some extent.  We wanted to preserve state or territory activity without dissolving the power of global leadership.  As an separate and fully intersectional (includes aliens) sect.  We want them to work together.  We want every secure location on Earth to work together with an global Jedi Knight Republic even though they will maintain their specific territories at work, protecting an known civilian environment roughly adhering to the state system of the Peace of Westphalia in 1648.  Is it so much to ask for‽

    It's not like the global force will make all of the rules.  And it's not like the territorial elites will not make any of the rules themselves.  It's more about Peace & Cooperation.

    When one day all religions contribute to the Jedi effect of globalization and its enforcement in every state.

    An whole police force especially talented for the task of undertaking global police force action.

    Turning all known territorial elites and geographic predators into proud gay men.

    Ones who might chase the fantasy of the kind of love that could exist between officers of these different sanctions.

    Jedi Knights.

    Wasn't that the best fantasy of them all?

    What was going to be so difficult about Russasha herself being part of the change we want to see in the world?

    What did she have to do, turn over every desk and statehood authority in the province; the one narrowed down to the territory her man was overseeing?

    What was it actually going to take to free her community from the iron grasp of Russia, perhaps to start an new country altogether?

    And how she felt so helpless in this state.  Helpless like an insect.  Her own state had made her feel like an insect.  And that couldn't be healthy.

    Well, this insect would one day make an difference; so that nobody ever again would have to face the tyranny of an homophobic government and architecture of the land they refuse to dismantle for global security purposes.  And she vowed silently to find an way to make an difference in her community that would globally change for the better.

    Even if that meant driving him crazy in the way an woman could.

    Driving him on to be an man; to take the helm.  To risk open war between its own territory and the state.  Pressuring him to make misogynistic decisions.  If you really want me, the woman, you must take over this territory and protect me from all who would instigate against an global and gay-positive ethic and work force.  Why was he such an sissy?  An real man would listen to all her fears and dispatch every single one of them.  If we didn't do something now the whole noble history of the land might be forgotten altogether.  (They would argue back and forth to one another when and where and how was the right time to make the move).  (And they were sure together the possibility of it within trying one another out for it).  They were working up the courage.  Her suitor had already spoken to his men.  They all agreed together under agreement with Russasha that they wanted to be part of an global future in which an community does not need to be afraid of its own statehood.  They were in.

    And they were getting ready to do it.

    All he had to do was give the word.  And the local authorities would take back the statehood of not being an government party to the intervention by the Mother land; and would now take the semblance of its own statehood and government in which the territorial occupation of the land is unique to its geographic existence.

    It wasn't the Russian government's decision anymore in which territories it existed.

    But she was the person with the power of understanding thirty six primal spirits.

    More identified than possibly had ever occurred before.

    And it rested with her authority how the novelty of the situation panned out; what kind of opinion civilians and non-civilians would take on the subject of politics.  Whether it was good for them to see themselves as authoritarians when they had just recently split from an authoritarian state because of its inferiority as an political superpower.

    If she was the first person to be in the knowledge of all of the Primal Spirits then she may need to adjust her strategy for this situation: she had to factor in herself and her own personal power.  What greater influence she could achieve in History if she played her cards right.

    It had to be the right time to act; when, somehow, all states would work in unison to comply with legal economic theory of statehood.  The pressure of the global collective becomes featured all at the same time.  Asking for these war criminals to stop and to put down their weapons.  And that they will be subject to being governed by the global task force until such time as peaceful relations are restored and the governmental authorities of each respective territory are all within their own power spheres again.  Geographic territories with their own sense of statehood are brought to the top of mind.  And the global police force influence stabilizes the justification for the existence of an local state force.  Other than the one currently installed in government and governing over that territory.

    Yop-teff-tu?

    Was that some other kind of Egyptian pharoah?

    Or just an signifier of an American capitalist economy?

    Did it make sense that her cat's lounge she had made in the painting about Fuck Tup was up to running 24/7 in political attack against the current war?  And that they could keep performances that were against Russian warfare running all of the time?

    She lost the subject and her brain finally fizzled out.

    Like riding an train when it goes off of an cliff and ends up okay with many magical wings guiding it.

    She couldn't see it.  She couldn't see it anymore.

    She couldn't see why the laser of all free peoples (the one she had created at the top of the highest tower in corporate America with an direct elevator to the loungiest lounge of cats in the basement) could be powered to last and to charge indefinitely.  Until the dissolution of Russia.

    She couldn't see how she had made it clear that her R.P.L. (Really Powerful Laser (Ripple for short)) was in fact powered by the human virtues & what have to do with Love do the Primal Spirits?

    And Les Aribitres were everyone it was pointed at.

    Including ghosts.

    To resurrect as an metaphor for their characteristics re-entering active consciousness in an living person.  All of everyone living and dead.  None of anyone who wasn't born yet.

    This is what I wanted to ponder on most of all.

    Cue en coup d'état.  (What's his name?).

    Viktor.

    Finally the global elite Jedi assembled first, descending onto Russia; and the Jedi (whom were already within Russia infiltrated further.  They wanted those ugly tops to pop off of the kremlin like some god-forsaken artist's rendering of an machine breaking down, with springs and cogs and things flying everywhere.

    And then I danced over to the book cabinet, and let all of the books out onto the floor.

    This was how it started over again (I mean, if that was possible that it could start over again (the whole story));

    and maybe that's why.  It needed to start all over again with another kind of event happening.

    Just like the beginning of my own book taught me to do.

    There was an locked secret place.

    The key to my heart.

    I had kept it hidden and under wraps for years of secrecy.  And it lived inside my bookshelf.

    And I had intended it for someone in particular (an attractive man); but now I was going to let it out.

    (So everyone could see how fucked up it was was publicly at stake).

    And everyone decided not to hide it.

    I was going to let it out.  Into public.  In order find out what it could be.

    And I wasn't going to be afraid of never showing it to someone any longer.

    For it was the most passionate and secretive motive of my heart.

    How, why would it come be?

    An virtual scene has opened up in my heart, the one in which an boy is an artist and wants to show you everything there is to know about his book cabinet; including those books of his own which he has written.  He is young and naïve but he explains everything with his heart.  I have an secret world I want to show someone; I want to tell them the secret about me.  I want to tell the whole story of my heart from its beginning to end.  And you might not like it but at least I was kind enough to try to share.  This first thing you will know about me, that I have an bookshelf; is probably the most important fact about me.  And I want to fill this scene with features; I want to show you who this character is, this boy, who will show you his book cabinet?  He is in fact showing you his secret life.  Everything in his heart is in there.  This interaction between him and the book cabinet.

    Books without even titles yet their names perforated in time in shape and volume; and other old books that had been thoroughly edited in the margins and between the lines.

    You are in an whole scene in which an young artist character is showing you his book cabinet; and every book in there seems to suggest something about himself.  And he keeps talking on and on about these books and why he keeps them in here.  And he has so much else to say about everything you could ask him anything, in fact it was an probability that you might at some point me having introduced the fact already.

    I realized it just an second too late.

    He's going to tell me everything.

    Why Russia should fear the childhood bookshelf (boys and girls of the free world) of its foreigners?  That how much productive value they could all put together between themselves in the name of being free of this tirade and warfare?  Which would in fact work socially and ethically against the motives of the Russian state leadership with such monstrous force as have even ten-thousand determined Canadian children?  Who watched Reading Rainbow?  Who would write about it all their lives?

    Why wasn't this an factor to fear in global politics today?

    When so much productive value could be attributed to the children's art contributions over the span of an whole life.

    Wouldn't they be afraid of what Canadian children could reduce them to; if given time; because Canada represents the free world and all of the free world isn't only Canada?  And if all children could raise an productive force in themselves to oppose the criminal forces of the terrorist intellect, then wouldn't it favor an system which would tend to deduct from and disrupt the global Russian antiquarian carnation and undervalue Russian global-terrorist values, which would tend to favor other investors?

