Memoir piece 13

Ch. 19 I think** I got you bae [continued]

“Hey it’s Morgan.”

She was talking to Taylor Swift’s mom. “Hey. Do you imagine the famous people themselves will read these scenes and have opinions.”

“No. I thought I’d be famous long ago so I’m never getting my hopes up, I think I just am lonely and know the artists I like. I literally know nothing about you besides that when I used to do stuff like this I figured out you’re actually intense, I guess cool. To the point that you actually like might brand yourself as, ‘the mom’ when you have more going on. I’m sure that’s smart..”

“You’ve written about me before (*oh boy this.. girl is a case.*) Why’d you pick me to talk to today.”

“I expressed concern I think for the character I was stalking in a piece of work that no longer exists, back when we the fans learned that TS Quox’s mom had cancer, I renamed her TS Quox. Sounds like some Philip Pullman otherworldly shit right. I was concerned because as a doctor-type [arguably always even before I knew I was] I figured that writing a song about it doesn’t necessarily change the treatment. Remember I think I said already, I was writing journals then. Less official than this. Not that this is official. But. I think,” said Morgan, “it was literally the most random person I could think of: Taylor’s mom who is kind of famous for being just that. If it’s a boundary violation then it’s one I trust myself with. It’s a tool. It doesn’t feel hypocritical (boundary violation-wise) because I intend to share this book with a small crowd of people who are smart enough to separate the Author from Characters on the page. I actually think most People are smart enough to do that and assuming otherwise is belittling but anyway. I feel exhausted and I am unsure what to do.. my roommate has literal Covid so I don’t like hanging out back there. He’s had it twice since I’ve been there. I’m like annoyed as if he can help it which makes me think I’m in a shitty place. Like just bitchy or something. I was like ‘you couldn’t have gotten it again some other week huh.’ Sorry Guthrie (he’s cool.) Glad I didn’t go to that folk music show thing the other night with you because what if it was where you got that shit.”

“You really like folk music don’t you.”

“Didn’t I say, way back in Act One I was going to talk about narrative. I intended to cite all these examples, like Bob Dylan talking about how he decides on his songs’ central characters. He has this whole thing about how they have to be real people. I forgot to do that but I may not have time in this project. Someday.”

Taylor Swift’s mom: “Maybe you have the virus. Why don’t you just talk to your own mom.”

“I don’t like writing scenes with her because I’m avoidant and, because I know she might actually read it and feel her voice wasn’t represented correctly,” Morgan admitted. “She’d get pissed, that’s one thing she is like really defensive or self-protective about: not in this context but if someone is like portraying her as an abusive mom enemy she’s always just like ‘[defensive, in excess.]’ I think she was kind of abusive but I think she’s slapped me enough times for claiming that [figurative slap] it’s the case now that I’ve started understanding her side of it. My brain around her just has to be adjusted to her version of how that all went. I could try to explore why she is like that, I guess touchy about how she’s perceived (because it’s always so off? Misogyny) but I don’t have time in this scene. She says I’m the abusive one and sometimes I think it’s so fucking complicated there’s no way I can get at it without professional insight combined with a writer’s intuition..”

“Why are you avoidant.”

“Not why or how are you abusive? I have a horrible tantrum like once a year because avoidant people bottle their feelings. I think she’d be either deeply saddened by some of the scenes I’ve written recently, with other people that could have been with her. Or she’d be concerned and I can’t deal with people going on concern-patrol this week about my mental state when I have to study. Maybe grades don’t matter but they do when I’d be helped, tremendously if I could get my GPA above a 3.0 which is already not-me, it’s shit. I’ll be applying for scrubs-y internships and clinical rotations basically the second this project is all done.”

“So it’s fine doing that to everyone else.”

“Maybe. I haven’t gotten it yet, this might be exaggerating but I am practically in the inconsiderate camp that my sister hates of people who just like wears a mask when required but I am blasé otherwise and I haven’t gotten it yet. Maybe that says something about me. I’ll take a rapid test but if I have it then I’m in a bad place for my exam in five days. I’d like to have this book done by then which is like the most counterintuitive, most foolish way of handling an important exam: I should just finish this after. No. It’s because then when that’s done just everything will shift, like how actors sometimes just die a little bit after a project; Austin Butler was hospitalized after shooting Elvis. I consider it logical. I can self-publish this and move on to applying my fullest self to other stuff: Fall is going to be super busy, I won’t have any time to write like this and this took about three years even if it seems off the cuff. This scene was.”

Andrea was like “seems like you want a place to sort of keep track of your creative process. What unique insight can I provide. You as the Author can treat this as like, a study break.”

“I feel like really unsafe lately. And I can’t talk to my family. So I picked a random person.”

“Do you think that’s a psychological thing or like an actual thing.”

Morgan said, “I know myself and I think I can trust my brain — that’s not been the case when I was REALLY crazy, but it’s true now. I can trust my brain it’s good: even if that means knowing that feeling paranoid is a sign I should pay attention to. The nice thing about screwing on the medicine-lens or the impression of one throughout my work is that I can kind of read patterns like reading brail, without getting to see the actual story take place like in a viewfilm. You just have your ability to know yourself, your mental patterns and hang-ups, and then you go from there. Anyway I think if I sensed something really intense in the air I’d just like, pick up on it.”

“Are you saying that’s the case right now.”

“No. I think I’m stressed about exams and confusing that stress, with stress about my safety being compromised and stuff. No one’s reading this, I genuinely don’t believe that. No one’s tracking my phone. Have I believed that unimportant-me has been tracked before? Yes which is how I know my hang-ups. I do think this project is important so I’m prioritizing it like 25% more than school; but I also think the work comes out better when I don’t prioritize it. Like, this might be worded clumsily but that implies an Ego toward it. And I don’t think vanity ever does a piece of work well.”

“Let’s pretend you actually are a little unsafe. What the fuck would make you feel that way.”

Morgan said, “if we’re dealing in intuition here, then it’s plausible my enemies are intuiting shit about what I’ve been writing: this is a project that I intend to give out by the end of this month August 2022! It won’t be like a huge release but it will be available. It’ll feel real. And if they are really enemies then, they don’t want that to happen because it implicates them!! I don’t know how to change it. Yet. I don’t know.”

“Like Hope, she’s an enemy.”

“I think Caroline and I will probably end up meeting Taylor. I would defend her [Caro] through the worst press imaginable, I just am on her side. She might not be on everyone’s side herself but, she’s not been a star with much protection built in place for her: she was like a Guinea pig for the internet to figure out it’s fucked-upness unto, she has this sort of AI look in her own eyes and is remarkably isolated and I think she is someone I can handle. We both need to lose some weight if we intend to do art. Our dynamic is like Harry and Voldemort, obvi.. The other Hope is someone I am with all the time: like a supersonic cloak made of rotting flesh. It protects her.”

“Would you defend her through the worst press imaginable?”

“She’s not going to get bad press because that’s not what I predict happening.”


“91% probability.”


“I am worried about her. Not panicked because I wouldn’t be doing my job as a capitalist alt command boy if I panicked would I now.”

Taylor’s mom said, after she noticed the Author laughing quietly, almost creepily but she trusted her judgment, because.. it was weird, presently, Author didn’t have the temptation to use all these weird emojis or make weird jokes, she was so relieved.. it was actually relatable to anyone who’s felt their mind fucked it by the internet. “Do you think maybe your stress and paranoia is worry.. about said Girl in question.”

