[continued from previous part..]
Now let’s hear from a hoky character named Hope. “Why are you so furious at me.”
The Author had to pause before answering as follows;
Nothing from Hope.
“You think I should go back and change it. I don’t really feel like it but maybe, it seems like I have an angry side that could be sublimated into something. To explain though I really have awful thoughts like awful thoughts that actually-good people, are definitely trying to hurt me. It feels very real?”
“Well — whatever I wrote before, it got me to here, so. I don’t know if I’m gonna change it but I might not be all angry anymore.”
“Don’t want ya to leave,” said Author in a sort of mocking-oneself’s-own-awkwardness voice. But it wasn’t that awkward. “Are you mad though.”
It sounded convincing.
Well. It did sound really convincing but The Author still thought maybe like some stuff would come up later; if not even for the other person, then within the projection of the other person on the page on some very late night when The Author was wigging — something would come up. Or maybe it wouldn’t be all made up. But that’s fine too.
“I believe you” said Author “but, I am sorry I was ‘furious’ at least it’s all like, there for you to see so you can recognize is as a certain pattern of the illness. Like the sort of nuance of it that’s what I meant by pattern. Like I don’t know. Otherwise I’d delete it.”
“You don’t even know.”
“Why are you talking all quiet like that. It is intimidating. I don’t even know?” The Author was like oh my god but not like playing a victim here. “You’re right..”
“Well. Since I’m talking more in this scene, I will just say that.. it’ll be fine, don’t project onto me either. Often I am *does quotation mark motions* ‘not like that’ if I come across a certain way in a world that is not real life. I have my reasons maybe but maybe it is out of my hands and that’s the whole point, of writing. Sorry it got angry — I don’t know how that happened we can talk about it. I’d be shocked if people read. We can talk about it, Hope. That is not your real name I just think it fits my style.. I wouldn’t overcomplicate.”
“What do you mean it’s not my real name.”
“I wouldn’t overcomplicate,” The Author repeated.
Author paused before ending the scene to correct the following: the word hoky is spelled hokey. “My mistake.” And it means corny, which means according to Merriam-Webster.com “mawkishly old-fashioned: tiresomely simple and sentimental.” So it is a hokey name sort of.
“Stop playing so innocent.“
She was angry. “I’m gonna pretend I don’t know whose lines are who. Hope Hope hope Hope Hope hope hope Holy Holy Holey!”
The Allen Ginsburg poem “Footnote to Howl” reminds me of how do-gooders act on the internet; as a Columbia University obedient, submissive student-patron of many years, I’ve had to be open to letting The Beatniks influence my work — it’s one thing Columbia is known for: being the Alma Mater of Kerouac and Ginsburg, and more recently of the American four-man boy band Vampire Weekend who I wouldn’t ever place into the same category as the Beatnik boys because, I actually think the Beats are kind of just educated hippies as opposed to hipsters; and those are not the same, it’s a class-thing — and anyway I don’t doubt that it’s what allowed me to see rich Cat Marnell (who’s gotten a lot of runtime in this book) as more than just a white girl drug addict, was because of the connections I saw there. What connections? In an interview with Vice from a decade ago, when she would have been my age and getting famous, she said, “The reason I write about drugs so much is that it’s always been a boys club—the shameless drug user writers club at least. Women always write the recovery memoirs.” She also said some other pretty remarkable things in that interview: “I hate the ‘lady blogger’ thing. I am a person in a woman’s body. I am a person before I am a girl. For example, I have never been one to just defend women because they are women.” I do not know Cat, have not corresponded once except in a fan email she responded to when I was 20 which I’ll try to find the screenshot for (my friend Alex was like “aw” that she did that; my side email was “levitatingcow@gmail” still back then, a gag I guess), so I don’t know if she’d resent me pointing out a connection I saw in a conference I saw Susan Sontag do with Normal Mailer in which she confronted him about his use of the term “lady writers.” It just sounded really similar to what Cat said in her Vice interview; if I were any writer I would not resent a comparison to Susan Sontag but that’s me, unless I didn’t want to be thought of as a lesbian. That is not me flirting and since I try to be open about when I’m sarcastic, right, that time I wasn’t being.
Cat strikes me as someone with really sad eyes and loads of unrecognized depth; I’ll put a picture of her somewhere not here because I try to not overdo it on the pictures. Old journals, which I now consider drafts or work I did for the stuff I wrote that will probably be my good-stuff someday, had tons of pictures of just me — I think that raises the interesting question of what it would “look like” to be one’s own muse.
In real life though I always felt as though I didn’t look much like how I managed to come across in certain photos, significantly different in fact: I also learned that it only takes one good photo to change how a lot of people think of you. Do I have good photos all over the place to use as examples of how I know this? Not really but maybe I’ve thought about it when studying stars as though I were a creep [but not ever actually]. I just imagined the shit about what it must be like! So I’ve made educated guesses and written my controversial incel-vibe work about it; educated guesses are often wrong by the way.
Maybe I could let myself keep talking in the first person, like Durga Chew-Bose does in her book that none of the critics called “self-centered and a navel-gazing” — her book, I’ve mentioned before, is called Too Much and Not the Mood which is exactly how everyone reading this feels right now oh my god enough about youuu.. — people in real life who see the plain me always comment, say if we take a photo as a group, that “I’m photogenic”: to myself I am thinking, that’s just because I’ve practiced. It’s also because my mom used to film us on VHS literally hours and hours every day in a way that, in retrospect, I feel was manic and reflected her sort of crazy side. I don’t think I come across that well visually on film, I look fat but the camera adds tons of weight, maybe ten pounds. Still even with those pounds, I know how to sort of handle the camera just bein’ there all the time: I don’t quite shut down, I don’t know, oh also I practiced on Youtube for about a year when school wasn’t going that well for me: to just get a sense of my face including some tics I developed after all the treatment and drug abuse. Maybe that’s a bit deterministic, to assume: the thing about how “I’m used to cameras.” (It was part of why I came to be a wonderful Jewish feminist film artist!) [Sarcasm.] Now we just have boxes of VHS tapes that we never even watch, ever, that might be waterlogged because we were actually poor and our house was always having these maintenance problems. So the basement would leak or something; I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of that shit got wrecked, shipwreck-like.