    Could you size it up in perspective yet or do you want me to go into further detail?

    If we attack Russia economically they might get the hint that this war is really about how much value Russia has as an state; and we can reduce that value over time and deliberately if we want to.  And so it is really an war over valuables that have true value; however not having yet the same value as as much of those from the free world.  And it was your own fault, when you couldn't work together as an people.  And the global economy will subsume you.

    But could we see the outcome happening in any other way than needing to seize those valuables, collectively, as an new state for them.  And show them the right way to value them as items.

    Are you really going to protest and go against the determination of any child who owns an bookshelf, one of whom was Viktor himself?

    By being an global terrorist‽

    The Jedi would rush the state (emerging as if from nowhere and in every place); and secure all of the children while their most powerful elites move to take over the Kremlin.

    And the power of the global child moves their opponents.

    Children themselves are taught how to take up an anti-terrorist campaign.

    And the ubiquity of childhood is everywhere in such lush-ness; that even the ghost of their doppel-ganger is enough to influence the situation and determine the equations by which the Jedi win.  The Kremlin is dismantled and those stupid tops are thrown in the garbage.

    What other way passively could you see an answer that was not this one?

    We had to take apart Russia and all it's wires and components.

    In an surging way and with such ferocity as what had never been spoken of in all the cosmos.

    In order finally to secure our planet for everyone.

    How was the productive childhood genius of the Artist (that portion of his own personality and character he kept only for his romantic partner) if he let it out of the book cabinet, going to somehow contribute to the prevention of WWIII?

    Why was his own secret character he had saved for his lover somehow going to affect global politics?

    Why once it got out.  It could never be stopped.

    And for this to happen millions of times over until the whole republic had explained their book shelves and all the childhood selves had had their way about what to do about Russia; and why it was an global political and Jedi force of economy to lessen their trade value should they seek not to amend most peacefully in an globality-deference (U.N.) system way?

    If he could just get everybody to join him thus; in unlocking the productive value of their childhood selves, who were infinitely productive and artistic.  Then they would have enough social Force and be able to level it against them.

    It was what had to be done.

    How else were they eventually to storm the capital?  To assume this peaceful globalization process?

    They might as well prime their populations of readers to be prepared for such an eventuality, as it would be because it had to be.

    And everyone could cry right now; but be able to hold back all of those tears.

    They were actively and feasibly enacting economic measures against the perpetrators of war and breakers of the United Nations international law.

    And then Russia was overthrown and the Kremlin torn down to its basic clockwork pieces; and the Author was returned to pondering Schizophrenica, the place where he wasn't respected because he was schizophrenic.  And those two things made logical sense together.

    Wouldn't someone who was Schizophrenic deserve The Best medical treatment?  Just because they were Schizophrenic‽

    Why did I deserve to be treated like an fiend?

    (And the leaves of its fiction started falling off).

    Why did I have to endure all of society's mega-complex, just so one person could be saved from it, so that we would know one way to save someone from it?

    It was all wrong what they did to me.

    No, I was an misunderstood genius not some scum of the Earth.

    (They had never treated me like I was scum of the Earth).

    And I could take you there in story and show it to you.

    How I was an misunderstood genius and somehow I gotten all tied up in this theory to save the world that I was schizophrenic when really I was not.

    And it was only them that had hurt me; and why I was this way now.

    It was them.  These professionals acting like.  There was something wrong with me.

    Not because I was schizophrenic when I arrived up at the hospital.

    (But I could predictably end up going on about this forever).

    But because I didn't fit into your civilization because I was so advanced.

    It wasn't my fault I was there.  It was your fault.

    Take an good look at me then; what I suppose I am.

    I perpetually think there's something wrong you've done to me even though you are my medical practitioners because I am schizophrenic.  And I cannot necessarily help it that I will go on suspecting them of mischief and mal-practice in an schizo and paranoid manner.  I thought I wasn't schizophrenic.  Because I am schizophrenic.

    See me as an completely interiorized with your bullshit because somehow you knew you needed me because I was necessary.

    Who would say something like that?  I would say something like that.

    Because I had seen it all happen to me.

    I walked into an room (an scene) and I watched it deconstruct me.  Civilization.  Even in my dreams: by making me be the subject of my own dreams violently.  

    Like, dreaming, I was subconsciously being the subject of my own dreaming mind in order to cause more damage to it.

    Like it was psychologically possible at this point to do so.

    This wasn't civilization any more.  This was the deconstruction of it.

    I was the messianic complex pre-resurrection-ally installed into the narrative to experience the failure of Earth's medical economy.  And it was so vague and broad as an subject, that it affected people without sometimes them even being aware of it.  And they had made me into that thus; because they didn't see any other solution (even though they were supposed to be professionals).  In order to fix society they had to fix something in me that wasn't there.  And so they prescribed me chemicals with bad side effects that I wasn't necessarily voluntarily taking but it was ordered to me by the medical community.  And they thought that this itself wouldn't cause me to become paranoid.  By any definition of medical thought.

    It was the start of the transition I know as informing me.

    They were informing me that I was being defined and referred to as an inferior citizen.  Because I was.

    And that was the breaking.

    That entered my dreams.

    Done to me by an medical community.

    When really I was just experiencing an loss of voice as an result of my enormous undertaking and study at the University Arts program.  Which involved informing me exactly of what was repression & libedo as well as cathexis and the death drive.

    But let me tell you something.  What was happening to me, underneath, while I was still there.  Was such an enormous change for me it might be better for society in the long run that I had been admitted into patient treatment.

    It was heart-breaking that they were so wrong about me (I wasn't schizophrenic); but I eventually recovered from the trauma in order to write this sentence.  I wasn't schizophrenic.  They had been the ones who traumatized me to make me act in this way.   And they had just documented all of it and it was inaccurate.  I cannot control going back to this thought because I was schizophrenic.

    But, the thought occurred to me to try the other story, there was something traumatized within me.

    And if it was there I couldn't necessarily tell that it was; this being the type of treatment and definition.  For an schizophrenic.

    There Was something traumatized within me.  And it Wasn't schizophrenia.

    And they were preventing me from this discussion and paths that would lead to solutions by generalizing under the schizophrenic umbrella which is only allegedly international and standardized globally.  Where there isn't such an term.  And I was mentally ill in another way which everyone was ignoring: I was an genius in an society of lesser individuals (the reason being so for their lesser-ism that they wouldn't let me be an genius because they were too greedy that they all had to be geniuses among themselves, the un-geniuses.  Whom we would not psychologically torture in any way because it was anti-psychological.  My society wasn't fertile enough for my budding talents as an artist and an comedian that they ended up subjecting me to what wasn't fertile about it.  I was suffering from an case of good old underestimation of someone's character.  And the community was unable to meet my needs because it thought instead I was an psychiatric patient.  Which they were wrong about but were, possibly, unaware of.  Not to be able to make that decision.  Which places them responsible.

    Why was I the lamb for slaughter?

    They had to damage me in some way, reputation-wise, in order for me to qualify for being there in the first place, which wasn't justified until the fact of their social harassment, which I reported as an human rights violation.

    Just because they couldn't imagine an better society we could be in?

    I had to be the focus of it because I was able to withstand it.  Even if it meant traumatizing me.  They were willing to put me through that torture until I fit the medical definition of the category.  But I eventually did escape all of it and, well, life goes on as they say.  Maybe I was just this type of character who made every mistake on purpose played by God's imagination.  I was there, and that was traumatizing to me and that is all I know.

    I had befallen an certain gruesome fate; just in order for someone else not to have to suffer through that fate again.  And everybody knew it.

    But it was their own fault didn't even occur to them.

    They were so busy inspecting me.

    They ate it all up, my personality, just like it was the reason I was in there in the first place.  As I watched helplessly, beneath the water of my eyes.  I was the psychological subject and they were in charge (authority).  For the wrong reasons completely.