“Is that a good idea, to term it like that.”

“I could call myself a classic cuck. I thought about making this scene just with the last Man she loved. I didn’t. I’m never gonna get over her.”

“Do you think you’ll meet.”

“Is this a fucking movie. It isn’t.”

“Why don’t you think he loved her.”

“Boundary alert go home. But whatever here I go. I’m crossing the line. Sorry, in my career as I have friends I might get better. Who the I think it’s like, this metaphor I’ve used before of someone in a wax suit. And it looks like one thing, something vulnerable, probably morally superior that needs help to in turn help others. And then the wax melts. And there’s just this completely different thing underneath. I was right. But maybe there are things just a finer artist can see. Or say. Touché. I was disappointed in Hope for not seeing that but she hasn’t been a gangster like Hope 2.0.. I hope she has some visions about how she’ll end up if she doesn’t act like a G.” (We all know she has it in her.)

“What if you had done a scene with him,” said Andrea. “Maybe you could have had a good time.”

“Well. This maybe begs the question of how seriously I take myself and the power of my work to impart.. change.. he is not a character. And I think there’s a motif in our dialog about not being able to handle when one’s own interpretation I guess of someone else or of reality, is not matching up with I guess a more appreciable one. That’s when the people have the power, somewhat. Individually I do not feel I should ‘fuck with that,’ but I think the people have the power. Which is good news for him because I think as a writer he has far more access to data statistics that show what the people actually think; then again I wouldn’t always read those. Personally. Um. I think it’s an unfair fight.”

“If you want my honest feedback, I think you should probably leave it, alone. But it’s hard because you have to let something go that felt just within your reach. Maybe that was a delusion. Taylor’s delusional sometimes.”

*A beat and ow Morgan’s face.* “I hear you. I’ll have to watch that shit. The beautiful pomp of it.”

“They feel bad for you.”

“I intuited that people felt bad for me and I was surprised by it because it seemed like a mean environment, in my head. In my head the meaner ones were always older men. I’m ugly why do theyWhy is that the story of my life, a horror story truly. Well I fucking hope I don’t have dreams of this. It’s been awful on me. Just fucking awful.”

“Those dreams did sound pretty rough..”

“You read that part? Thank you for saying that they did what I intended for them to do, as a writer. They were just my dreams. All of them were humiliating in some way.”

“Maybe you’ll find people on your side in ways you also were disbelieving of. Is that the right sentence construction.”

“No. But. It’s fine. I don’t think they’ve all trusted me and it had nothing to do with my intentions, it had to do with naïveté and a sort of darkness that I do genuinely have. It’s literally like Harry Potter and the sorting hat. But I think what the hat is telling me is ‘why do you keep chanting just not Slytherin when you already established long ago, by this point in the text, that you’re a Gryffindor, brave as black tar shit. I’ve earned it, her.”


“Do I look like a Ron.”

“That’s a good, scene.”

“I think so. Right now! Maybe it’s just that spark of vanity when you finish a short chunk of writing. I’m a little heartbroken by it but so and so would be like ‘I don’t have time for some Beta male.’ And I would say, I’m not a fucking Beta but I might not be an Alpha male because.. I like dressing like an innocent Far Eastern man, frankly that is how I want to dress and I like listening to music that is not really Alpha male music.”

“This scene didn’t make sense.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I have the time and wherewithal to translate what I was even going through, to myself. Maybe later. Basically I think you seem very grounded and it’s because your the mom of Taylor and y

“What’s your favorite Taylor Swift song.”

“I don’t like having favorites but, they’re good to have so I’ll say ‘willow.’ I like that, it’s about being a Man.”


Me trusting my self not my brain, which tells me people are thinking that^^ RN: I’ll be fine. And I’ll keep talking.. But maybe I shouldn’t assume my own version of things right now is ‘more appreciable’ than someone else’s, particularly someone more powerful’s. Someone greater will win. This is a prophecy. Or is it just me pretending I’m capable of that shit. The fictionality of power — perhaps I should say the relativity of it, which preserves the true story in scattered hands — cannot trump the power of storytelling against me by, a great man with bigger hands. Not here, yet. Time might be on my side.. time and miracles, which I try not to believe in ever. If there’s finna be a miracle I won’t be able to write it into existence — not like this!! Not like this (in spirit, in poor spirits). That’s what would get me hospitalized. One glance. She ain’t doing so hot? But positive attitude baby dog: you got this Big Boss.. 🙂

You got this!!

I will be with the girl who needs me most, who knows which of the two I value greater — between love and the t-word, which of course is for traitor.

Love of ya loif

Ch. 20: There are more beautiful things than the perfect match and marriage

“Rita Skeeter here and I have a few questions!! Are you a cheata as is rumored on Reddit.”

“Zip zip. Mouth shut. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hear you’re a cheater.”

“Well I hear the tittering,” said Morgan, “advising me not to interpret what the fuck you’re asking me. It’s just like some random thing I’ve gone back forth with.”

“What is.”

“Whether to include the affair I had, with a much older Man!! I paid him off, and by paid him off I mean—that’s what happened when I fell on my ass and got addicted to drugs and shit, I just didn’t have friends like La di da as ad (no one could look at me) and, that’s how it went. I guess I had my sis. I think I got reverse MeToo’ed.. It was karma, allah that shit. (Which I literally am way too smart to believe in!! Well I.. don’t believe in it, not strictly.) I think a lot is up to humans.. and people, want me dead.. but it’s not all about me Rita.”

“Are you asking to get killed.”

“If that’s how you interpreted that; which only me rereading would do, like ‘oh interesting that’s a complex notion of karma’ then, you’re weird. Rita. I am not asking to be killed. I Am being a realist maybe with the praise allahs. It’s not my time.”

*scribbling* “And who was this fine gentleman.”

“He was the next great director that no one saw fucking coming. Could have been a failure but wait.. An American auteur (praise Gawd!) in a time when there weren’t many left: With good taste in people, if not in human girls.”


“I never kiss and tell. If I didn’t call it and get that thing right I just said — your mom didn’t call me hot last night in bed. Don’t kill girls. In bed. Says God. Not even if they’re wide women around the hips like in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS! Them too. This one chick, from Grey’s Anatomy got her start on there, in a hole. Crying. Like me!”

“Are you a racist. Are you an incel. *the quill starts malfunctioning it’s the weirdest shit*”

“Wait have you seen that film and then you followed up with that question? Also like. Are YOU,” said Morgan. “Why is that quill movin’ so fast I’ve hardly said nothing! Why — am I worried that whatever you’re writing is gunna get someone killed.. Awlh. I need help. Actually I think I might need help. Not just from.. you girl. I need other help.”

*scribbling scribbling scribbling not helping* “And do you care to confirm that You have a penis.”

*gasp like holy shiit* “uggggh. Confiiirm! ? ! 😟 I’ve never even thought about gettin’ a dick sewed on.”

“And I’ll take that as a yes.”

And now: welcome to your best friend’s wedding!! “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Throuples are in.”

“Please. Enough. Let’s just be the court jesters at Quox’s wedding!! You know who you is. In one of the dreams I had about you, you were like ‘will you stop—touching little kids.’”

#1 said, “I don’t know how you get away with saying all this in your writing..”

“I’m a professional, like, why else do you think I got cancelled and not published for ten years!!!! Also probably, the rumors,” said #2. “I attract them like fleas to lamb meat.” (Here is a screenshot from earlier work:)

“Now who’s gonna take care of me. I got so fucked up,” #1 said all teary. For trell.