My character Hope is a muse and isn’t all made up; I think there’s enough in preceding chapters for people to make educated guesses about who but also for me to keep being cautious toward — I know the extremes my mind goes to on its accord, in order to construct entirely false, detailed elaborate *wait for it* characters-in-place-of narratives. Durga Chew-Bose has her finger on the pulse of these changing trends, too. She’s only ever been her own muse; well, her and her friends. And anyway while narratives have a start and end, i.e. if I have one running in my mind it’ll stop bothering me at some point… characters? What do I do with them. You can put them in relationships or just see how it goes getting coffee and, I always liked hearing Lena Dunham talk about writing Girls with her team [which included her co-writer and close friend Jenni Konner], because she would honestly talk about characters running into each other like “oh we just always thought it would be interesting to see what happened when we put them together,” and it seemed to be done tenderly; albeit maybe a bit incestuously like in that film Hannah and her Sisters where all the characters just swap mates and are still chilling. Probably not true to any of my life-experience, where a break-up usually means I just never talk to those people again: but hey I kind of still do like that film because it’s one of the better ones by that person Woody Allen. My high school mentor Richard Schwartz who was a good person, disliked partly because he was obsessed with teaching us about the Holocaust, said that was his favorite film. But yes. They keep bothering me, the characters, unless I guess I control them *incel cackle HAH HA HA EE *; though in Hope’s case she doesn’t bother me. I think I have been abusive, to Hope… a creep but she’s fiction! So is me.
Wait though what about when it was clearly obvious that the creep roles I was writing covertly for myself as a compulsive unknown writer were clearly just based on me. Is that still fiction lol. It’s not funny though. My book On Becoming a Doctor Instead of Someone Insane is a little bit of a nerve-racking title to give a book because it sets the tone off the bat of what’s at stake; there’s always a chance [I] could go insane, and becoming a doctor is probably the opposite extreme: it’s very extreme, it takes like fifteen years or more. It’s just [II] dramatic I guess, too. I try not to be needlessly dramatic: but as I’ve learned from reality TV, life is sometimes dramatic. One reason I think the Kardashians’ reality show is good is actually because, it’s interestingly sort of undramatic. It is calming and I heard that Jennifer Lawrence used to watch it in between takes of scenes on that one Aronofsky film where I literally got worried about her, the real her not even the character. I needn’t have been worried because she landed with such class: I don’t like using the word “class” or “classy” because they’re kind of unclassy words. What might be better, chic, elegant? Neh, I don’t know, I just think they sound like an outsider commenting on what’s higher-up. Hope is someone, my own character whose trajectory I feel responsible toward, who I should be cautious with as a writer because, she’ll be fine, she’s not a child and it is true — she the character is out of my own self’s, The Author’s, league. What the fuck are you talking about. This is crazyyy! Well, this whole section is.
Completely-hypothetically it would present an obstacle in real life to go after someone like Hope: as someone significantly lower class I would be the type in a group of her friends, her chic friends to draw comments like “you creep me out.” They probably wouldn’t say it in words but in some way, they might express that. There would just be a lot of mismatched [sex] life experience and if I talked about it ever, off the page — about how “I’m only sort of half-joking about the trans thing because the type of women I go for are so out of my league, that, standing next to them I look like a man” [which is why I don’t bring that up in therapy; that sounds really self-deprecating and I’ve learned as I’ve grown up that people don’t appreciate you being self-deprecating if it’s not even authentic’ they’d disagree that I come across like a man] (and I also have a good rapport with my doctors now and don’t need them thinking, I’m going off the deep) — and anyway it would just be really clear, really fast, that the probability is not extremely high of it working out with Hope, first of all because she is not real, but as I said she “isn’t all made up” (and I wouldn’t overcomplicate)! I’ve always been a big, dreamer: oh but whenever I say the word “dreamer” I think of the DREAM act. The DREAM act or Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act, according to the American Immigration Council “would permanently protect certain immigrants who came to the United States as children but are vulnerable to deportation.” This was passed in 2001 and since then America’s policies on illegal immigration including by minors have become more draconian; If I’m talking about awful topics in this book like WWII-internment camps then, how could I just forget to mention this?
I am not extremely educated on it, first of all because it’s not very well-covered; but (do not take this as a joke, or as comic relief in any way) what I am educated on is Selena Gomez, who I used to abuse, in my writing: her character’s name was Serena Lopez and she was probably the FIRST muse of mine as a writer who wasn’t all made up because clearly she was based on Selena Gomez. But, it became very messy and bad: I just didn’t understand some of the star-stuff, and, then I got my feelings really fucking hurt, when I did start noticing her doin’ shit to humble.. arbitrary fans. Like what? She actually has a history of being called out for sometimes stealing work: that probably wasn’t to humble people, she just liked their work. So take it! Honestly I don’t remember it that well: my mom (a bit like with Josh Safran and Gossip Girl, though she or not-that-many-people would know his name — this well-known TV showrunner, who I think based on the media wants to be more famous, he seems to say yes to interviews and snarks during them: someone who I would describe as the gay Scooter Braun of TV starmaking — I think he could be a good real director and is paradoxically “limited by a huge stage” but as someone in a black box typing alone with no one there to fuck with me but retard-shadows I’m jumping at, threatening to kill me in my dreams, I’d prefer to compete on fair terms) [there are staggered starts in this race! who forgot to set the staggered starts] [and anyway my mom who named me Morgan would say clandestinely almost bitchily hardly caring at all “I think it upsets you when something that was so hard for you is so much easier for someone else,” and maybe these are assumptions and maybe that is life, just unfair but as I was sayin’ she..] was the only one in the entire world oh wait and Jillian Elizabeth Carroll my best friend for years, who would sometimes be like a mommy figure to me (which I don’t want)[to be], to believe that Selena Gomez might actually have bothered to steal some of my work lols. I say these two words too much, “in retrospect,” but here I go again: in retrospect it wasn’t that big of a deal, and it doesn’t that bother me now but it REALLY did then. I think famous, richer people do think they’re more important than the little guys: and I think reverse classism is real, maybe like how reverse racism is and Jillian a rich black person would be the first to tell me that “I’m racist too.” We would sit together like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy [definitely not like that because we never fucked] and talk manically about Jim Jones and Hitler. I had a therapist (initials JB, who my mom despised) say as a word of advice to me, just all deadpan “he’s never had the best experience with rich people” but I haven’t determined yet whether that’s a cynical and sort of bitter asshole thing to say, as me, thinking about who I’ll ever be friends with in this life coming out of that whole experience of watching a TV show and losing my mind from it. The fuck. At least I didn’t lose everything. I lost my name but not everything. That gives them no chance to sound-like-good-people when maybe I imagined they weren’t at all to someone like me, “they” refers to people involved on that show who wouldn’t care if I’d have taken my own life after just everything that happened, the cheating on the test because I couldn’t focus or do anything; sure I’ll take the L for how that’s wrong but I think it’s true I did come maybe like 75% close to committing suicide, which is better than like 90% about to do it. But on the other hand how else do you explain it, those decisions I made versus students in my class besides that I got the shit beat out of me figuratively by really mean-ass people and I didn’t want to lose what security I had (how else would you explain that besides: they took the bold step over me, other people over me, me an annoying wretch, at some points) [Hope did this once too, in a dream (she doesn’t even like me) but I’ve been weird in dreams so all is forgiven I just don’t think you should expect me to be there the next time this happens to you, you got lucky so did I: and also it’s dangerous to have Hope, in this book, when readers don’t have any way to kind of attach a real human to it.. nope, it really becomes like, “this-whole-passage makes NO sense”] (and it is dangerous for other reasons, Hope, she’s dangerous to have as a friend, there’s a Lana del Rey song about this called “Hope is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have”: but I’m not really a woman since going back to school and just seeing how it went when I tried to be, so the lyrics wouldn’t apply the same to me). You could say, and this might be true because the world is run by gangsters like Selena Gomez who Lana called “very cute” and who has a very sexual almost masculine side, that it’s really fucking stupid to post my work if I don’t want it stolen: I am the perfect one to steal from, I have no fans, or sway, I am not from a well-known family that might strike back. But I don’t post all my work, I really don’t, and, if someone like Caroline Calloway never posted her work she’d be fucking no one.