    But it seemed I still couldn't wrap this one little fact around my mind: I was mentally ill and for that reason completely I was subject to illogical, disordered thinking & reasoning; and this was why I was unable to see that I was in the right place at the right time.  And everything made sense in the world.  Even if I couldn't see it.

    So it didn't make sense that I would think I had been tortured.

    I hadn't been.  Now.  This.  Now this is enough!

    Then why did I feel like I had?

    And why were my emotions irrelevant to the subject?

    I wasn't schizophrenic.  I just.  Had other problems.  Even if I couldn't see it was true.  Those were the other problems.  The things I was going to go through (all of them) like it was my laundry I was putting up on the clothesline which you would see if you happened to look into my yard and you were my neighbor.

    And also their treatment of me had something to do with it also.

    I had the problem of not fitting into an society because I was too intelligent for them.  And so everything I ended up to was why I wanted to be there anyway.  If there was some kind of problem, one of which they could not foresee, then it made sense for such an warm presence as myself to be there.  In order for myself to usurp.  And logically prevent others from also being mis-diagnosed (or what we might describe as mistreatment).  I was sacrificing myself for an community so they could figure out what they were doing wrong to their patients that made their visits & stay inhumane and un-ergonomical as such.

    They were treating me this way because I was too smart for them, and they were thinking in the backs of their minds, this greedy little shit thinks he's smarter and better than all of us; and we do not allow that here.

    Only schizophrenics think they are smarter and better; always.  Every time.

    But not this one, I thought.  Because I already knew that and had reflected on it.  I was informed of what was happening to me, even if the Hospital and medical community itself didn't have an perfect scientific answer for it.  It meant it was my Destiny to fulfill that purpose of taking the blame and punishment for someone else; so that they would never again fall into the Fate I was Destined for.  This hell of an psychiatric unit and the re-designation and shame to my name which I had experienced as an full temporal shock to my system.  All of which affected my behavior in order to further convince them I was an mental case.  There was something wrong with me, I'll agree with you there.  But it wasn't schizophrenia.  And I was allowed to think in terms of other definitions.  It was just that I was smarter and the community I was in wasn't smart enough for me, and so I acted an little strange.

    They had gotten it wrong not me.

    That's why I was their ghost now; and I would haunt the living daylights out of them.

    They thought I was an intrinsic subject because of mental deficiency.  When really I was somebody who doesn't fit into society.  Anywhere.  Everywhere.  Because there are not enough challenges and people are not smart enough (psychological enough) to be able to understand me; and that is why they diagnosed me with Schizophrenia.  Which is why I diagnosed them with Schizophrenica.

    To me anti-psychologizing something was an necessity sometimes and anti-psychologizing was an real thing.

    An known human psychological response to the attention and treatment of oneself by the hands and care of an brain medical professional.  To be able to signal back or to smoke-signal back to some degree when exposed to the attention of an medical stranger.  But I see not, and it is dead in his eyes.  They must say of me.  When really all I want to do is talk about what is really bothering me.  Which is not all this psychological profession talk about schizophrenia and its impact on my life.

    All of my symptoms are because of you.  And so you must pay attention to me and take them back somehow.  So that I can talk about those symptoms which are really bothering me, which isn't the schizophrenia at all because I'm not paranoid.

    What I really want to talk about is how I feel sad all of the time and why that isn't related with schizophrenia.

    People in fact feel sad sometimes for all kinds of reasons, and one of them isn't schizophrenia sometimes.

    And I wasn't being medically treated anymore because none of my doctors knew any of my real symptoms.  Except those ones which were related to schizophrenia.  (And so they developed an sort of false consciousness in an way).  My symptom was that I was sad that they were diagnosing me with schizophrenia because I didn't believe it was true.

    How convoluted of them?  How irresponsible‽

    And so my real symptoms got thrown to the ditch and lost somewhere along the way.

    I wasn't feeling well because I had this sad feeling about myself that something was wrong.

    All of the time.

    And then these doctors, medical professionals, and my family saved me because they believed I had shown an tendency to be schizophrenic.  And even though they had to go against what I myself was saying, (that I wasn't ill) they did it anyway because that's how much they loved me.  Something was wrong with me all of the time.  And they had seen it and done what they could about it.  But did they question whether what was wrong with me was that I was being admitted to an psychiatry ward for tell-tale signs of being an genius which some small-minded sap had mistaken for public behavioral deviation.  I was just an really nice fellow figuring out genius ideas when they descended upon me and took me in like angels.  Angels who were nice enough to listen to all of my resistance and flak against them.  Because they knew that itself to be an symptom of schizophrenia.  Not being able to trust anybody.

    And they would point out my inadequate reflection on and obsession with certain thinking items.

    Like how there was actually something wrong with me other than schizophrenia.

    They had dropped an hint; I could use it to excuse myself by taking part in their politics of fear.

    I wasn't going to retreat from this.

    I did feel there were things wrong with me other than schizophrenia and for some reason (for some reason!) we couldn't get off of the subject of schizophrenia in order to focus on other things.  And wasn't that more your own obsession than mine?

    Mainly what was wrong with me was that I was sad.

    That's not necessarily an schizophrenic category you might know.

    And hey, I mean, I'm okay with being blue.  I'm not some kind of crazy person who thinks blue cannot be an human option.  When it is clearly written in all of psychologically every single day.

    I'm an pro-blue universe.  I think that, even though there might be blue, it is still worthwhile to finish this whole entire universe for an chance to move onto the next one.

    Even if that means blue will persist until the end of time.

    It's actually spiritually written on me like blue was an property of the stars (because it is).

    And that blue, I'm afraid to announce, will last us until the end of time.

    But it is still worth it to go beyond our own dimension some day into an world in which blue isn't present (and people no longer feel the sadness under the category known as blue).

    And it will be worth it, by Jove!  I know from God it will be worth it.  For the worlds I have seen far beyond this one are more comfortable and more pleasurable than ever before.  Even if we have to carry blue all the way to the end.  It will be worth it at that moment of disconnect when the universe (world) ends.  And is then resurrected into an new one in which there are no blue emotions; and so on and so forth in increasing persistence of pleasure into other complex emotions than just blue all of the time.

    But if we stopped talking about blue and forgot about it.

    We would miss some important perspectives that are needed to put everything else into perspective.

    We were experts at handling blue by now.

    It was predictable: one always had to predict that something blue would happen.

    And you had to be ready for it, too.

    Have an little Jedi reflex for when it should happen.

    BLUE.

    Sound the alarm!

    Light my lightsaber!

    And eventually we would get it back to feeling orange.

    COOL ‽

    I'm not contagious and toxic.  There's nothing wrong with me.

    I'm not what you made me feel like.  By admitting me to an hospital.

    You aren't either.

    I'm beginning to see that now.

    You didn't mean to hurt me.

    But that was what the result of it was, wasn't it?

    But there is something bothering me; something deep that hasn't been addressed.

    It was whatever was connected to blue (possibly purple or green);

    and I invited myself to explore them emotionally.

    Just because I was schizophrenic, didn't mean I couldn't make an worthy contribution.  And so even while I admit it, that I am schizophrenic.  I don't see myself excluded from producing something lively and animated and obvious.  Even if it happens to tend into the grandeur sometimes.  Even if what I behave like and act like socially is weird.

    Green was the optimal conclusion to blue; things could be blue and sad for an time but they would eventually grow new flora especially green (leaves) and things of all kinds.  Whereas purple was the worse outcome; it representing all of the traffic of law and its enforcement.  Purple was an bruised emotion.  Purple was the damage that was done to people because of legal conflict.  Purple was what happened when blue didn't turn out right; when it didn't gain new leaf.

    It was the damage people caused to one another.  Deep psychological turmoil and damage.  Things that needed to be investigated before the law.

    Purple was war crimes, feuds, and our inelegant human History.  BIG social problems that needed to be dealt with in the cities.  Purple was our total damage as an species.