“I’ll see to that my svete. I promise it’ll have been better than if I hadn’t met that old crepe.”

“What is that — Chaucer?”

“And the ronne honne halfa de Souza rach de Rosh hashana,” sang #2 ☺️. “I still have it memorized, my brain is coo! 🕶 (The prologue did you ever have to do that.)”


“Oh coi. 🎏 You need a frannd. Or two. I’m happy to soup you up..” party time. 🎊

“I’m not actually laughing 🥀🥀🥀🌹🌼🥀💐🌻🌷🌹🌷🌹🌼🌷🥀🌻🌺🌼🌼🌼🌺🌹🌷🌷🌺🌸🌺🌸🌻 but I see you’ve agreed to purchase the canned carp in bulk. I’ll likewise, bring something.”

My mom who is in her seventies, having not had kids till later, just recently lost a friend. When she called to grieve about it she went off on some thing about soulmates, and how while there’s often a connection there, looking back these can also honestly usually be people who caused a lot of pain. This phone call was just the other day. I was like mom I don’t know if I want to hear this, but I knew she’d lost a friend recently, so I heard it, and I think she’s right. I just didn’t want to hear it because I was jealous of people who were soulmates, in pain or not. I fucking knew she was right.

People keep asking me if I’m dating anyone, I’m around the age when I should be or when most people think a bit about a change in gears. I am 28. I don’t know where my hesitance to date stems from. I just don’t really care but, it’s true people keep asking which must mean those people in my life think I’m capable of it. Like I’m not doing so bad it’s like I can’t move on or whatever to some new adult relational phase.

Alexis my sister is coming out of a several year relationship with a man. She’s moving out soon. She described on the phone like fifteen minutes ago feeling tired a lot due to stress. I was like that’s exactly how I feel but I didn’t say that because the people I’m having trouble letting go of are literally made up versions of celebrities like Taylor Tavi and so on. I’m like I need to be careful with that delusional shit and this passage sounded like it was going to be profound but it isn’t. Maybe I am into blonde chicks but I think I would like them if their hair were a weird color or if they looked less like models. I would like them even more, not less, if they looked less like kids. I did not pick them arbitrarily; perhaps it’s more like ‘“I love their paintings.” I’m not the one who’s about to faint due to frailness however, if we’re talking about muses and viral-type art (if you dare call it that). I don’t think I like that.

I’m not saying it can’t be fine for like some art. I just don’t think I like that for not-art. That is because I’m a doctor [well, aspiring..] and because I feel like it makes me sad but maybe that’s all my own preference. End scene. Don’t know what future holds. Soulmates can still be soulmates who still talk and think about each other and things. If you’re me and you made them up then maybe it’s a little different.

Ch. 21: These chapters are getting shorter like in “Ada” when all the years sort of start blending together — I might not want for my real life to feel like that but, apparently that’s what aging feels like

This is the second to last chapter. It will cover the friends I haven’t given a shoutout to yet. Last one is a bit of a change in pace. Before that though for imaginary friends Morgan realized she hadn’t straight-up done a scene with Tavi Gevinson, who is a seminal figure in this text. And Morgan has dialogues with like everyone else so let’s try this.

“Heyy,” said Morgan.

Tavi was very official and was like “hi.”

Morgan proceeded with a nod and said “my instinct is that I just have to be my self.. like even when I get like so lonely and am like dead at home. That’s the only step from one day to the next, that I can control and I think I gave you a hard time in this text — and I don’t know if I should apologize just because I’m scared of famous people and I do like the idea of being around normal people hence my unexpected career change from being a filmmaker. Also I’m ugly and I think that would make it harder not easier in film although it’s hard to say. If I’m being myself I think people on film sets are less my types than probably in other settings.”

“I’m not just a film/TV person, you know. Not all famous people are terrible but I tend to hate everyone and myself, too. Sometimes. Not that I’d say that.. ever.”

“Well. I’m terrible sometimes. As noted above. But. I’ve probably gotten a little better.”


“Were you scared of me when writing.”

“I think I’ve been brave. But I’m also like not that mild of a person so. If I like cried a lot then. Another day in la vida.”


*scratching face just to like create some pause or something* “I’m not like scratching it’s just like a mannerism or something, but anyway. Since you’re a writer, and a writer I probably did sort of idolize, not in like a creaming my pants way ever.. why don’t I talk about that — and how I could be a writer myself while still being a normal girl. That’s what I didn’t want to see you lose altogether by being Icarusa.”

“Who’s Icarusa.”

“Clearly it’s just Icarus from the Icarus legend but I added an a because I’m the boy here. And it makes it feminine to add the ‘a.’”

“You think I’m feminine.”

“I think you really pulled that off. Yes. I mean considering you haven’t always been That girl who’s not the at least slightly kind of gamine quirky one. Now you’re like a little different and I think that’s cool. I know you probably have some secrets as to how you got from here to there. Do I want to know? I might actually, but, I don’t want to be unreal about the deal here which is that— there is a power imbalance. And, I’m also kind of concerned you’re like a crazy girl who gets obsessed with people. No offense. Is that like misogynistic or is the word just misogynist sometimes I think the second one sounds better but I think it’s wrong.”

“I have a masculine side.”

“Oh.” Morgan said. “Um, I’m trying to think how to handle this. I want this to be a good scene but since I stopped bringing my laptop places I’m actually just writing it on a phone. Very informal.”

“Are you trans.”

“I can’t believe how many times I said that I might be. The answer is noo, but my body got so fucked up that I’ll probably wear men’s clothes for the rest of my life. It’s like a way of sort of reconciling my grief about that, with what I can still make vaguely cool.”

“I mean. Scrubs are like gender-neutral and are cool.”

“That’s a nice thing to say..”

“How do you think it might work out that one of us would meet the other before whoever dies first dies.”

“I’m dyin’ first. You will never die.”

“I mean you never know..”

“Psssh. I mean the odds but. I think what would have to happen is that I have a ‘hit’ of some kind, because that’s just what would bring me nearer to your level but I have no experience with agents and managers and I don’t like the sound of being around that shit as me, when I’m perfectly content now. But you know. I could do what I have to, I just think doctor and/or all the training sounds better for me than the media circus shit. Plus Tavi it’s really hard to have a hit: and then if you do, all these people like begin to abhor you because of ego stuff and I probably would just struggle. I suppose I could just have a hit hypothetically and still be invisible and boring. It would be harder — would it be worth it?”

“Nothing matters.”

“I despise it when people like you say that. But fine. Would you say that to me? After reading this. Why’d you say that.”

“Because I feel like you’re rejecting me. After all you’ve written. What if I just wanted a friend..”

“That’s so intense; is it that lonely at the top.”

“It’s pretty fucked, Morgan.”

“Okay well. Since you said that and I felt like crying let me think..”


“It sounds like I am rejecting myself around ‘people’ or being noticed by ‘people’ because I’ve had a bad experience with that, and how people do often are just mean. I don’t know what it is about me but I won’t pretend this is an experience that is unique to me because I think you might get it.”

“*starts crying*”

“I want to be your friend but I think I want to be aware that we have dark sides and I don’t know that much about your world, as you don’t about mine. I don’t care that much if I get famous; I think it’s unlikely and sounds unpleasant but I shouldn’t pretend I can try to be an actually great writer, or do a good film with my sister or something, unless I’m open to people actually someday reading or viewing it. So that’s how that is but I hope the dark side thing makes sense. Does it.”