Of course, there are worst fates than being forgotten. I’d rather be forgotten, than be associated with Gossip Girl Part Two. Please do not regard me as “a part of it” just because my old name Lola Morgan, happens to be on it and she happens to be what I described earlier as a ridiculous MeToo girl who has a lot of scenes opposite Tavi Gevinson; who must have thought of me, the real me, as a failed artist.
My mom says the bipolar card “is a good card to pull” if say, I don’t know, I were to trip in some way or make a mistake; but I’m wondering right now about “the poor card.” I think it would be a good moment to explain it; am I poor or middle class and exaggerating? What different would it make.
My parents declared bankruptcy when I was like 17, it allowed me to realize that a lot of what they’d (mostly my mom) had bought for me like nicer clothes to fit in and stuff, was all kind of a show. I am not making this into some grand metaphor for what just happened with Gossip Girl but I am saying that factually I am pretty poor; I’d hang out at friends’ places and be cognizant of it. Just respect the truth, including how it plays out in power dynamics and affects people’s health, made me fat by age 21 when I changed my name to “Lola” briefly; you don’t have to respect me but also don’t have to mess with me. I don’t get it, but I’m not that much of a victim because I’m a little older and I’m pretty tough and super educated. Not that you aren’t but I’m more educated; not in sex though. Never, ever bully me about how I’m not shit sexually or I will kill myself. I am not mad at you I just think you’d be surprised, how vulnerable a person I am in real life when I’m not aping my self in order for people to not do it first to me. I don’t think you seem that vulnerable but could be more. I am not sure whether I’m speaking in second person apostrophe, to a big name, or whether I actually expect you to read this. I don’t feel I have that much to lose by losing my version of you in my imagination, who looks best in the color green. I know that’s not super specific. It is not Slytherin green.
I’m Gryffindor but stop acting like such a victim of me. Get your head on straight. I’ll stop writing weird comments; it was my power differential bullshit, trying to jumpstart my dead brain after being Crucio’ed or who knows. It is not all about me; if we had been friends in that time 2020-2022 though it also would not be ALL ABOUT YOU. I don’t care how much fame, money, and fanshit you have to make your life harder. It wasn’t fun for me; I can’t be that happy for you, I don’t care if this was like some Elizabeth Smart-level shit. The cruciatus curse is what made Neville Longbottom’s parents go insane, and Hermione got it bad. The reason I don’t care is not because I don’t care, it’s because it is not my problem anymore: I tried to help, and please do not pretend you are still the person you were as a kid, because look at yourself, you’re not. You are gorgeous, that is not going to be an issue for you: it does mean, you’re not the same tomboy person you were as a kid.
At last I am free from being petrified 24/7 and crucio‘ed here and there, I heard you laughing and I don’t forgive you because I just don’t have a way to.
I do not trust this person but it is just me being smart and my middle name is Elizabeth: literally how stupid would one have to be after all the facts had been laid out and examined *which is basically what I did from a very limited perspective, from my laptop: I don’t even carry one anymore because even remembering this time of using it like a poser spy makes me feel unpleasant ugly-feelings* but I would not go on a vendetta against her: I would ask that she do not use my name Morgan Wilcock in her work, no matter what because that would be hypocritical. It would be doing the same thing Josh Safran did to me when I called him a rapist, using my name in his work as though bullying me savagely without my consent: leaving me alone with no way to find support for what happened. I am not correcting that last sentence because it’s “hypocritical,” it isn’t.
It’s as though it happened, it didn’t. I do not want to know the real story. And luckily I won’t.
I almost ended my life, but instead I just opted for social suicide and I already estimated there was 75% probability of my actual death actually occurring at random one night in maybe early 2022 when I’ve had worse moments [where I definitely planned it and, reasons says I should have died]. Caroline, is, a self-made artist who does sex art, who really got creative with how she used her platforms. She wasn’t wealthy but her parents spoiled her; I’d beg to differ that they just wanted her to be okay. She has a sad story because her father killed herself after his daughter found moderate fame, including some low moments: posing nude (some would call that her at her peak, I don’t think it has to be) [as a medical professional in training I see a lot of what was happening as her going insane steadily], and she is probably best-known for an article in The Cut that was read by a lot of people, and well-received but which did not help protect Caroline from being the princess of Meta *while Tavi is the queen.* It might have averted that fate. How did she get people to care in the first place? She’s kind of [well] basic, why do people find her interesting. Her story was that Caroline thought of world-building inspired by Harry Potter and some other children’s book called Artemis Fowl, and tried to market herself accordingly. She was young enough that it worked fine but old enough that it felt like a peak into places we shouldn’t be. Why is there a snark community on Reddit just for her where people use lines from interviews with Josh Safran in order to snark against her. He said once in an interview for Interview magazine that one of the principal roles on Gossip Girl 2.0 who had some life story points in common and the same last name was not a callout to her […] “but I mean, fine, great, if she wants to think that.” I thought it was bullshit but that’s only because Lola Morgan was like the same thing, some plot points in common not everything. It made watching it really hard for me; I couldn’t even keep watching.