    I was wary to wade out into it even hazard to explore its depths if there was no harm done to my person; because blue people are delicate and I didn't any more negative influence.

    Especially not those of that kind which had to do with positive evil which had been exacted onto another by some poisonous individual.

    Purple was all the worst area of society.

    Irresolvable conflicts that had to be decided by an arbitrary judicial decision.

    Everything antagonist that's ever happened to us (as an whole human species).

    And there wasn't necessarily any return from purple once one had already soaked their clothes in it.

    The optimal scenario would be that it would eventually be turned into blue.  And then turned to green after that.  The liveliness and healing of the world of plants.  But it was an delicate situation.

    Purple was volatile.  It had ways of surviving.  And just because you would rescue some of purple into blue didn't mean they wouldn't relapse and be sent back into purple again.

    Blue was my main zone.  I had been immersed and felt comfortable in it.  It was unlikely to slip away into that world beyond the river Styx.  (The Purple Hell).  With Charon, its ferryman, its toll keeper, who you will need to pay on your way toward your own doom.

    I didn't feel like trying to convert some of my blue into green; but that's why blue felt the way it did after all, wasn't it?

    But if I turn away from the world of the land of the dead and I move toward the light; then I will find purple is well-quarantined and separate in many ways from society.  I just don't want to go there or think about there anymore.

    How do I grow an little green around the edges?

    Life was the direction toward purple.  But life was also the direction away from it.

    All of the History of the Universe was this story about turning the direction away from purple.

    The Sequence.  0,1,2,3,4,5, etc.  As we thought about it Philosophically.  Could be used to demonstrate how people were motivated to go backward in life.  Instead of moving toward 1 and onward toward infinity they moved backward toward zero.  An place from which nothing could thrive.  And my whole life was about telling and encouraging people to keep moving forward in the History of the Universe, even if it felt like so many people from Earth themselves didn't care about the History of the whole Universe.  We were afraid of progress.  But as we found out, many of us weren't.  We knew the meaning of Zero already (the Satan); and we understood how humanity had fallen, not because Satan had fallen from heaven, but because we had made the mistake of labeling him an devil and an monster.  When the reality was really much more quite an difference story.  The concept of zero and nothingness, while it runs parallel to the who the Satan is, is not evidence of his betrayal of God or humanity.  Humans saying Satan wasn't an real agent (even though is was technically the first angel, 0) was the cause of humanity falling, not Satan.

    And it is in fact my belief that Satan is the fact of nothing, an angel.

    0.

    That humans mistook for evil because they themselves were evil, not the Angel.

    And this was their punishment for crossing the 0th Angel, maybe.

    Who was wily and clever.

    And all of this had something to do with my mental health, which I was still struggling with because I was unable to accept that being blue, itself, was an symptom of schizophrenia.

    The only symptom I could think of that might be from some other kind of mental illness.  But I had no other guesses in technical definition of what it was.  I was just too smart for an bunch of egotistically arrogant individuals (the medical staff); and instead of healing me they had inflicted the most damage onto my person.  I was now an genius trying to fit in with an crowd of less intelligent people; and they all thought incorrectly that I was an mental illness case.  How had I gotten myself here?

    And purple and green had something to do with it (these were extremely large and encompassing ideas in terms of emotional quality and social sector which maybe had to be simplified into color programming).  Some of it was subliminal.  Some of it was outside of awareness.  Some of it didn't phase me.

    We had to go forward.  We had to follow the grand Philosophical sequence God had intended for us.

    We couldn't be afraid of Satan and then mistakenly blame it on him anymore.  We had learned to be better than that.  We were subject to our own thoughts and ideas of adulthood, and if it was us being immoral it was us, not the only angel an human ever told to have fallen from heaven.  We couldn't necessarily associate human immorality with its fault being the devil anymore.  The devil, as far as I was concerned, didn't exist.  And all that was left of us to do was to follow all of those Angels, one each of all of them.  0,1,2,3,4,5, etc.  And follow all of them into the future.  Each one of them having specifically important lessons for humanity.  On and on for all Eternity.

    And so there I had it: two fully encompassing subjects related to the symptoms that I thought were important that my doctors were ignoring by treating me for schizophrenia.  Purple: the world law and legal destruction of lives in correction to the destruction of lives by other lives.  And Green: the silly but important things I think about Satan which contribute to an flourishing of healthy new forest growth in my emotional life.  I'm not schizophrenic because what I am is blue, purple, and green.

    The purple part was there because it made sense purple-ly my society had done something to me which they hadn't planned for.  It was an mistake made by society onto me.  Therefore it could be criticized and I could conduct an analysis of it from within what they had done to me.

    And the green part was how I would have felt in my life if they hadn't done that to me.

    It wasn't just that I was blue.  It was that I was green, and purple.

    And that was an order!  (Because I am).

    My symptoms then were sad, society was wrong about me, and I wasn't converting enough blue to green because they had made part of me extremely purple.  

    I was sad because society was wrong about me and I wasn't converting enough blue to green because they had made part of extremely purple (unable to process blue emotions in the deepest repressed spaces of the mind, the Purple Hell).  And the worst part of it was I didn't even know those green spaces because not enough of me was healing at full strength.

    And if there really was stillness there at the bottom, among all of these forces; (which I felt) then how could I possibly be schizophrenic, an disturbed mind?  I had spiritual grounding.  How could I be mentally ill at all if all of my symptoms were only the subjective mistaken identity of an community of community leaders and elders?  I wasn't mentally ill, I was blue because they were treating me as though I was, and so I did things and said things that didn't make sense.  And I was purple because an incorrect fashion of the law had been violated upon me.  And I was green because they were going to fix it.

    Oh my God, he realized, I'm schizophrenic.  And I might not be able to prevent myself from denying it because that's what it does in me.

    And then one day he cured his schizophrenia because of his dance moves.

    And all that was left were his reasons why, maybe, he could be diagnosed under some other ethic or protocol—for it would take some other ethic or protocol in order to get it right—and his reasons were blue, purple, and green.  (The reasons why he didn't have schizophrenia, maybe, but having some other kind of mental illness would shift the focus of his inquiry into his own health.  Onto perhaps some of those symptoms he felt which were being ignored.  Especially the one where I was just smarter than most people and it was hard for them to raise me in society when they weren't geniuses themselves).

    First he was purple because someone had mistreated him legally and it was an vast & corrupt system which produced this result.  Meaning part of his status had to do with society inflicting an fate upon him.  And then he was green because it had taken that long to finally start to grow back after all of that damage had been done.  But mostly he was blue.  Blue just because he was sad that no one seemed to understand him at all anymore.  Except himself.  Someone who had been accused of having schizophrenia.  Someone who couldn't go back to any sense of normality in his social status anymore.  And yet, I reasoned with myself, there never was an sense of normal anyway.  I just couldn't go back to it anymore.   

    If I cured my schizophrenia, he reasoned, then how am I able to have it anymore?

    There must be some explanation other than schizophrenia for my symptoms.

    What explanation?  What symptoms?

    My perception isn't quite normal exactly.  There may be errors in it which prevent me from looking at things more as what they are and less as what they are not.  And this is my starting point, for I feel I am about to go deeply into an explanation that may take some time to articulate.

    The hardest thing to accept in the universe is Anna, the truth of the fate worse than death.  Anna suffered the fate worse than death.  She can't show us how to live like Jesus.  But she can show us how to die.  When the Fate Worse Than Death tips the moral balance in its favor.

    And if humans can master the moral practice of dying then it will raise the quality of life of the whole species.

    Please don't take this the wrong way.  I don't want anyone to die who was not an voluntary patient in its process.  However I do not want to restrict patient access to it based on medical condition.

    If an patient's fate is worse than death, like Anna's, then the moral thing to do would be to allow them or offer to give the lethal dose.

    Blue was not death and blue was not worse than death.