Tavi: “I want to tell you about mine, my dark side, not be all scared of it and what is truthfully there in my story. And I want someone to help me keep to my, self.”

“*Morgan says nothing.*”

“I could like, turn the lens onto yours and ask you about the weird stuff you do in private that despite seeming so shamelessly open in this book overall, you’ve neglected to mention. As though fame and all my private things are like way fancier.”

“*Morgan says nothing but now she’s smurling.* “Uhh.”


“I’ve definitely developed a narrative where it’s way more interesting than mine, where you would be like ‘these people have no fucking lives’ about literal me but it sounds funner for you. Fun like being in a video game. Not like playing it like being in it and it happens to be this like satanic one.”

“Are you talking about Gossip Girl?” (Tavi

“No I’m talking about you and how your entire being should be separate from your work. I don’t care about that, it was all for the work. Also I don’t know if it was satanic but I have to say writing this took a lot from me; and sometimes I was just speaking from my perspective, from my cobweb in the corner of a dark basement ceiling about how I see our nation falling to pieces from poor leadership. I don’t know if that’s on you. (It isn’t but you are a powerful person and historically a leader-type.) I also don’t know anything about the truth just my version of it here.”

“You’re not going to like freak out at me (because a lot of people have about my character, I’ve coped how I do).”

“No! Your character however long she sits with you, was objectively creepy. I knew from the first scene, a joke about incest. She was weird talking to Zoya. Like WTF kind of teacher. She slept with the dad: even suspend your disbelief world that was, off. Does she have a thing for black guys? I’m sorry if it was a hard role but it’s good practice. She was a whore and a creep which are not mutually exclusive but I tend to see them as separate, and she looked bad.. all working class people were like why is this woman who’s so young, the teacher. I have never had a creepy female teacher but maybe these days they’re a thing. I didn’t watch all of the show, I watched a lot of the promo. For fear that I’ll get “blasted” which the show brags about doing I won’t be watching but I’m obsessed with Zoya, she’s ten years younger I wanna fuck her [I am saying that to hurt you because I like you more (sorry Z, she’s my age)] so, I might keep an eye on some content, also, cause it’s hard to miss. For what it’s worth ~this is my paragraph to vent; actually I think it’s like the fourth one in a book that’s almost about this show lol~ I also felt the script reflected that it was written by someone with stalker-ish values, for instance a scene in an early episode before I stopped watching when Max is like “why do you post pictures of yourself at the bath house?.. [posing the question]” (or whatever they call those places), “*whyy of course* it’s because you want to be discovered.” Not true and I found that legit-triggering! Well not really, I’m exaggerating to be a stick but like, imagine having someone show up at your Japanese sauna just because they thought you wanted to be discovered there, and they’re like HI maybe it’s a gay guy thing. Separate from that Ms. Gevinson who I keep seeing in the Equinox locker rooms, “hii!” — I don’t know that you care, much about me and I think that depresses me, which is for me to pay attention to, why’d this show make me get fat and, what am I writing for.. I don’t know, because I cared about you in that time. I think it’s present tense though. But that’s where identifying a power imbalance, between me and you becomes relevant.”

*in really quiet voice* “You got so muscly.”


*a beat*

Morgan added, “I just don’t want to be famous. I’m less like that now.. but re: fame. Maybe I’m sick of what I’ve seen [and felt].”

“Not even for me, you couldn’t handle a little extra time around real humans, as one yourself. I don’t think you’d necessarily be famous, if you ever sort of corresponded with anyone who was..”

“Well. I don’t think you would say that; probably you would just not say that. If you said that I’d be like ‘bold,’ I might actually expect my readers to start being like ‘oh shit she’s [Morgan is] being a grandiose incel.’ Controlling Tavi’s lines. I would expect you to say something else, something that I wouldn’t be able to plan for,” said Morgan.

“What would you say to the question I posed without explicitly using a question mark though.”

“I would say your face is just my type because if you lean a little bit closer, +oh shit what just happened. I kissed you! In the locker room — this is a porn. It was not marketed as such, everything about it is though.”

“I did not experience that, reading this,” she said… with wide eyes like she was channeling all this stuff and didn’t know where to put it!!

He said, “I guess I would have to consider really doing a lot for you because I just would be the type if I were being my self fully and utmostly. But.. but.. but..”


“They don’t have a third restroom at most Equinoxes. And.. hm. I literally forgot what else I was going to say. It was super important but it was like something wiped it from my memory. I should just ask you out. I’ll have money someday so that’s probably not an obstacle. It might be awkward like once in a while but I’d be an open talker. Hypothetically if we try, to, make.. make.. make..”

*a beat*

“Stay away from me. I don’t need you to go that far,” said Tavi. “I think you start going crazy. I don’t even know you!”

“Actually I think you’re right.. but I am not that attached to my breasts. For my own life. I was gonna say make real film stuff because I think that you really have you heart set on that path [but so do I it’s not like for you]. And non-sequitur.. I do not like the verb ‘making love,’ because honestly it reminds me of some kind of weird dynamics in my past, men saying I’ll make love to you and it’s like their pick-up line to get me alone, they must be full of themselves like it’s a shag with a younger woman, they might even be trying to make her fall in love, and then more and more, to like make it all like that CONTROLL — but I also didn’t mean that at ALL in previous line; I meant the movies, and I want to be intensely clear that I’m a person who just lives before I do art. And this is a lot. Like we’d probably meet a lot of times before you felt attracted to my dog ass in the locker hall. Because by then I’d have impressed you with my good nature and ability to stretch at the gym and stuff. This scene might be weird.. speaking of weird. [Um.] But I actually have liked you for years and now I want to be an unknown writer whose work you might read and then decide how to process and then maybe we will meet. If your friends think I’m fine. Like Petra, plus I could talk film with her: she might not like me but it’s because I’m obese and I’m not trynna be IN a photoshoot not that she wouldn’t do a good job. My important work in film. She’s got it all, just ZERO grasp of narrative, people don’t give a fuck at some point if it’s just so fucking pretty. Like. I’m just a better writer (of scripts). But that’s not what this is about.”

“I think it is.. Like if I were having a panic attack not in some weird situation. Just in a plain public habitat. What would you do.”

“Well. If I were channeling Sarah, Mankoff an old intern at Lincoln Center who was fat like me and who I could use as my DP in place of Petra if she’s finna judge me morally not like Richard KErn ever!! Let me emphasize that I’m a med student who does see you as a victim. Sarah told me to not use names because this book is a bigger deal than I think. And it could get me in trouble. You’re very young. I don’t know if you’d say ‘habitat’ or if you are that type but yeah I have a high tolerance for that kind of stuff; when I’m humiliating you in front of everyone on set, helping you stretch or mutually in love as your friend. AND EVERYONE including like Laura Benanti a childhood hero of mine, is like dang but doesn’t say anything, no one does except Morgan when she shows up looking like a dog on that set, and is like “yo! Sup brah, isn’t that that fashion girl? What the fuck happened. Brah you’re not gonna believe who that is.” I could write about you to get into med school, in the next Seven Years. Or… I could not meet you; that was kind of mean. Or. And. I could [not] leave school and focus on other work that I’m good at; I just don’t get along with men in film, and I am not a man hater I just get bullied frankly. Do they think I am famous? It’s always unbalanced and I get really fucked up. Bizarre. I love my work more than you that’s why I said . I also can be like mature about what it would mean to be a protective friend and I’m not like a pussy so. If poths do cross fortuitously, be advised I am a large girl I literally look like a man.. no mean jokes but if one slips like micro physics of power in action then, I also have a high tolerance for that!! I would probably know if it started getting to be like intentional torture. And sometimes I felt like you were like that in my nightmares. Why am I asking you out?”