Caroline’s knack for new age storytelling [it really is galaxy-minded] is why I look up to her even though we have hardly that much in common and I project a ton onto her; I might see some good things but I am limited by all my blind spots, and, my suspicion based on my street smarts is that she thinks I am dumb and dares to see people objectively, almost sociopathically, but I think the last time I used the word sociopath I was defending myself, in this book, against richer people’s interpretations of me. Me? I said in the block of text above I was going to discuss whether I’m poor, “the poor card,” but instead of going further [no one has to know] I’ll just acknowledge: hm, in more-animal ways, like just what happens at a dog park when one gets picked on or in the bedroom if you’re at an orgy and I’ve never been to one but, lots of people have this is the 2020s darling, that is where the class stuff gets picked up. Does that make her one who gets picked on. I am not offended by the “she’s dumb” judgments that I’m picking up on because I’m clearly psychic, which is interesting because I don’t believe in pseudoscience and have stopped seeing Tarot readers because that is literally insane but it’s true I used to go. I don’t think it’s unlikely Caroline and I could be friends; I think she probably has been a bit put off by how I’ve acted on the internet and she’s also a gangster, by now truly. Take that from ME who’s hung out with at least two guys who have confessed to me, trying to impress me, that they’ve “killed people before!” I’m glad I hung out with those awful people, in, retrospect, because it allowed me to realize that it wouldn’t be absurd if someone DID try to do this — to ME! Fortunately for how I’m doin’ these days: listen, a lot of people with Down syndrome have very good skills, with people.. How willing is one to bother with another one who’s not proved oneself. I don’t think Caroline Calloway should be too full of herself though — she’s cancelled and meanwhile, II don’t have any press. That’s classy!! I probably wasn’t even cancelled; if so it was for stuff that had to do with being a woman, back when I was or whatever.
What I can say I have learned, for instance by writing out this part beginning with where I called out to the Ginsburg poem, is that superstars have a lot of responsibility for stuff like: making people care about awful things that they otherwise wouldn’t GAF about.
That’s how the AIDS crisis got a lot more consideration than anyone certainly including POTUS Regan, was giving it before — Liz Taylor a woman, a star very beloved by the masses and by people in high places alike who knew how to be a star because she’d been doing it her whole life like Regan’d been, decided to put her voice and influence into the mix, grateful-also for the fan support from many of those affected and dying from AIDS; the work she did saved many lives. And Kim Kardashian has done that for prison reform (e.g. by meeting with family pal Don Trump); not that many people can go-near-it with getting sucked down such a black hole of loss for all people in America where all lives matter. Makes a huge difference: this kind of star power.
I wouldn’t undervalue it, just the power of celebrity I guess. I wouldn’t get involved beyond the extent that I have: it was the worst decision I ever made in 2020-2022. Obama was a celeb. Being me though, like actually just being myself I might think of all the worst case scenarios of people I used to want to honor, going corrupt and turning into Nazis because: I don’t know, a lot of Nazis thought they were doing the right thing? (Actually, I’d challenge that. As a writer I would convey a random stranger Nazi as someone more-animal but more-powerful, not necessarily visibly more-animal: I think they valued fitness in their soldiers.) I think doing that with art — making people watch and care — and having that not be so “self-centered,” “navel-gazing,” is important and probably way harder to do. But we do what we can right now. Thank you Kim Kardashian for whatever the fuck you’ve done to the world. I don’t think I’m being sarcastic and, this is separate, I don’t want to write a film about WWII. That would be a period film; I’ve already done a period film on about an 8K budget.
Now, stars are fun to read about but I personally think this is getting boring, pretty fast.
Unfortunately I have waayyyyy overstayed my welcome on the chaise, rambling in typewritten words about Selena Gomez and some other people. Sorry Selena! You are not Hope. Did I literally at one point believe that we might hook up? I did which just shows that “maybe you can just take it like this, delusions are a big part of life” (my sister said this after I told her, concerned, about how a guy-friend I’d been talking to after a break between us — he told me he, quite seriously, would someday run for president); the dream expired, I made some mistakes too like saving face by not getting famous [not sure it was a choice]. I don’t want to though because, I haven’t been doing it all my life: some people have. Staggered starts. I care about art though; about art and about humans. Since delusions are a big part of life I won’t be hurt or feel wronged if I end up with a human that never was remotely even close to being a character that I based, on some aspects of more and not less-powerful people and made new: and who I thought I was honoring. I changed the characters and roles, so they’d be people I truthfully felt right honoring. Never assume you’re honoring someone, just by tossing them in your work. For me it’s been the LEAST I can do, as a pure no one with less than zero net worth.
There is an important question that I sort of willfully stay in the dark about, “what is power,” am I really less powerful than Selena Gomez.
I’m going to go ahead and not overcomplicate that one: but maybe there are some benefits to overcomplicating, now and then. If you’re stuck writing in a hole, anyway… Might as well. Also should say, because I was yawking about Hemingway earlier: I don’t want to have four marriages like him, where one of them’s to Selena Gomez or something.
I just realized I haven’t taken my meds yet for today. BRB.
I realized I was insane and especially bipolar, when writing the last part but I am not going to delete it because I want to finish Part One of this book before my Physics test in ten days.
Selena Gomez’s philanthropic interests always seem to be similar to mine — including her work on human trafficking, which no celebrities seem to touch with a ten-foot pole because it’s so horrible, and then this stuff with illegal immigration — but I probably have some of the same interests because I am like her, bipolar, but I am poor and half-Ukrainian Jewish not half-Mexican.
Hilton Als says something interesting about power in his book White Girls. The first essay Tristes Tropiques, I think, is a reference to the work of anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss, who my sister Alexis would know more about than me as someone who minored in anthropology. **wiat why’d you mention that, structuralism
In his essay from that collection on novelist Flannery O’Conner, Hilton Als writes this:
“O’Connor delighted in portraying the forms of domestic terrorism. It is a Catholic tenet that God judges by actions, but virtually all her white women characters judge by appearances … These are women who wouldn’t know grace if it slapped them in the face—which it often does. And why would any black person want to belong to the world that these women and their men have created?