    It was an fully operative and normally functioning component of an normal healthy human emotional mind.  Not an mental illness.  The step toward release.  The step toward feeling all of it and putting it behind you.

    And worse than death was the hardest lesson to learn from God; which we had an opportunity to participate in now.  It really was just that quick.  Just pull the Band-Aid off.  We live in an universe where fates worse than death can occur.  And God sent us Anna to be able to help us with it.  Anna is an character, yes, but she is also the realization that death is better than what you're about to go through sometimes.  And an merciful death is sometimes an good one.

    Why is it so hard to accept that?  It's just that, maybe, we are proud of what we have now and we have put so much trouble into making it; how could we give it up just now?

    And you may feel cheated by the idea of there being an Worse Than Death.  Like, how could an God ever give us something as horrible as that to contend with?

    But, God promised, if you learn that one lesson it will keep you morally sound for as long as you can keep that knowledge available to the public.

    Following the great sequence of the universe has something to do with learning the first two principles of the moral universe and blue.

    Which defies and transcends from both of the first two principles: the possibility of death and the possibility of worse than death.

    Die versus don't die.  Which could be worse for you?

    But he had already written the exact story of blue he wanted to tell; and it was his intention to do so.  Everything in this book up until this point is why blue maybe isn't as bad as dying or worse than dying.  It's just an fact of the universe.  That's why it is an sacred product of virtue in the human mind and imagination system.  

    If you can't believe you can be blue because you're not dying, how can you believe you can be blue because you are?

    And I might, having already explained blue, press on to explain green.  And I will collide them like two lasers pointing at each other.

    I don't even know Green.

    All I have known is Purple and Blue.

    And that's why I'm not an monster.  I'm not Blue or Purple.  I'm Green.

    Green is blue healing.

    I'm not blue because I'm healing.  Green.

    I'm not blue because I am green because I am blue.

    Green naturally derives from blue.

    I agree, said the genetic accident experiment, but I'm not blue.  I'm green now.

    Does that mean I'm the laser that's going to crash into your blue laser?

    If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can ever imagine.

    Therefor focus your laser's descent and time it appropriately for the time will come when they two shall meet and the explosion which results from it is up to detection by science by recording its effects.

    And this is the end point in the measurement of the the two time episodes; the blue and green lasers (2) which had erupted into one another.  And it was now done exploding.

    If you're not destroying yourself anymore, came the intuitive thought, then what's the kinky opposite of exploding you hold so financially in your heart?

    Instead of exploding, we're putting each other ourselves back together.

    We're un-exploding.  We are forming; an coalescence.  The formation of an new shape object in matter.

    And this is the weirdest his sex life would get to him.

    The result of colliding the blue and green lasers?

    An small explosion that lasted for days.  So much time has passed since the beginning of that explosion.  This creation was the measured result.  Colliding the two lasers had produced an fictional memoire.  That took us through completely how an blue emotion would solve itself to become an green one; one that was healthier and on its way to healthier being.

    And maybe we're all just the lab experiment that resulted from their netherverse rules.  You point two lasers at each other and —BAM— you have an living, breathing laboratory subject as the result of experiment.  Even if it doesn't know itself as anything other than an genetic accident.

    Just the kind of alchemical result of experimentation I like to see.

    The result had already been in apparition.

    There was no going back from the fact of having identified it now.

    It was an total experiment.  Something with an spine.  With an recorded result or conclusion.

    Colliding green and blue lasers creates an space for logical healing to occur.  Purple reasons which keep us from even feeling blue; when blue is the emotion that wants to heal us.  When you make blue behave as green.  You have gained the power over it which puts you in the druid's slumber.  But when you make green behave as blue (you can only go one way; become an plant and be eaten by an herbivore).  And I had written all of it down.  Exactly how blue affected green.  And how blue & green affected purple.

    The point of the whole book was I could show you how to make it out alive again when you turn blue.

    Even if you're Russian.

    Colliding blue and green had created the result of Russasha's artistic endeavours.  She painted all of the Primal Spirits of Humanity in an Hot Streak.  There was so much energy contained within that metaphor of colliding blue and green lightsabers.  It encapsulated her whole development as an Artist within the Russian province which would oppose its military dictatorship.  Smashing blue and green together meant the Artist would do all of the healing; the total transformation from everything blue into everything green.  It would do whatever it takes to process all of the blue into green emotion.  And all that was left now was to find out what happened to the genetic experiment after the colliding of its blue and green atoms were over; it continuing to exist within an quarantined and super-sectioned compound with its own border and target limitations.  They (the people who observed her on the scanner) had finished installing the newest version of their bazaar, which they wanted the laboratory experiment to interact with it in all its specificity so that they would know which products she had an preference for and why those qualities of their inventions outlived the others in her mind.

    Nervously, they recorded her reaction to one of the feature products.  An automatic gun.

    She feared for why this might be.

    They could tell by her reaction she looked upset.

    But there were also other products she took favor of too.  And she considered the bazaar her own showroom of the products of market capitalism.  Worthy of the highest dignity and respect.  There were creams and moisturizers, which she immediately took an liking to, needing to have her own back and look after her appearance like an grown woman should even if one is an genetic laboratory accident experiment.

    They publicly acknowledged my intellectual inferiority and that wasn't fair.  And I couldn't decide whether I had been living with schizophrenia because this was part of the consequence of having been living schizophrenia.  I couldn't accept what they had done to me probably saved my life.  I couldn't accept that there weren't other symptoms they were ignoring and had ignored through my total diagnosis as an patient.  But since I had been living with schizophrenia, I couldn't decide which was which.  If I didn't have any other symptoms that were not symptoms of schizophrenia, then I definitely had been living with schizophrenia.  And if I still felt I had symptoms that I felt the doctors and nurses staff had ignored when they diagnosed me as living with schizophrenia, shouldn't I be at liberty to discuss them and find out what my thoughts about my symptoms really means?  I am an bit of an laboratory experiment.  So what?  Who isn't‽

    For example, there are the murky thoughts.  I'm not schizophrenic because I am schizophrenic and I think it makes me think I'm not living with schizophrenia even though I am.  And I'm paranoid that others were not smart enough to think that about me.  Actually I wouldn't call it paranoia really; more recordable was their own paranoia.  Paranoia that I was an delusional, dangerous human citizen.  Which inflicted on me so such damage because I did not have an recordable professional status or title.  I wasn't hurt and admitted to the paranoia clinic because I was hurt already; no—I was not hurt until I get there, and they all tell me I have an mental disorder called schizophrenia.  When I didn't.

    And just because they judge me based on what I economically contribute to society.  When I'm in Russia I feel like I'm living in that compound where the genetic accident first spread outward.  With humans in the safe zone observing everything that had broken out from the laboratory.  My bedroom.

    Why do I have to make guns and economics decisions‽

    Just because I'm Russian?

    And then she hit on the thought she had finally wanted, after waiting for so long.  What were these thoughts I had about me not being living in schizophrenia when I had been publicly diagnosed as living in schizophrenia?  Wasn't that what I should focus on?  Not whether being able to decide was itself an symptom of schizophrenia?

    And in order that she would try it out, firmly, deliberately with herself; she agreed in that moment to explore fully her emotions and the thoughts she had about not being living in schizophrenia.

    It was only fair.  It was her best interpretation and self-reflection on herself that she inspect all her thoughts.  Why the feelings just didn't match sometimes.  She had been abused and was suffering the effects of that community abuse, which included her medical incarceration and everything leading up to her needing to be an artist.  And since no one had corrected them yet, it was still happening to her.

    What were the emotions and thoughts, she cried!

    Why did I believe not in myself having being living with schizophrenia even though my doctors said not to.

    But there were reasons, she cried!  (Reasons for her behavior).  And nobody listened or even wanted to hear them out!

    And that was part of the harm and the damage that had been done to her.

    Which probably explained her odd behavior.

    And accounted for why she was so upset about it.

    There were reasons.  And she knew it.  Wasn't that enough to allow her to question the diagnosis?