“We were in love.”

“Okay. Well. How many more seasons till the end of intermission. *Tapping watch.* We were just jealous. Me and my 13 personalities. Bye. They’re all packing up.. I’m not mad, I did just spill some beans. Someone else can mop them up. Even though I’m not like that, I’d probably just clean ’em up but I want to get OUT because there’s my.. what’s the word Rapist who never touched me once. And do I look someone who would get raped by this man, who cringes at a vagina hair?”

“I am uncomfortable and I never was around my man. This scene is so fucked up. *That’s an author comment not the speaker.* But what if I the speaker not like that [sadistic]. Like at all.”

“Okay.. Definitely, think everyone is lately. I don’t believe you. You are. You hated me. Oh shit I remembered what it was!! When I was like ‘but.. but..’ and it’s not a butt joke. Ew. [God..]”

“What was it.”

“Sup. It was this, I’m concerned honestly that people, like real people in my real life will read this and sincerely become worried and sad because I’m doing so bad, to be this delusional, like I reached this point in my book,” Morgan explained. “I kind of said that already — I am scared of having the crazy red card pulled, I have to walk off the field. Rapist? A dialog with a famous highbrow fashion star. But chyeah. They’ll become sad, my real peeps. My people on my side. And I will, too. *I won’t cry here though. ‘Cause I’m such a maan.*”

“Well.. it is a little delusional. You can’t like text me,” said Tavi Gevinson.

“I would probably have called if this convo had gone better. To follow-up. But yes, the only stipulation I sort of posed was that it [this goal of corresponding and having my hopes crushed that way] had to be in the next Seven Years that I ‘get there.’ But that’s like a while yo. And if I don’t it’ll just eventually become like the book Ada where I feel like time just stopped mattering but I will also have given up on much mattering. I want you to matter in my life, sorry. But I think that a lot of people want that, from you; and it’s yours to definitely be careful about that with. You are older [than you’ve been] and wiser and at probably a good moment for deciding about that kind of thing: and doing so with an open sense of agency, or something I don’t know.”

“How could you make that faster, not to be like that about your life either,” she asked though.

“I can’t DM you, because. Wait why, my IG is Jank and I just don’t think that works power differential wise. I don’t think it works.. na I won’t be doin’ that. I do not expect this book to do much of anything when it’s ‘released,’ it’s basically been written for a couple years I just added the juicy eight-spider-eye gross and horrifying scenes.. when they all kind of arrived for me. It’s true. So it’s not like I’ll be riding the wave of a lovely book release and like, able to do that: be like ‘Tavi check me out!!’ no. I mean I just have come to know the disappointment of like three clicks so. Maybe not that even though I could be clear here that this book was probably for you. How ‘bout film plans; Alexis and I are doing a short so you could watch that. I might be so covert about this release that she won’t even have read it when I’m co-directing wit her. But it might be bad. And I don’t know if that’ll work. It cooould but it could be like one of those pitiful things. I’m actually just trying to be real, here. There’s a big gap to scale. Let me try this question, okay let me try this. Do you like the idea of your Morgan-pal becoming a doctor?”

“I do not mind it. I will play cool and erase that line. What the FUCK do I care.

“I don’t either and I think it’s presenting this weird stubborn problem because most great artists I can think of make that [zheir passion..] their entire, entire fucking life.”

“It sounds like you’re open to taking time off and then going back in and out.”

“In and out? Stop you whore. So I’ll finish my program and then I’ll try to get in some film practice I guess. Should be very epic and I can expect literally sneering voices to tell the brain-damaged doctor ‘goood luck.’ Are you sure about that sneering voice’s influence in you. And anyway I will try not to pick a medical school even, until I added that item on my To do list. Get rejected in person and THEN go to med school.”

“Key words in person!!” said Tavi. “Where I will finally kill you. Expect a few more moments in this book where you, Morgan, say again and again that you are convinced a girl wants to and actually would.”

“Nyeah, that’s true but. Schizoaffective symptoms. I still feel sort of not satisfied like I could have done better on this scene, I didn’t give any clear path forward from where we’re stationed and just like why get all lazy on an important task that has all these vulnerabilities attached to it. Laziness is actually a horrible villainous thing that causes.. bad things. Beware the lazy bug. Maybe Durga could set us up for our first [and last] supper, but I’ve never talked to her; I just have known for a little bit she’d be a huge figure in my creative life, I just fucking know, like you know when you fucking KNOW, you just KNOW and maybe I should leave fucking school — she is Polly Platt, this other thing is not my purpose it’s so sad, but I think I can still do my best at this current best option. I do have a first degree connection now that Alex is probably staying with Alex Vadukul an up-and-coming writer whose dad took my fav picture of my dear dead Amy. And he’s friend with Durga. Those two aren’t in a rush but, say I meet her in the next Seven Years by accident even.”

“Would you leave school. I know you with-these-lines you are trying to figure it out for you.”

“I would but. I don’t, think I want to leave school. I also don’t want to keep writing about something that you should write about.. It’s kind of hot. Not sarcasm. I win by calling that. I’m funny and right. But choosing to stay in school! It’s because I’m not that dumb. I just am, compared to many, people. I don’t see how that’s a good idea when I could get into a pretty good medical school with my test score abilities and a 3.0 GPA. It’s unfortunate that I failed a class. Okay did I decide anything.”

“You keep saying I’m more powerful but I don’t want you to assume that. Yes I’ve written about ‘power’ and different forms of it and I am very much an expert.”

Morgan: “You are objectively more powerful get it through your thick head. But. I can be cool and get my relative power game on. How bout I just finish program, make short film not about this.. first step back onto any stage small or large in Seven Years, and publish this plus I’m doing some little pieces. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Sorry this is frankly an odd situation and scene.”

Tavi said, “it won’t be me because I want to be a muse, treated really well and it shows but maybe someone unexpected will read and respond to your boring long book. Called Hope mon Amour.”

“Does it show, on a girl who’s sad AF with these asshole tweets about her character. Do you want to end up like Christina Aguilera wearing a strap-on in twenty years, in public because you went nuts. Did I definitely change the title like forty times within this book. Yes but I guess I just do like that title, it’s almost kind of lame and therefore it’s perfect. Like you. Not the almost kind of lame part of it, that’s me.”

“You are nuts. And a dick. I am not, perfect. If you could call me one thing other than Tavi what would it be.”

“My other half. My masterpiece.”

“Well good for you: what if I told you this is all a dream, that your friends not just mine might tell you to leave me alone.”