For O’Connor, writing about integration was a way of exposing the dangers of clinging to the fiction of power.” (98)
When I read that my navel-gazing impulse is to remember all the times friends or women I thought were cool, judged me for being ugly, basically — and left or did-nothing when I subsequently fell into heroin addiction, including friends who I’d for over decades, from back home in Minneapolis (a city that’s made history like no other, pretty recently) — but how many more times do I have to say that I’m ugly, and fat? I weigh 130 pounds: a slender, fit younger-me would have been like 114. I don’t think I’m helping my case by even admitting I’ve done heroin but for me authentically it just isn’t something I feel like hiding: in some places I’ve gone it’s like a rite of passage, to have been down some dark rabbit holes. I feel genuinely like all the dominoes were in place to cause some sort of fall, and that’s what happened; I am lucky it wasn’t something else. I am lucky in some ways, in other ways I can agree “that should never have happened.” We’ll agree that was the last time I call myself ugly or fat, though, fine since all my friends insist, not sarcasm because a lot of friends have been like “stop.” (I would tell a friend to stop; to stop not-eating.) [The only time it might be different is if we were making a biopic on Cat Marnell, and the actress playing her needed to get the scene just-right. Whatever. I also wouldn’t like, force my friends to get fat like me. Oh shit THAT was the last time.] Anyway I think that I could just become hypocritical in the following sense: the “fiction of power” an interesting trio of words from Als first name Hilton, like the hotel mogul, reminds me of a podcast I recently listened to with the current CEO of Disney, not Walt Disney who’s not alive. He was discussing his dead friend Steve Jobs and how one thing Steve really understood was “the power of storytelling.”
Author was like, in a mocking voice, “why are you so furious at me.”
Hope was like “is this supposed to be a scene with me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Obviously you do you’re literally ‘The Author.’ What are your pronouns.”
“What are your pronouns. The thing about being a girl, like biologically? Is that unfortunately I just have this BITCHY side that lashes out cat-like, I can’t even help it.”
“I literally don’t know why you’re so mad at your own character who is not real.”
“Because getting mad at a character Hope lets me get mad at someone fictional instead of actually mad at someone who I think has been needlessly petty to me, and there are a few girls who would fit the bill (it’s a pattern). And it has affected my life.”
“Maybe ‘The Author’ isn’t as good of a name for you, as ‘The Stalker.'”
“Are you trans?”
“No,” said Morgan honestly, and she added, “If I say that it’s to try things out in my mind, I’m an artist and I do kind of look like a guy so much some days that people at front desks or whatever have been like, “sir.” People get really into roles as artists sometimes. It makes you have to think about the Self. A lot of it’s influenced by experience, circumstance. I actually am kind of in the JK Rowling camp on the whole trans thing and it’s because I am protective of children, who haven’t had a chance to decide for themselves much at all let alone really intense decisions like “whether or not I am trans,” not something that a lot of people ever think about, ever, ever: so if it’s stuck in front of you then yeah it’ll make you wonder, but my understanding in my own life is that it wasn’t stuck in front of me to add on top of the struggle of being bullied in situations like on the Temple Israel playground, not in all situations, that was one situation, also sometimes by women who joked that I was obsessed with them [they controlled the narrative so much that I had no choice but to embody a weirdo] (or I’d get called it, against my will) [like you getting called a skank and creep, also a weirdo; you should just go with that Hope], these were women who were probably vain and who I fell for, and that type of thing is what makes you wonder about your sexuality or your sexual identity. But the Type A world will keep being hard, for kids, for anyone. Anyway I am ‘The Stalker’ in scenes with Caroline who’s cited Harry Potter as an influence on how she built her self-centered kingdom. That’s a good idea, I’ll write some scenes with Caroline.”
“Wait you think I’m a weirdo.”
“Not really at all,” said Morgan. “I wish you were more of one because, you might be fucking nicer…”
“You don’t think I’m nice.”
“I don’t care. Sometimes you are,” said Morgan, “but I don’t think I want to be friends because if you’re nice it’s like you’re a little proud of yourself because I’m really weird compared to people you have gotten in with, and that’s objectively verdad and that is because of a power differential. Anyway, I imagine this scene won’t make sense. I’m just going to leave it here but I imagine it won’t. Because I haven’t cast the role of HOPE.”
“So Hope is not Caroline.”
“Mmhmhmhmmh!! Take me at my word on that one. She gets scared of me but she’s not judgmental of mental illness — nor of how random life is. (That’s my guess.)”
“Why’d you just make a sound like Hedwig cawing.. ?”
“Good job being bitchy, you’re actually REALLY good at it, so, I don’t know what you’re playing at; pretending that you suck at being just awful. You must think I’m stupid Hope.”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t talk about it here.”
Hope said, “where else? You’re basically in a room of one’s own and it’s basically one of those padded white rooms.”
“You’re right! I feel there’s not much time (just in life). I guess all I can do is encourage you to be nicer to the next person who reminds you of me; not that you were mean. I don’t feel that bad for you, because I think you’re happier and can do better than me in multiple if not like all regards. But I know you’re vulnerable to people controlling you and I think I’m street smart about weird shit. That’s probably why I wake up in the morning and am thinking about you and I’m like ‘ugh’ damnit. I wish I could stop because I don’t even know you.”
“No but. I actually really like you and I think this is hard.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing homework. Don’t talk to me.”
“I can’t stop I am sorry. I’ll show you some of my homework and then, you might understand why [the fuck] I’m doing this instead: here’s my homework due in a few days.. I despise doing work with vectors. I am not flexing I actually don’t know how to do this.”
“So do you cheat.”
“I stopped using Google for homework, ever, since I found my tutor Xerxes and started pulling better grades on tests! I won’t speak too soon. And I’ve never cheated on a test since the one I wrote about cheating on earlier in chapter four, because then I’d be expelled. I also don’t know if I’ll be able to distribute this book because of that — I don’t really want people to know, until I clear it up a little. And because it feels like some sort of personal thing to not. If I fail out of school it has to be authentic not just some power stuff.”
“You’re not distributing this book then.”
“I’ll probably self-publish it then leave it sitting somewhere with a price tag on it, so no one will buy it. And then I’ll focus on becoming a doctor.”
“You think it was just some power stuff that got you in trouble.”
Author said, “I think because I’m unimportant to the school, they would let me slip through the cracks, they like stars here. You know that. That’s probably one reason it’s nice to be famous, that and security and things I’ll never fathom. Black people probably need the security, more half the time.”
“Do you like stars.”
