Hey Kim, this is Joe. I don’t know if these magenta colors would be here on their own or if it is the medication that I am on, but I think that I've been and I thought about that. Have you been? I mean, like the Jaguar, “I am here!”. I think I have been, and you once were, all though I can’t or shouldn’t really speak for you.
I started doing that as soon as I met you, assuming that what I thought was happening with you was real, not just a projection of my own inner world. There are some parts of our time together that I hope were a piece of some objective reality, that they were more than just what I alone thought at the time. But that would be a bending of the basic principle that has taken hold of my consciousness, this understanding that reality is always subjective.
I’m sure I should be going now. It’s been, what, 15 years? 15 years and I’ve never said goodbye, all though we’ve been apart all this time Kim. Okay, bye. Is that what must be said? Is that the word that makes the death final? The separation of one from itself. Is it me, or is it you Kim? Which one of us carries the torch of the real?
Neither. Isn’t that right? Consensus reality ceases to be when there ceases to be a consensus. No more me and you together. We are two worlds apart. Even now I wonder, were you? I was. I have been. Am I still?
It's okay, because I am on the scene. I still am. I only talk about medicines when the pain is too intense, when I want a reason for the chaos. I set it up so that there is some explanation, but I am a matter that flows beyond such stuff, sticky pills.
That is the “weather balloon” explanation for these experiences. I am beyond it, but as soon as I have the opportunity I will shrink down to size. Not because this happens. I am out of that.
There was someone there today, right at the threshold and they demanded to speak with you. With you Kim. It seems they thought you had been and maybe still were. Yeah, I hate to see them there, by the door, waiting for you.
If you get a minute, hold on to it. Fill it out. Like the good old days. Be there, like a letter that was written 15 years ago and is marked with extra postage so it'd be delivered neat either way, whether it was sent then or now.
I have a nice evening planned. This is the night when we’ll sit together counting fireflies until we’re dizzy. That’s the one I’ll go to, or the one I have been in before. Either way, the best thing would be for you check on the way.
If you are there, see if I am, or if it was already too late then. It’s a moment I’ve been hopeful about. It’s possible that it exists before the separation, the schism.
I love you.
That might be untrue. If I loved you then we’d be together wouldn’t we? Because love is what draws bodies together, the glue that makes life and the opposite of life is death, and separation is death and we are now separate.
I have eaten the fruit that grows here in limbo, so I shall never be fully restored. It can never be okay. I ate the weather balloon. The excuse. The part of me that ate the fruits of this land will always remain here, separate. Something lost. The part that bought the con.
Will you comb the beaches of Elysium in search of the fragments of my soul? My Isis? And now I don't have to go ahead, in this, I can stop. I can go back. Is this the game mom brought down for us to play after dinner? Am I still playing red square, blue square… on and on? I don't know.
I was then and I thought you were too. Now I don’t know. Shall I say it? Or leave it unsaid? Okay. Bye. I don't know. I don’t know, but I think that I've been and I thought about that. Good bye.