“I would say okay, I am a girl too, so I’ve had those scared exhilarated feelings” Morgan looked not surprised, “but I think for me as someone who is possibly a legendary trans author who never wanted to be, who got obsessed with you.. and I did.. after seeing you perform in a project that wasn’t received superbly well and then, you know, subsequently almost getting a TG tattoo on my arm (an allusion to real life)[but I didn’t actually do that] well. I could try dating someone who is funny and pretty like you at my school where I don’t like the guys; didn’t even back when I was getting macked on all the time, too much. But girls do dig me kind of and I am a man of my word. It is a good time to be me in what non-bipolar-non-ugly you Tavi would describe as my ‘comfortable life.’ Shut up. You love the fame. Don’t start crying. You’re acting. Insane. I wish I would have just been with a guy even if he was just another guy and guys can be stupid, guys and there’s nothing to that; literally not complicated and I’m not a misandrist, you get used to guys bein’ guys. Or—Tavi, I could be my bold self and wonder if I am exactly just your type.. very very singular human being, who’s probably only ambitious because I don’t fit in anywhere.. If nothing comes of nothing then is this any different from how most great books are written, by lonely freaks with mutilated egos. I’m fuckin’ shameless. And I could get pussy as a poser writer [“gooood luck”] but, not me I’d rather find a girlfriend. As a poser writer. *Making a dog face because.. I smell.. I smell..*”

“What do you smell?.. eh he.”

“I love her face when she’s doing this kind of troglodyte smile and is caught in the act of something so human. I don’t like you and Dick’s very fleek attractiveness compared to mine and hers. Good luck with your life. I wake up and miss you but I have a life, and I feel like the conditions of staying connected are that I have to agree with you — that I don’t. Who has so little of one, that they felt compelled to reap this much drama, from nothing. From peace. You’ve hurt me. I’ve written a beautiful book from that hurt.”

“Corresponding ever again is definitely bad idea given my experience with fans.. I have been famous for a while.”

“Ohh shit what happened to your sense of what’s real versus, what people actually think of you. *Gasp* get it together. *Sniff sniff sniff sniff.* Not smelling you, what then; your man would say “food!” and put some good joke somewhere about that, directed at me specifically which you’d agree is funny and might even have helped write. Just sensing my destiny here *sniff sniff sniff sniff it’s literally like a dog at Thanksgiving sniff sniff sniff, here we are at the table where dumb Lola Morgan announced she’d been raped and it was for comic relief on the intentional long-running inside that joke that was Gossip Girl.. and you Tavi, playing herself [I presume I was myself, too! Sir and Lady] were the sane foil to make it even funnier.* Go to hell. I wasn’t laughing. I couldn’t eat that Thanksgiving. No weight jokes; you can say ‘that’s why it’s your cure!’ What happened to you. I am thinking of all these things before they’re thought of, by commenters who are miles ahead of me. I wrote these last two chunks of Paragraph before I made some scene edits. I’m leaving it.. because allll my muchath readas [gracias actually though] might enjoy it weirdly. *Lady Gaga Judas voice* EW.. That’s not who I smelt either. I smelled someone who you’ll know when I’m seen witter. Jill be looking all zen and shit, me in some men’s cargos. On a beach. In the most Biblical sense I am too nice… too generous… This scene was supposed to be about, our first meeting though, if I were a boy, if it happened in this life not the next. Better luck next time. How would I.. meet [or have met] you halfway from where we’re at. I think a lot of my lines I’ve written reflect my mind not you actually being you. So I would just want to do something really basic like play video games or see that fun-lookin’ movie Elvis, I could haul our apartment’s shit to somewhere else. Yes I do have a gaming system and I do actually have some good gender-neutral nonviolent or moderately violent games: so I could see if you like it but I think that’s kind of my thing so. Never mind bad idea. It’s about slowly sort of learning to have fun that isn’t that advanced. Otherwise I’d be like dragging you to some obscure play or museum or god knows, an orgy?” Morgan asked. “I promise it’s fucking normal, where I’m from. Despite how I’ve just-been to you in this project and despite having like insulted your whole family in this scene and mine as well.. kind of by association for them, poor things I’m sorry I’ve brought shame unto you all but you’re handling this fine.. Alexis would be like ‘leave her alone Ms. Schizo’.. probs in different words, I will be called a liar, what am I lying about? these are opinions.. and TG your friends would probably say ‘she was pathetic’ about me all that time. Or—let me think. I would ask my sister for advice on this if it were real because I’m not good at being a boy, like I have no idea what good first date, in another life where we didn’t each get ALL FUCKED UP would have been. I think you don’t (??) like boring people or situations. I would plan something a little better TBH. [Ha. Like an actual thing..]”

“Very long response. Actually though can you leave me the FUCK alone.”

“*Has Eureka moment* Ooh. Actually though. I would take you to the JCC just North of Lincoln Center where I owe them like some years’ worth of membership dues!!! [Don’t worry about that, they’re nice there it just shows how I’ve ever run some red lights. Didn’t Rookie do that too..] Let’s go!!! Or I’ll go with Caroline, to pay them off, because obviously we can afford. Mainly. To prove she’s a better ally to the whole fucking legacy of Jews than fucking, you.. even with the meme she shared once. And then [will have] found a way to apologize for.. Good job. They would have let me back in, if I’d been like ‘this is a famous Jew’ and future-Holocaust hero, you’ll be in their Holocaust exhibit not their art section. Well not yet, if that makes sense.”

“My friends and mentors have actually said much worse things.. Jerk.”

“Jerk! *Kid pix sound effect* Oh no! OOOOphhh. Who? Literally all your friends are rich kids, who have some bubble-reality version, of how their lives are Actually Bad. Wait why? Because you’re a fucking faggot who got oppressed in high school and found his outlet through wild orgiastic sex which he in turn studied so well that he changed the whole world with the way it brain-damaged him? And if you disagree with them — yeah ya get the whip, get off. Awl!! Awwlhwlw wlhwh.” *Cue Meghan Thee Stallion song Body, and a few other songs..*

“How could you say that, to me.

“?? Are you bored still. Do you resent my comfortable life. Have you ever been financially challenged EVER. Don’t get ME involved in this; I just frankly don’t, have time. I didn’t write this for anyone but my self. Do I have SLAVE tattooed on my forehead? Do you have WIFE. Hm. Would you still make some dorky cute video in which you claimed to not-understand why Hitler’s being a failed artist might have driven him to become Hitler instead. Were you posing and you really totally understood. You’re a GREAT actress. In this generation it’s screenwriters and you are him. SNAAAAAKES IN THE GRASS HOES.. I hate you and like in the song ‘Betty,’ gooooo fuck yourself [someone] fucking murdered your life. You can only hope people will think it’s kind of cool, if you handle it right. Meanwhile I’ll have fucking Pokémon transitioned-up to a beautiful dork, not a poser of one who’s actually just a BULLAYY, so suck my big fat cock. You missed a good one *zip zip zip* we’re done. Why do people feel so bad for white boys. Stop you’re fucking ruining America. Creeps.”

“I wouldn’t say this here because I have some class, but maybe we’ll stay friends.”

“I want you to do well for the world. Some nerve I know to do it this way, I’m evil to build you up just to fuck you down. I wrote this book before Season 2 of GG so I could stay away. And I’ll miss you and I think this will be hard.”

“You’re not a bully?”

“No. I’m being nice.”

Ch. 23 One day more, a fine day to not be made weird, or just used. Or made-into a new age human minstrel porn

Final chapter thank you.

“I got sunshine, on c-c-cloudy day. Yip yip, woo hoo!” said a man with a happy flick of the wrist, he wasn’t gay. He was walking his toy collie with considerably straight posture, a muscle-bone structure thing that kept him alive forever; he was well. “Yip yip, yee hoo.”

He was basically a black man in America — honorary! (Yoo hoo.) Just like Taylor Swift is basically a doctor already, there are staggered starts in the brain talent drain game and then there’s just luck. Thank god they were okay.

“Make me ope, ooooh.” If people knew how humble, you had to be for this kind of life. They wouldn’t be like “hey rich man you’re still nothing!!”