“I like humans, I don’t always like Columbia or stars from here [it’s just not a very nice place except-for to the people who wouldn’t notice people struggling] (they’re very, what should I say… intellectual about suffering, because a lot of the people who run it have probably felt it here and there but had enough remove from it that they can do that, and then probably half the student population is really struggling and they just do everything logical to help and — it probably is just to get out of trouble) [I refuse to mess this scene up but getting out of trouble is something I’ll have learned how to do, from you; otherwise I wouldn’t be striving to be a doctor still] but it is true I want recognition, not from you, either because that’s not how it’s going to go, I want it instead of just dying and then basically no one knew I died, that’s not the same as wanting fame for all the perks of fame. I know you feel bad for me because I act a fool and that’s okay too, I am a fool. It was much, much harder being out of school. This school shit is a great opportunity, to answer your question I don’t like the word ‘star’ that much ever since Trump used it in some viral video of him on a tour bus. You know a lot of people want to be a ‘star’ just like that. I would like to get out of this dialog because I don’t feel very zen toward it.”
“You intend to feel more zen toward your writing.”
“Mh, I feel like by now you’d have stopped asking questions and [*starting here this is ESPECIALLY a fantasy*] that was me saying yes with my mouth shut and it sounded almost like ‘ohm’ but more percussive. Here is something I know.. I know it from this level of physics I’m in — which physics majors would consider Basic Physics even though it is not; some people have an aptitude for it and I do actually believe that, even though our deans discourage us to think like that. Ohms are a unit for measuring electrical resistance. There’s also something called Ohm’s law, that I’ll have to use probably six times on the final that is usually written as ‘V = IR’ where V is voltage or potential difference, I is electrical current, and R is resistance. But when I see ‘V = IR’ my brain does this thing it does, a lot or I should say occasionally, where my old stocks of Spanish sort of blossom pretty weed-like out of nowhere and I see it as ‘V = to go somewhere’ because the Spanish verb ‘Ir’ is ‘to go.’ Kind of interesting though because, it’s totally random that it DOES kind of work for what Ohm’s law applies to! It is used to measure voltage where there is or are traveling currents in a conductor.”
“A conductor like in an orchestra?”
“No. Are you joking.. I don’t think you’d say that, I think I am starting to go crazy and I should get out of this scene before I write a line that’s just, blatantly ‘wrong for you.’ I’d NEVER do that to someone.”
“Maybe for an electric orchestra.”
“I will have to ask my professor.. I don’t think that’s.. well. Come to think of it *sounding dorky and it’s authentic* we DID just learn about how speakers work!!”
“Do you eat too much.”
“Probably. Like everyone notices, I eat when I’m stressed out. Or more like, I eat like a Man, I eat like a real Man … I am telling you this not to self-sabotage but because I think it matters to someone like you and, you value good habits in who you befriend; with a right to, do not read into that. I should be cognizant of it in who I gravitate toward — I kind of want to be a realist, about this, about stuff in these times, like, it might be wise to go toward someone who helps balance what I’ve had trouble controlling, to the extent that I still can: or maybe someone who doesn’t judge. I think people are just people. Hope could always just have too much to lose and hurt me; I am not being manipulative either just real. If I were being really real I would delete this whole key passage. Speakers are made up of coils carrying currents in a unit called ‘Amps’ or amperes (you could think of that word next time you see ‘Amplifier’ because, there are Amps running around in there) and we have to integrate and it would have been awful, something called the Biot-Savart Law — the math is hard because you have to integrate for a changing angle I think. I don’t mind integrating and taking derivatives; I do well on math-y questions, the trouble for me is that I just don’t.. study. So when my tutor came along he’d say like “study all these problems tonight, take the practice test twice tomorrow [literally hours before the test] and look at my notes again, come back and show me your grade” — so I did and ate breakfast that morning and I got an A. We don’t know have to do the Biot-Savart law for the next test, I don’t even know why I mentioned it besides that it sounds nice, the words BO Savoir, I thought you had a literal son like in a scene at the end of La La Land the memory sequence scene that turns out to be a dream but my version was not a good love dream obviously my delusions get really bad [it’s psychosis] and I think I should stay away like it gets really bad it’s horrible it’s just awful I don’t even know you, but we learned what this law was: engineers would have to know, the smart uncool (not actually uncool) people who make the instruments that legendary artists end up using to change the world; and they’re passionate about the release of something like the next great American amplifier and they don’t even like, want to be famous for it. The types of Physicists at Columbia though would probably want to be like ‘Biot’ or ‘Savart’ but Americans not Frenchmen, just gunning for the Nobel Prize: these men in Physics can be a real type, not like someone employed by Bose. They make the world go around too though. We wouldn’t have headphones without their work studying acoustics as mathematicians. Look I did some homework where I never expected to. Hardly though! While I’m here let me remind you I have been a real jerk and you can do really well and I think it’s hard for me to let you go like someone releasing a dove literally. As long as it’s in a safe town for doves like Italy. Would you like to get married in Italy. When I was listening to Oprah’s Master Class podcasts, distinct from MasterClass courses which became exceptionally popular after the Oprah podcasts, someone named Jeff Bridges told the story of how he proposed to his wife who he never separated from and it was basically just like “I was like ‘ooh I’m gonna be so upset if I don’t just ask her to marry me'” so he just asked her. I actually already did ask you once but, a bit like this: it was in a post that no one was looking at and if they were looking it had potential to appall incurably. It was VERY wacko. Makes this paragraph look like a grace slapping you in the face, and then your face was better for it because I loved you more than anyone ever could or will but I won’t pretend it didn’t come at a cost to my faith in Hope.. I became convinced at least, you came out worse briefly and this was true and I am a mentally ill creep to become convinced of that truly, officially now the worst incel to have ever lived because, for you no one else, my pronouns are he/him. That’s pretty extreme; it is literally sexually violent to me not you. And this is still fiction currently. Whatever happens while I get a lot wrong there were some things I never wanted to do that I knew. And I forgive it, my self and you [for whut, just for shit] and rather than never let it go I’ll never let you quit me unless it’s objectively the best thing. So. Maybe that time is not nigh, the time to let you go. Or to stay, and just stay and have it be this undramatic thing and there are always ex-y feelings and other people will fall for you who are less mentally ill than me but still mentally ill enough to pursue and pursue. Perhaps it is nigh; perhaps it is time to play some Taylor Swift end game and I would say this chapter was one of the best lesbian change-ups I ever threw, not for my audience, not for the work, but for you and for me-absolving-myself-of-having-been-such-a-jerk: but I