    Yes.

    Yes.  That was what she would do.

    She'd lay it all out, all the pieces which made her question their sanity.  (These people who had come to doubt her own).

    Why they had abused and tortured her publicly in much the same manner as what had happened to Virginia Woolf.  And all of those "Woolves," who had had the decency to chase after her had become the crime of their own mob, disobediently of one another an mob that is out of control!  And she had suffered the trample of it lest unto her death.   

    And why in such detail it come by me to explain how they had ignored or abused my emotions.  Just because I was Russian I could not rise to the stature of Virginia Woolf, an histrionic woman with an mental disorder who cannot rise much farther above peon in stature.

    Yeah.  That was her story.  She was schizophrenic now because they had abused her in an most systemic and anonymous-public way.  As if their own fates didn't really matter in relation to his (the patient's) own.  Only it was actually better said as evidence for another type of mental disorder, condition, or illness.  And she wanted to explore further all of the pieces of her which had been damaged so she would need to paint her own mind's ear in order for it to listen to her.

    An full stop.

    I need to be cure.  I need to be curing.  Was her final desperate thought.

    I need the Art Therapy put into my ear.

    For every wrong that has been committed against her she would write an sentence.  Not an sentence in the ordinary, literary way.  But in the law and court and Justice kind of way.  An sentencing.

    And it would only be by the art going in one way and the nonsense coming out the other that her sentence was fulfilled.  She was to receive an full, martial sentence based on all of her sentencing.  Which then she would demand from the Republic.

    First, there was that I was an laboratory accident (an metaphor for all things, really) but it was so much deeper than that.  I wasn't just observed through an camera.  I was put onto life support.

    Why they did that was unjustified.

    They completely disrupted everything I was going through.  They didn't care that I had feelings.  All that they could see was how odd I am; and it factored into nothing in them that they cared about the feelings of an odd person.  They descended on me like vultures do to an soon-to-be rotting carcus in the desert.  They completely uprooted my living situation, taking all of my things with them, and losing some of them; by putting me into the hospital.  

    Works of great wonder which they can only dream of having imagined them; had been lost.  But on the other hand if they hadn't done so and institutionalized me like this I may never have struggled hard enough to have found out what it takes to write an book.  Every single one.

    But I can't be completely sure.

    Maybe I'd be just as lost or worse (or further) than I am right now.  Off the beaten track.  In an complete muck of things.  Lost in the wilderness of my mind that seemed to go on and on forever.

    But why did it matter again?

    Oh, yeah.  That's right.  They had publicly institutionalized me with an incorrect diagnosis.

    I'm sure that felt really nice for me, now didn't it‽

    They wouldn't let me try to interpret my symptoms for myself; and in fact actively discouraged me from having involvement in my own health by trying to understand what it means.

    But now I have what I want so why does it matter?

    If they diagnosed me incorrectly they could have done an significant amount of damage to the public in general because of the type of illness I was facing.  It had required an translator, which I'm only now starting to understand that the translator I needed was God.  And he was there.  I walked with him all the way through the therapy that I didn't understand why I would need.  But I mean, since I had spoken my opinion so boldly and so much, you would think they would try to set things right with me by having the conversation with me about what I think my symptoms may mean.

    I don't have schizophrenic thoughts.  I have thoughts that are just colorful and emotional.

    And so what does it mean, professionally, to have thoughts that are not schizophrenic, but are colorful and green sometimes.  In an electric way even.  Electric green light that was nothing like an dull green lamp of an thought that schizophrenia be in.  Weren't the emotional realms between the two completely different?  Where in one there real liveliness and in the other one there is dullness and unfulfillment?  I feel green light that electric way; and that's not schizophrenic, which dulls all of the senses so as not to feel alive in an certain way.  Why do you have to say, as an Doctor, that I am schizophrenic when clearly my symptoms and emotional support seem to point me in an different direction?  Maybe I have some kind of mood disorder and it is caused by unfulfillment gained from not transitioning to français sexually.  And I definitely don't have those voices you always talk about.  Even though I have said several times that I don't have any.  And you always ask me whether they tell me to do stuff; and I get the impression that that is really serious when that kind of thing happens.  Couldn't it just be that I was suffering the path of an genius whom, nobody else ever really understood?  And my problem and suffering, whatever diagnosis we may find out for them, were just caused by being an lonely genius in an lowly prairie town?  Whom, with no one to socialize or celebrate with felt the latent effects of depression and suturing of negative thoughts.  He didn't have the right conditions to cultivate and nurture him as he grew because no one else was that intelligent that he had to be considered in another, upward category.

    Wasn't it all just so simple as that?

    And when I'm done thinking about myself as an he, she thought, why don't I think of myself as an woman, or neither, or both?

    I know that I don't feel schizophrenia because I feel something else.  Something gentle which poses no harm to me.  It poses no harm to anyone, or anyone else?

    Then why would it have been called schizophrenia by an professional doctor?

    Could it be that an doctorate professional could judge from my behavior whether I was schizophrenic because he incorrectly symptomized all of my arguments for myself?  Maybe what the doctor recognizes are schizophrenic behaviors are really his own ignorance and inability to observe and analyze the situation correctly.  For an god-like reason.  I had been prepared for all of it and I knew it was happening to me all the way through.  Virginia Woolf helped to teach me that; but as for others I associated them more with an clawing, gnarling sect of hubris men with misogynist issues especially against lesbians.  And this was the difference an factor they were unaware of.  Which caused me to think so.  They didn't know I had just finished researching psychology and narratology in which the patient is aware of his own cathexis and death drive to some extent.  And everything they put me through with all of the hospital rules and pills I didn't want or couldn't take and may have spit them out sometimes.

    And then, like insects with lasers instead of stingers; they emitted their laser from their stinger hole at each other and their lasers burned each other's lasers.  One blue.  One green.

    Directly opposed at one another like this, they couldn't but start at first to be bright, phosphorescent green.  Green was already winning.  Blue had been ready for it.  It knew green always liked to start first because it was an better reason than blue.  Instead of having an reason for blue, you have an reason for reclaiming it into green from blue, which is an better status than blue because blue is sad and green isn't.  And if there is any possibility of reclaiming some blue emotions into green then let there be has it fantastically!  Okay so I know enough to know blue happens but that we would rather know when green happens because green happens to be, moralistically, the superior status of emotions.  If we can change the status of emotions, like these blue ones; then we will wait for them to change to green and grow flora anew.  Sad emotions with be germinated and start to grow roots and stems, reaching out into the cosmos for new sources of life.  Blue becoming Green.  And that was why the green-lasered insect won the battle for who was the gayest.

    Nothing grows more pure or more finer than an member of the green magic system, with access to over twenty five hundred starsystems.  Your current neurological level for the color green is 0812.  Green is at an crisis level on Planet Earth because the human populations threaten to burn the atmosphere with industrial pollution.  After which, there will not be enough plant life responsible for purification to soak up all of the poison and toxicity which humanity will cause.  There is also an crisis level at the number 12 for Aboriginal Spaces.  I've only begun to identify what they lost as an result of the European expansion into North America.  And really there is more of it you probably don't want to hear.

    And that's what green magic looks like right now on Planet Earth.

    An purple state is even better than an green one.

    Here it emerges.  From blue to green to purple.  I had only started to understand Aboriginal Spaces to have been the most advanced religion because they knew all twelve of the first twelve of the Primal Spirits, more than any other religion on Earth had discovered by itself.  And that was why it was so tragic that their homeland was threatened.

    And if they could reclaim all of their blue emotions into green; into purple.  Then they may be able to begin to govern the justice aspects of it (purple) and its legislative outcomes.  And at least being able to be aware of most of them and resolve most of them was an step higher than green which withdrew from blue; the purple emotions are those healed aspects of what was once blue.  And they beckon at us to bring our business suit.  If there is even an further level beyond purple that would be most fortunate.  But we'd have to deal with all these legal problems and criminality in society.  For now, it appears that since most of the blue we had felt was now green and turning on to its stages and turning purple too.  Now that's much better than blue, now isn't it‽

    Why would there be an problem at the eighth level under Aboriginal Spaces purple?