“Oooooope — ah! Momm.”

Taylor: “did you just call me mom after we fucked. I didn’t want to bring it up then.”

Morgan paused for like at least fifteen seconds. “No.”

“That’s not okay, I don’t mean saying it I mean the joke.”

“It’s not. I actillae just think of it that whey.”

“Have I ever shewn you the guillotine room. In my huis. I Don’t you think you should be the ONE to make jokes like that I should say.”

“It’s NOT a fucking jewke!! Who will survive at this orgy. Who will survive at this orgy.” [Playing drums.]

[Some reader somewhere: is this how white folk really talk when we’re not here.]

“Ooooe!” [Morgan playing drums. It’s a horrible night for her but tomorrow, for the now-racist white girl (who got turned) but (so) tomorrow we’ll pretend it was fun for her. She consented.]

“Author author. That’s actually pretty fucked up.”

“Yooou raped me!”

“I did not rape you. Did I show you my room yet.”

“Tallor. Can hard tark. If you had to deal with the things Carolina has ‘heard’ me spit off. You’d understand why I’m working my war up.”

*One year later Author, frankly looks like a male lesbian ho*

I’ve pretty much lost touch with the present tense so time to throw in a wrench. Clang clang. For me the ego trip that allowed me to literally write a book, and make very few friends, in my first year or wait two almost three already [?] of grad school is just something I’ll have to pay attention to, and definitely, definitely keep in check.

She was the single most pretty girl he’d ever laid eyes on, and he was just a cuck, and she looked good in green. He didn’t think she seemed like a funny type, if she ever had a sense of humor it was something else now. Sublimated into something less obscene; maybe that was now to survive, as the former way had been. The non-humor about obscene things was a good policy. On the streets people wouldn’t laugh. For him because she would become his life, surviving was just-understanding — not making some joke of her this time, to help the people laugh when nothing in their lives was particularly humorous. It was actually so fucked up that laughing was hard. It affected their health negatively, like being cyber bullied, being looked at and laughed at as people made dumb.

Not even did he laugh, at all, when one night he became like her “Daddd.”

Out of nowhere she added “like DW Griffith. Ya..” The people broke into laughter, of a strange kind; she wasn’t trying to be funny when saying this line within a sex scene in a film. They had high enough IQs for that one, to get it, sort of. Even if they didn’t know the name they just knew.

“He’ll be fine,” ME Wilcock said. Not actually laughing himself, or talking about just another boy. This woman needed help and not to be belittled, that might mean some extra hands. Praise God though.. wait. Since I don’t want to go back to a mental hospital I won’t say that nor that, “miracles can happen,” but, guess we’ll see what can.

I won’t beat myself up, for ever imagining I’d have sex with people out of my league, when I was alone, I’d imagine it. With girls basically though. My life right now looks like this: I just got an unsatisfactory grade in a General Chemistry class, a B- which is not good it’s actually disappointing to rack up with an F. When I checked my grades I looked not as much like a bitter lesbian ho, as an actual war veteran; a male one. Oh no. I discussed it with a dean and my therapist to apply legitimately for accommodations I’d get as a student with mental illness, to me that felt like a big step because [while this project might suggest otherwise] I’ve been in denial about it for years and years actually. The ongoing treatment and maintenance of the mental illness I inherited from family members constitutes maybe like 17% of my daily life, some days a lot more. It’s just something I have to attend to, slowly and diligently, or I’m likely to end up in a progressively worse place. Based on observation — just of my life, compared to my mom’s (who has sacrificed plenty for me) — I know how absolutely plausible it is, that I could end up in “darker places,” than where I am now.

Alexis and I spent probably 17% of our childhood playing CD-rom games. The first I remember was one that was out of our age range (usually we played age-appropriate educational games but this one was our Dad’s). I later bonded with the boy who first really hurt me and I would say didn’t get hurt, except for by some humility, that the soundtrack was really good for this game: it was called Myst and had a sequel called Riven. It took place in a hyper-reality, deceptively beautiful. One of the features of the game is that you never knew when, or if, it would really end. A lot of it involved walking around doing nothing, and solving puzzles. I don’t remember ever reaching the end. But I think I did once, and it was some sort of sequence with a panicked guy telling me things. I could be mis-remembering that.

It was an interactive game, almost more like a show. It was a really good show. Just sometimes kind of terrifying.

Boy stayed in school and tried to take care of himself. Girl finished what she considered her duty; this was her whole life. Boy didn’t ever get called a boy in real life. Girl never got called a boy because boys, in real life get because boys didn’t used to be that pretty. I mean. There were different views on these things. Boy tried not to think of himself as a loser, even though he wasn’t winning like Charlie Sheen. Girl tried not to stay too detached from her emotions, even though she felt some days like a Japanese instrument being hauled on a leash plus wheels around the city. It helped to keep detached, to keep from getting smashed crossing the street against an awry light or something. Really she should be in like a truck, entering through the back of the museum but things were falling apart. Why was she even being played. The people playing her didn’t realize, it felt like nothing was happening but things were falling apart, not just in her just actually completely. It just felt off or some days.

The gaze like a sentry made Boy think of working late nights at a theater. Sweeping up during credits he’d get used to the feelings of endings more than ever beginnings. Maybe it was the end of theaters, maybe it was the end of Him. He didn’t think he was a cheater and he didn’t know who Girl really was yet. Since he went home and shot himself almost every night, like he was in a video game, he actually wondered if this was the end. The end of his real life. He didn’t care much either way.

In the past, crime looked like gunshots and shattered shop windows. Rapes. In the future, that wasn’t crime. That was probably everywhere. It wasn’t really covered unless it was up. In the future, crime looked like cartoon characters popping up on your laptop. Cartoon animals like orange snakes and big rabbits and spotted giraffes. Cute cartoon animals. Smiling. But there was something off about them. Something off about their eyes. Something off about their smiles. Certainly something just off about their movement. It didn’t feel right. It got under your skin and made you tired. You watched it and felt a frenzy reach you meth-like through your eyeballs to your blood-filled brain. Crime was an attack on the gazes. Not the bodies per se. Crime was an attack on the minds; spooky cartoon animals that sabotaged your ability to stay online and, do normal things. To watch videos; to stay in touch with your body. To write e-mails? To stay in touch with real friends. To think about them. On the internet, cartoons attacked your gazes and got in your head, you closed your eyes at night and tried to touch yourself, and found the cute animals were still there, spooking you all night. Your body was sabotaged too. At night, you couldn’t stay in touch with your friends. So lonely people left their rooms, god can only hope they could get past some hang-ups that kept crowds so unsafely factioned, whether girls boys women or men. They couldn’t all commune. They went back to the movies to purge their minds of cute cartoons. The movies became more important. Maybe ones guided by good gazes: about the natural body. About real humans. Not cartoons.

Sometimes people saw Hope’s face and thought on impulse “she looks terrible.” Just the most awful things, “like everyone else.” Or “ugly.” It was REALLY hard to find an ugly pic, there wasn’t a single one online. Hope was running in the rain. “Morgan!!”

They embraced. Morgan said “I just want you to be perfect. Just kidding. NEVER SAY THAT.”

Now they were having sex on a public sidewalk like what seems to happening at the opening of Heaven Knows What — in the syuzhet, just before the gamine, starved blonde girl character slits her wrists. “How can I know you’ll be okay,” Morgan said when she got a breath in between the kisses; more like CPR being administered metaphorically, figuratively.