don’t know if you are gay. I think I should leave you alone or stay really focused, you have a lot of people supporting you and I would say “I am one of them” but there are so many lines in first-person literature and music where someone’s like “the one” “I’ll always be here!” (distantly or whatever) that are in turn diminished by just what the real nonfiction narrative ends-up-actually substantiating so I am not going to say that.. Hope I am over-involved I got so worried about you; I feel like you might not realize but this is correct. I get mad because I have trust issues, I might have some brain damage but it’s not that bad; more like tics, I have tics. Literally everyone in my life is like “you sure?” when I insist on it. I’m like “I guess it doesn’t affect you.” It’s true I have anger that feels just like, well, it’s like “let me be try to be accurate here, I haven’t had that good of a life sometimes” [I am pretty much, someone with a disability] and it probably will take a while to really turn things around — I can turn things around as opposed to kind of show a negative progression. I think you are a better muse than me … You are someone people need to see do well even if they think they don’t like you; that is a them-thing. But me, I need to take care of me when no one else is here. That’s why I get mad, en-fuuüriated when people don’t help even the smallest things to humble me but I think a sort of radical acceptance healing-based zen approach might save me a lot of grief: see I have a sense of hümour (~I’m wëird~) but that is subjective and sometimes I fear ours don’t mesh [you really hurt me; I feel like you have a mean sense of humor sometimes, most people do] (but damn, be humble) — and it might not be relevant to you, all this and all that. It might be, true, you hurt me, too, but felt bad, might have, and I did have just one dream that would suggest all we have to do is get to working alongside each other and things will be zen … ‘Everything in Its Right Place’ like in the Radiohead track, a very good track if-listened-to, in nice earphones, with a pretentious Bachian symmetry to it that would help one calm down and not lose her mind. We could get tea once or twice and just see but in the meantime I fear I am just wasting time. I heard Damien Chazelle the youngest director to have ever won an Oscar say this about La La Land, we need fantasy, to get by. Are you alive. Am I. Check check. *Authentic dork voice.* Not checkmate yet. I am not playing games. Getting to a place where balance and wellbeing are conceivable, falsifiable, and/or sustainable is not all about me of course — because what I do affects others; it also can be inspiring to see someone get that, against odds — but, this book kind of is innocently self-centered, maybe not so innocently; I mean it’s still my first book and I got it done under 29. I just kind of am letting it be. mine”
“Did you just propose to me or leave, did you lose me .”
“Frankly, my dear.. I think I’m trying to stay alive.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
“*Winces picking up on something* I think I’ve been disappointed in ways that have made me want to die,” said Morgan just still talking. “But I’ve gotten better about not freaking out, and ‘feeling like you’re about to die’ is a common feature of certain types of episodes. So it’s not that unique, it can be treated too. Also I have the experience of: both women and men being fatphobic or ugly-phobic to me, occasionally queerphobic if it’s clearly a queer day for me which means looking like a guy basically, and that is a lot worse from back when I was pretty and could get their good graces (not just, decent grades [when I don’t cheat: when I cheat I get F’s] on huge lecture hall tests that are graded in a way that preserves each student’s anonymity) [eh..]. I would advise you to stay pretty even though I’d like you either way.”
“*Squinting* I feel like the odds are really against us getting along, just like, it’s rare that stuff works out, most stories are sad stories and when it does work out, why ruin that for people.”
“Why would you SAY that and why are you making a face like an albino mouse. At least you’re really an albino and sometimes in lab tests those get treated special. I think you think I ruined something you considered the love of your life that I don’t know about. That’s what I just intuited ^^^. Kay kay, I am so happy for you, I don’t know you or I’d call you up and say ‘great!’ Just so you can see me as the unthreatening, not pretty friend who never said anything but good things about you. Well let’s never meet; be with them, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t deserve you [not even as a fan]!! I used to GAF because I think you can do better and that’s sad and it isn’t you. But maybe the Self is really malleable and it is you, now. I still will have always thought you could have been better if you hadn’t gotten so ambitious and forgotten that life matters, more than games, it almost drove me insane to see you just, playing their games. A million little times, a hundred times, I lose just-watching you play a rigged losing game like a mouse so you don’t have to feel bad ever, if so your brain explodes as though a cyborg chip in it went rogue: I get called the rat, somehow. You win and win and win. Brain explosions. Write a song about it, about the loser you hurt; just another one of them, in fact you hardly thought about me once if even literally at all for .01 seconds. I am not as dumb as you probably think — I could have made Hope a girl in my Bio class who was too young for me and we’d have been a couple right now, we had a good connection. That girl who had all these stickers on her computer about autism awareness, I think she was 20. One day soon I will ask that girl who I have a good thing with out on a date, and you’ll see and probably won’t care: or won’t see. But I feel what I did — to save a just-so-pretty legacy, from being just that when it could be more and that too, the grips of scandal threatening to explode it… was everything I could do. I did what I could and you just called me fat and giggled. I am hideous; dear I fucking get it. That is what I got from you. From you and your partner in crime, Bonnie and Clyde. She is hideous, these people are hideous. Well goodbye but find a non-hideous man who’s less of a piece of shit than me the fucking rat in your story. You took down the wrong rat, there’s a rat the size of one of those inflatable protest rats and you took me out and I was just minding my own business. I wasn’t myself in that time: can’t you see. Can’t you see the same for me, as I managed to see for you even though I shouldn’t have done this. I lost so much time. I hope this book feels like a gift if you read it ever in this life not just a painful thing, it’s not meant to hurt you, I think you’ve made smarter choices than people will ever know. If you bragged about them though it would make you sound like an awful person because you were probably so I’d advise you not to [be]. Maybe a friend who’s a good writer will you do you well, better than me because I am stingy with who I let be my muse; I know that type of dynamic is your thing. Whatever — here let’s reach those final lines, I’m just setting my own James Bond and M lines up, hey … I generally get along with humans [so if you can be one we’ll correspond cordially like professionals], unfortunately there aren’t that many left and still all these people around who need me. PS I don’t envision you in that role but maybe you could still be a Bond baby girl not even a villain, about to hurt all the people. I’m pleading.”
“Are you leaving me then.”
“*Shrugs* I don’t trust you still.. put the gun down? Am I hallucinating that you were holding it, about to shoot. We’re not together, never were close to being, so I can’t leave you and I don’t think you’d ask that; I think you have more game and let me be the man not you. Ask me one more thing, I’m going insane but I think we each have like one more line in ‘us’ okay.”