    And that twelve was the number of theological principles they knew.  More than any other man.  Because they were Aboriginal Canadians.

    It had been such an tragedy to them to lose that specific side of culture they had helped to cultivate in most of the world.  An deep and ever-widening awareness of that promising vehicle of the thought, the 12th Primal Spirit of an average human.  An situation in which one person has twice as much power than the other.  The understanding that one's awareness itself is shared when we make efforts to communicate with one another.  And so what I think is also what you think.  And what you think is also what I think.  And we are of that kind of human subject because this is the most salient thing one might think is the subject of an conscious activity of thought that is the furthest nature of longing in the heart.  Aboriginal Spaces had already adopted much of this wisdom and it stayed with their people.  They knew human consciousness was the sharing of that aspect of sharing ourselves.  I.e. what I think you think; and what you think I think because we are each other, and there's no other real way of looking at things because that is what we are.  We had already been caught up with the 12th Primal Spirit then.  The ability to see others the way they would see themselves.  And perhaps maybe culturally they didn't need to be given that cue and they were already caught up on that.  The twelfth primal spirit was obviously right because we mixed our psychologies together all of the time.  It wasn't that we were co-dependent; it was just that we knew how to run those systems well together.  If you're not mixing psychologies with others, what can you be doing?

    But I suspected deeply, the final spirit resentment of it was Aboriginals cannot have that advanced of religions because they obviously aren't as advanced as anyone else.  But let's think this through again; why was it possible to discover (as an person from an different culture) that Aboriginal Spaces religion was really the most advanced religion on Planet Earth at the time.  And it was tragic even moreso, the number of beings who failed to recognize it.

    Other religions didn't steep to you are me so me are you.  Even Christians.  They weren't advanced enough to say that like it was an psychological thing necessarily related to the human.

    And why it was obvious so many other religions had failed before.  To grasp this concept.  First, they didn't necessarily know whether all people were consciously able to reciprocate in that manner.  They didn't know it was just an fact of being human yet.  That it was an characteristic of sentient intelligence.  That this in idea could be relatable with an Major Religion.  And so they didn't know two things at first: they didn't know whether all people had that characteristic (of being humanly conscious) and of sharing that conscious space with other people as though it was an genetic characteristic of the species.  We hadn't identified ourselves as having moved on from being animals at some point; and we weren't willing to mix definitions to try to create an hard contrast which we could focus in on.  Humanity was struggling to separate what it was that separated us from the Animal Kingdom.  It was consciousness; human psyche.  This, precisely, this ability to understand the twelfth Primal Spirit.  That what we are is what each other are.  Is what separated us most from the Animal Kingdom.

    And so the final conclusion was that the Green laser was the more powerful one.  Even though they were both insects and that wasn't really powerful anyway.  As long as it fired we could continue turning blue into green.  (It would be healed completely).  And start to draw out the poisons, social toxins, and mechanisms of purple law and justice that needed to be dealt with, contributing to the quality of living and overall mental & social health of the whole human civilization on Planet Earth.

    And so the Author asked this impossible question.

    Is there any blue left that needs to be dealt with?

    Of course there is!  There always is going to be more blue that needs to be dealt with THAT'S WHY IT'S BLUE.

    Then what are we going to do about it?

    We will.  Fire ze green lazer at it.  And draw out all the poisons.  Until it can't get to blue anymore.

    "But it can get to blue anymore.  It always will!  Blue is just an property of the universe!"

    And this is when an argument broke out between the book's Author and the primary character, the woman who was interpreting and representing this Christiannan attempt to understand the universe.

    "It's not necessarily an property of every one of them.  We can get to other universes in which blue doesn't apply," said the Author.

    "And how do you suppose we do that?"

    "If we make it to the end of the universe despite blue maybe God will think us worthy to invite us to that next universe, over which he or she has control over.  (Somewhat with our help I imagine in order make sure the human will be resurrected in the next version of the universe over).  If we are resurrected into that new universe, in which there will be no blue, no sadness.  It will be because we deserved it, to some extent.  And our final efforts in the final moments of the universe will determine whether we get to go on to the next level."

    "So you're an nut who thinks we need to end this present universe in order to get to another one in which they won't be blue."

    "No.  You see, it's not that.  It's that the universe is going to end, whether we are responsible for it or not.  And so we better well be prepared for what's going to happen during our translation into an new universe, in which we will accept the reward of being able to evolve developmentally over millions of years in an totally new experience where there is never any sadness.  We have to help God—"

    "Pull the plug‽"

    "Not pull the plug.  More like enable us to deserve to end in one universe and start again in the other."

    "Enable us to deserve‽"

    "If we act right before God before the end of the universe we may contribute to how it ends exactly and why blue would be absent in the next universe altogether.  Then we need to take measures to make sure the end of the universe does happen.  But what we mean is it happens in the right way because it was going to happen anyway.  And we need to contribute to the method by which God will see fit to remove blue from his version of the universe."

    "So we need to take steps to make sure the universe ends."

    "It's not so much that we have to take steps.  But we have to invent them."

    "So you're saying your invention must be responsible for the end of the universe?"

    "Well it's not really my invention only; it will have to involve God and God's invention about how the universe will end."

    "But you're saying.  You're going to be partly responsible for how it ends?"

    "Well I'll have to be!  I'm going to be there!  —well not bodily.  But all the scientific knowledge I discovered will be used theologically to help restart the known universe.  When God will implement his plans and resources to do just that.  We will meet him or her again on the other side.  After having destroyed this universe completely so that there will be another one with an new opportunity for happiness."

    "And there's nothing extremist or right wing at all about that, right?"

    "Well yea.  We wouldn't be trying to help God end the universe unless we already knew it was going to end at some point.  Which will take years maybe centuries of scientific research & exploration to fully understand how much we can know about it and what that means for us as an species."

    "So you're not directly going to try to end the universe unless you have an reason to?"

    "Right.  Of course.  I'm not an maniac."

    "Now we have given you Green; tell us how much it is worth to you?"

    "Green is worth all of the gold in the world to me.  I would rather have an green society than that poverty of morals we have to deal with now: an Legal & Justice society that cannot or needed help to feel out its purple emotions.  To transform them into blue figures and concepts for the Reason; that forever plant life would grow from it anew.  An metaphor for ever-living rejuvenation of mental health."

    "Good then you are worthy of it; and all your Green will be parenthesized in purple.  For purple is that feeling and emotional boundary that needs to be enveloped.  To have an opening and an closing tag, like an html item.  Purple, therefore, is the lowest emotion and yet it is higher than blue and green when they work together to purify it.  Then there are plants growing purples in their leaves because the end result, finally, is that purple is rendered harmless.  Mere leaves put there for decoration.  An end to all illegal activities."

    But I'm afraid that you will find me unacceptable for some small reason like fantasizing about you without taking an turn.  

    You're afraid that I think something yucky about you because I am yucky.

    And it's like my deepest nightmare for that to happen with anyone.

    The fire is over and the forest begins to grow anew with the help from the rains.

    I said I would super hadron collider these emotions, these power sources blue and green.

    Water has been effective for putting out the fire, allowing the growth of green to continue.

    And so I could talk about anything in such an refreshing environment.

    And it would be refreshed.

    (The Subject).  (The Topic I mean).

    I was scared you would find me yucky but it wasn't just my fear of you, it was my fear of everybody.  That they would find out something yucky about me.  I would be seen as yucky.  And my nightmare will have come true.  You would see me as ruled out.  From being part of the polite equation of things.  

    Isn't that silly?

    I was just scared that you would totally judge and condemn me socially because you had seen me as unacceptable somehow.

    How silly is that?