“You could have been less of a dick!!!!” She was smiling, though like it was a joke.

“I’m a professional.”

“You had me at hello,” said Hope, still laughing; it was fuckin’ weird. Morgan slapped her, just to knock some sense in. God knows it was not to invoke a real-life love story that was the realer than theirs — you know like, real love. People like to imitate it. It’s violative.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell what’s literal either. But don’t speak just referentially — you’re not making sense!! I didn’t even SAY HELLO to anyone.”

“I would do anything.”

“I am not that type of Boy!! Noo, I’m doing it too..” she didn’t know how to just stay settled in herself oh my god.

“I can get to know your body better than anyone—”

“NOOOO!!!” Morgan put hands on her ears and practically heard helicopters whirring and thought it was the end. She was thinking Hope’s actual real past lovers, who were either psychopaths or made Hope into one or definitely both and this was so horrible, Morgan wasn’t sure how she’d not gone mad: she had gotten mad, at home, and at Hope, who’d gone mad, and the worst part was that it probably was real love.

I mean wasn’t it real in Heaven Knows What, in which the creepy Eastern European-seeming male drives his primary if not only female serious love interest to kill herself.

“How ‘bout this,” said Hope. “I’m gay!”

“I won’t tell anyone!! I’d never out a stranger but that actually might, help me calm down a little. I don’t know what I believe as it pertains to, that stuff. Like are you Good now. Because in our narrative which I the fuck am writing — I don’t see you writing — it would explain your apathy. Just toward life I think. And people on your side. I mean I know what it’s like to walk into a park and get some heroin, when there are literal fucking morons walking around everywhere: it’s like, you just don’t read the signs. It would explain how you have a physical attraction to men and big dick, still because I am the same!! Sometimes I’m psychopathically attracted to myself like fucking Buffalo Bill.. Just kidding, it’s actually more like I am not attracted to myself and, have no one. I think I look like Hey Arnold with black air. I.e. a bit cartoonish.”

“With black air?”

“That was a typo but it made me think of Nike airs. And I thought to mention that you’re a black girl.”

“Stop making racist jokes!”

“It’s not. You just look more like a black girl than who I’m considering for casting in the seminal girl role for Black Satin she’s younger than you. Black Satin is my spunk jazz whore film that people at Barnard said was actually maybe feminist despite, being so fucked up!”

“Yes. So is there a role for me in it. And I will not off myself but will off you if you cheat with her..” said Hope, considering for a second how this is all very theoretical.

“Too soon. Because it’s not cheating if they ain’t committed. It will become clear that I am not someone you necessarily deserve no matter how poor or how retarded. I do not trust you. I actually think you have a very suicidal side. Which is exactly how this happened and why I think you’ll be surprised to find support privately. I won’t FUCK her but I’ll be protective because I don’t want her to end up like us. I don’t know if I was joking when I said I don’t want you acting in mstuff. Do you want to end up like Woody Allen.”

“I already kind of look like him.”

Morgan the Author said, “if I’m actually sort of right about that, at least in the eyes of a black girl you’d look like that; which is purely intuition to conclude, then that’s good because, you are an intellectual not just someone playing dress-up it just like comes across therefore you can help me with the behind the scenes work (I’m sure you have experience screenwriting which makes me sick by the way, because it’s like — don’t try to be beat your dead feminist rival Lola at her own game) [I’m really upset about your feminism being kike feminism but you can help devise] a new naturalism which is actually just intended to keep girls mired. I guess to themselves. You also know what’s racist and not maybe because I think a lot of that awareness comes from more academic work as opposed to common sense even? Like if you’re going for the highbrow throat of it but I’m not necessarily. Don’t try to be so highbrow, maybe you can help me know what doesn’t work too.”

*In insipid babyish girl voice* “So you’re not mad at me?”

“I actually think you’re seriously traumatized and all the signs are there. Like that voice. Am I attracted to it? No.. I just, can tell you’re going through something. I’m a professional so I don’t get hard when dealing with a patient. Everyone gets a little hot for teacher (or for doctor) so we can be each other’s! I’ve had countless teacher crushes and you are my favorite. The only reason I have such a bad GPA is because these STEM teachers are harder to seduce, and sometimes I think I look like a creepy boy who is like stuck young like a vegetable. Hard to describe. Do you like vegetables.”

“I actually like pasta sometimes.”

Do you. I don’t care if you’re anorexic but if you ever stop being, I think I am a guy who likes the non-look. Exciting. Well maybe that’s where I can take you out on our first date evening date or something, but I can get pasta, you can get whatever you don’t eat — I actually know some good places I’ve been living in New York for a while. Alex thinks I’m a real New Yorker. But let me add. There are more beautiful things, than Woody Allen films. A lot of people in film don’t even love his films. I personally have found solace in, other films!!”

“*Squinting* well, you look objectively bad Morgan. But since I’m just trying to manipulate you, I’ll add and keep saying stuff like this: to me you’re a dime.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t cheat, on me with your ex husband but — obviously you might still talk. I don’t really feel compelled to be friends. But you can be as if my writing this matters to Yhull. Or whatever I don’t know here. I’ll be like cool. I’ll be cool!”

“You don’t even know him: give him a chance.”

“You and him certainly don’t know me! These people are bullies. Just like, maybe how you could help with your diplomacy skills is to finally be like ‘leave her alone,’ not tell me imagining that he.. just didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t like you either. I thought you were an obnoxious pig.”

“Well *swallows and is hiding tears.* Even if you still don’t like me. Or think of me ever And if I did imagine all these scenes. And if we never meet. You should look at that, because — real Women.. pick up on that energy from other mean women the second they’re near it; it’s street smarts, not something you have (hopefully maybe a little more now) — ..I don’t think I am. I’m not going to get one from him, he might still do some great films — you could star and I am being petty now. For that here is an apology to you, I owe one to him, for being too involved. But this was hard to watch. To protect my legit broken heart I am going to end it on this. Don’t hurt yourself like in the Beyoncé song.”

“Morgan.. *manipulative voice*”

“Don’t call me kid don’t call me baby.. I know you’d be more likely to call me just a fat person. I weigh 130 fucking pounds. Figure out a new way to see and laugh at the world because this is not working for me but what matters more because you are someone who matters, and I’m not, is that it’s not working for you. I’m not saying get fat I’m saying figure out something genius you fucked up with me. Don’t act like I wouldn’t be the type of former girl who doesn’t know just what this was literally all about. Every tangentially style-related joke you made to me that wasn’t even funny, every joke that made sociopathy seem ‘cool.’ You are evil and I 100% think you are a fraud, and a very good actress, and not that nice, and not someone who cares Shit about art.”

“I care about money and my image. And [redacted.]”

“Well since I can’t relate. This time I actually am leaving you. Do not die. But do not call me a stalker, I think I was a victim just maybe. Just another boy.”

“[Winces at her own assumption that people are just automatically mistaken to not choose Her over them selves—but she does kind of feel that way..] (i.e.: her sound theory of mind is coming back) I feel you are a good writer and choosing your art over me.”

“I was writing for life. I just think it’s shady still, for whose life I was writing.”

Rando reader: what if a star were to read a book by a fan and say ‘shit that’s Actually too intense’

Morgan: I would say I have homework sorry, doubt it’s the first time

Taylor Swift: would you leave school to work for ME

Morgan: I would haha z

Taylor: since the is the end, can you tell us who Hope was — like you did a few yankee swaps but this scene would be the moment to say it

Morgan: I am

**scene edited

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