“*Annoyed, feeling over-controlled: just wants freedom to be herself.* Would you be or have been an actor instead of a doctor.”
“Mhh that’s interesting and gives me room to be innocently self-centered, every time I say ‘innocently self-centered’ my eyes turn red like Pazuzu and at your age it would have been slightly more.. innocent, thanks for thinking of me though — enough to know a good question to ask — because I already am an actor, I feel like I’m not talking in my actual voice.. which (a) suggests you don’t bring out the real me and (b) suggests I may have to change my book’s title to On Becoming A Doctor Instead of an Actor, because that’s the whole idea dear! I want to try to have M.D. by the end of my name, in my lifetime: I can do that, it’s very meaningful work to me already, I’m good at school; I don’t like the black card stuff, yet another reason we’re not compatible, I have no exposure to those games but I ask that you keep me out of it so I can do well in my life. You’re going to blow it with me, you’ll be fine and I’ll be okay too but has that perhaps occurred to you [not necessarily intimacy-thing] — someday you’ll be like “shoot” and won’t want to admit it’s what you’re thinking, either that or I’ll think that after having lost you. Do not do stuff to me in your gang initiation bullshit. I’ve had my own stuff in this life, okay, WTF, no judgment.. ! You have about two strikes already, and we’ll say I have two against you (one was some poem I wrote) and, here I’m pushing my luck. I am leaving ~this~ alone though, you, watch me succeed at that, because I feel a lot of what I ever said ‘hurt my feelings’ was not a joke and calling it a joke when it’s not, it might be cruel, stop acting like you’re a child around me [three strikes? why tf am I talking like this], you’re awfully clever with the silly front you put on for someone that ‘young’ — it’s unappealing to see someone who could be a well-liked bright adult be a mean child soldier girlchild; and while I used to think that’s ‘what it took’ to maintain one’s femininity I think that’s a crock of probably-racist bullshit; I should say ‘horse’ shit because sometimes I think people look at me, see how robust I am and they think I look like a horse — and you might want to consider that and might want to consider how sense of humor is remarkably subjective. I only know to say this because, I’m probably in the same boat with you (of hurting you by laughing) and I used to be the one doing the arm work to move it along and I’m good with that because I think that’s how it should be and I wouldn’t overcomplicate. If you don’t like how I look though, a motif in our dynamic or my perception of it — something that obsesses me so much that my fears about it get projected onto you; like I start thinking how you’d feel if you were ugly — then think about that one, because the world is not just your world: I have a deformed ass for a white male, it’s not that big of a deal and I am making you sound like a bad person and I am sorry. Emma Stone might think it’s sexy! But yeah, I would act in an adult male role, picture like Ryan Gosling rowing, but he’s standing [set in Italy] an interesting role because all my roles are probably kind of, hrmh, never type A folk, I think that would be fun and there’s nothing wrong with doing stuff ‘just for fun’ sometimes; like WRITING FOR NO MULA while people smarter than me make tons. I am trying to get away from this-thing of writing roles specifically for people as I’ve stated many times in this spunk memoir, so I’d write it for actors then maybe adjust if lines sound wrong for a person. I’ve been around this enough to see different ways it can be workshopped: I am not being grandiose to suppose that someday people would covet a role written by me … well, maybe I am and maybe this coveter of my role is not you (get real [not sarcasm you’re really like someone beyond who I could feasibly dream to cast in this life partly because we have some bad blood I think which makes me sad (like that’s actually not sarcasm: it’s as though we already hate each other, and I think that’s what Clyde wanted)]), DANGEROUS HOPE, you betrayed me for him but some people, might want that role by me, they might even want to be my real muse who I live with and know well and one just has gotta believe in oneself. You know what they say — keep being yourself, I have a full-of-myself side, it’s for real and it’s true that I want a spouse that people are jealous to see me with, not arm candy though … it’s served me less well than my humble side: that side, but it comes from having lived through shit and feeling in ways I didn’t used to, “maybe I earned this (a good life) [and not one that I have to go to therapy for in order to convince myself is meaningful].” You should be yourself too. I’m not even talking to you I am talking to my brain: my brain on overclock. It used to be my only option, to write on overclock and now not resting it is, given my better circumstances, the lazy thing. A lot of the brain’s inner workings is electrical stuff; electrochem bla bla. We might meet, I’d set the probability of that occurring arbitrarily at like 44.4/100 — I’m a writer, don’t go out much; I’m scared of famous people not drawn to them — you’re fictional though. The good news is that you’re an artist, a writer, I suspect you want to be a screenwriter [which annoys me because I feel like that’s my turf] (but fine) so even if I don’t do this for you, controllingly or tenderly as an okay writer myself, then you could always write your history. Okay.. I’m [going] mad again officially. Alexis if you read this I am fine, don’t worry I don’t have to go to Bellevue, let’s keep my number of trips there down to one as I def have enough PTSD from one time to last a lifetime. S’like when you hear people on the street and they’re like “well I’ll tell you one thing motherfucker, I am NOT going back to prison!!!!” and they’re like screaming at someone or on the phone, it’s probably making matters worse: that’s me in this scene. I should have ended this at that last really dense area of text, would have been much more romantic — I was like ‘this is so fucked up,’ rock and roll — yet I said I wanted to be zen not rock, for the better brain not a pun … and I do not actually think I will always be the type to ‘start shit’ once I find peace in my real life and, I think I might find it though it’s not something everyone finds, honestly and that is sad: it is what I want and it is not an alone-thing because friends or family you feel safe around or compelled to keep safe, are good forces to protect. Sometimes I feel like it’s my purpose to help protect you but I think even saying that is dangerous, it is for real because that assumption can be controlling: you start saying stuff to girls like “it’s okay” about something they weren’t even ashamed of. I am going to continue assuming that you’re fake, I can’t trust you because you’re fake, and I wrote you just how I needed but not truthfully. Approximately honestly but not truthfully. I just didn’t have the data to do it better. I don’t know why people start shit with strangers, I think it must partly be boredom and that says some bad things about our world; ulh how can you be so bored when there’s SO much to keep you occupied, and, how can you be so barbaric [!]… I don’t know. Kind of a negative, hypocritical thing to say. I’d better go Hope, as I said goodbye goodbye. Don’t read too much into this, can’t you sort of feel it: I’m overthinking my girl, my CPU’s about to die. I Hope I never write for you again, and that is the truth.”
End of Part One