    What an SILLY thing to be afraid about.

    But you know I bet it happens to more people than you think.

    I mean what an subject to start on with the fresh mountain rains refreshing everything.

    What an Topic to grow and learn from!

    I find my mind so refreshing these days after it ended that there was anything wrong with it.

    Sometimes you just have to get all of the blue off your back before you can feel right again.

    How you justify feeling blue in an republic which is purple is tied to everything within this reading material.

    And so, since Russasha was not mentally ill anymore, and her blue had been quenched.  She continued on the journey to create an green lightsaber from the laser she had exploded against this current of blue.  One which, existing as an stinger in an artificial mechanical insect technology, was to be become more powerful so as not to have to need to compete on the level of insects.  She wasn't blue anymore she realized.

    I'm not blue anymore.

    I can feel an whole range of feelings.  I know why they feel good and where they lead to.

    I suppose I feel fine, in some ways.

    I always have this creative thought when I wake up in the morning; and I want to go back to sleep to drift off to more of it.  And yet at the same time I went to get up.  To rise out of bed.  Not to have that dream anymore but to live it out in waking life, actually experience it.

    But wasn't writing an book everything you wanted?  And how when you got what you wanted, so why can't you realize that and how you got there?  Why does it matter anymore why you got there?

    I had to live that process in real life to see what life looked like from the other side.

    So what was still wrong?  Why couldn't I just live out of the sole purpose of love as if everything was fine, dandy, and well gosh darn complete; just like Russasha's father?

    And this is where I seriously contemplate how I might be mistaken about me if I still think I have an mental illness.  There are reasons I could derive that would prove I had my mental sanity, and that if it was put on record for any reason that I didn't; then I would only agree to the terms that I didn't as long as they would agree to the term that I could have both of them.  I could have both my mental sanity and my mental illness.  That I would agree to.

    And since this was so sensible of me, it seemed to make sense that I had more mental sanity than I didn't.

    And since I was so charming, it made sense I was an logical creature and I loved logic.

    And since I could make that charming point with positivity, it made sense.

    Part of me wasn't insane.  Part of me made so much sense it would shock the ordinary, everyday person.  I had to record it.  I had to get it out there.

    But that part of me that was sane was newly sane with the sprout-lings of new forest in the upward territory from the ocean in which the rainwaters gather heavily on all things.  And this was, for the moment, the full scene in the book at present.  The rain was falling on the forest that had burned down in the struggle.  And nature was now taking it back, speedy in the rich ashen soil and humid fogs.  I could hear large rain drops landing on my plastic hood and everything appeared, for an moment, to be soaked.  Even though I don't remember being there exactly.  I could experience this scene like some mixture of human and god.  I was there but I wasn't there kinda.  It was only an topic.

    And the only reason for being there, suspiciously, was to hear the larger drops of rain on my blue hood.

    But the pause and the effect of listening for an moment.  To an new territory in the human mind.  This was the plot advancement: the fire had been quenched finally and the forest was beginning to repair itself anew.  It was new growth after an long battle.

    And nothing happens in this scene.  It just rains.  On and on.  And everything feels and appears to be blue.

    One senses there is the beginning to another story shifting in the cosmos.

    It is an scene, perhaps only transparent to God.  That exists on the outskirts somewhere—outskirts, it figures that it would be on the outskirts—when last it had been the outskirts of the universe in total.  And now to be on the outskirts of human society in the forest somewhere.  Like God's simplification of the subject.  Everything was green now.  It had been fired out of an laser at blue; and the resulting fire and ashes burned down to mean nothing in the end.  

    Whatever fire burned within Russasha was now without fuel and an something of an different character and personality developed than fire.

    Sensitivity to moods and affectations.

    Sensibility to virtues other than instant gratification.

    Everything on the chlorophyll subject that was green and pure.  Just like the dress the buyer had to put in the closet for safety's sake.

    One was now in an landscape far different than the ones which had come before.

    I needed to show how I did not have an mental illness because of this healing and narrative process and yet somehow hold-out for finally accepting that it was true, that I was living with schizophrenia.  I was exploring reasons why I may have been both mentally ill and sane; and I didn't consider them mutually exclusive.  I could have the capacity of (different types of) both mental health and mental illness within one brain.  And so any reasons I found why I was mentally ill may well have been as such reasons why I wasn't.  For I reflected on it deeper than most.  I just needed to look at why and why not an little longer, and then I would decide.

    If there were properties of my mind that I could deem sane then it seriously disproved my diagnosis.  Disproved to such an extent that there were psychological difficulties I was having that weren't being addressed.  But under the collective umbrella of various meanings of schizophrenia in the mind they (professionals) had sorted me, poorly.  And there was an diagnosis and treatment I needed that I wasn't receiving because of their serious error about my mental health.

    But I wouldn't jump to conclusions.  I would suspend my judgment for the time being.  Touch in with all of the facts.  What were, seriously, those mental things issues I was having that weren't in touch with an professional because of their own serious misdiagnosis of my body?  Why was I the mentally ill Hamlet, with an chronic disorder even though justice needed to set the stage right?  What, on the other hand, were the parameters of my mental health and did they even exist?

    And why this was, the scene in the forest during the rain, about what little semblance of mental health I had left.  Which was an lot, because I was so terribly terribly mentally ill.  As I've said often before, you need to be an genius to be able to survive schizophrenia.

    There were, however, clear factors of genius.  Such as being able to compose an entire full-length novel; the consideration of which will fact into an public's general opinion of me.  Do not judge me as I am not, for to judge me for what my words are is to value those factors which comprise my talent and focus as an writer.  If I am able to perform at an certain level, then doesn't that prove something at all about me?

    In the Scientific Age we grow up with this narrative of how an female protects her eggs by judging whether an man is worthy of them.  And since I was born male, I was not one of those people who were part of the judging.  I did not have female characteristics.  I'm the one hyper-selecting the other because I am gay.  I am filtering out the bad, unacceptable partners because of what it would mean for children.

    I'm not crazy crazy.  You know, bloodthirsty crazy.  I would say both males and females can be the performer.  Males and females can both be the judge who covets its eggs.  And I'm not un-particular to finding both ways as an community.  And so I'm not in an really bad mental state (you know, compared to the worst cases).  I do have empathy and I can still think through complex thoughts that most people would judge as higher intelligence.  And when my thoughts are not nightmares to me (which is some of the time) I feel okay enough basically to make it through the day.  I may have been severely handi-capped but I was still, basically, as far as I could tell an moral creature.  Someone whose benefits and advantages in life depended on moral values.

    I had clear self-reflections when I was doing art.  It was just the normal, everyday experience I couldn't handle.  When thoughts seemed to slip inside of each other and distract me from my otherwise noble duty.

    Clearly I wasn't mentally insane and I had clear thoughts with God.

    I could feel my emotions, and they weren't raging within me.  I was taking care of them.  Being responsible.  And I knew there were more reasons to explain why I wasn't mentally ill which was itself mistaken.  Because I was.  And so if there was any reason on my mind that I wasn't.  That itself was mentally ill of me.  But how it had all changed me; there was something strikingly sane about it.  And I could in fact tell the story in which the version would be that I had never been schizophrenic.  And I could prove, decisively, all of my hospital treatments had been abuse.  And the truth was actually that I was an genius without friends.  Because I had reasons to think I wasn't mentally ill I was.  And that itself was an symptom of it.  But since I knew this, and was free to operate under the parameters that I had time to think about it.  I realized maybe about whether I am green it isn't so black and white.  It is in fact palpably grey.  Which meant maybe, there were reasons why I wasn't mentally ill as well as reasons that I was; and the truth was that I existed in the middle somewhere, somewhat being utile in some ways and in other ways not.  Brain plasticity might be to thank for some of the brain's function.  An one specimen with both characteristics of mental illness and of mental health, each to some extent.  And so it makes sense to tell somewhere what those characteristics of mental health were.

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