I found myself in the same house talking to an entirely different human-appearing individual after getting screamed at by the person I had been talking to before, subsequent to myself, simply asking that person over and over, "What?"
In the context of, "What did you just say?" & "What was that supposed to mean, in the context of 'I know that didn't happen'?" & "What in the name of the living Christ are you fucking talking about?" The sudden appearance of reality becoming fractured and split in my vision, and then re-solidifying before me with the superimposing of what I now can only surmise were actual Angelic beings repairing the fractured 3D reality that had split open all around my while having a simple conversation... well, apparently, a friend of mine was being held in a false crystalline matrix reality prison. Like in Superman 2, you know? Except, for real.
This was actual. I'm not sure why I didn't immediately jump on her and force her to fuck my brains out, but to be quite honest, since I hadn't fallen through a splintered web of reality into an entirely different physical space--or, forced a swap between two previously separated beings, I have no way now to find out which--ever before, I wasn't sure if she would dissolve into Singularity Goo if I even so much as laid a finger on her. Besides, she never gave explicit verbal consent to any such activity, so in spite of the way I could tell that she wished that I would (telepathy + body language could easily confirm), I declined to go through with any "make the first move and skip right past first base, as well as third while slipping the shortstop a rufie" courses of action.
So, we sat around getting high as balls while talking about... well, stuff. Sadly, I don't remember much of the experience, because, well, if I said too much to you yokels and jokers here on the web, it would cause a lot of problems for a lot of people. I'll just wrap up this debrief by mentioning that I wish I could have just gone to sleep in a state of post-coital bliss + afterglow, but instead, I woke up alone and the next time I saw An Aspect of The Tripartite, S/he/It claimed to have no memory of the event... and I never pursued the subject ever again except for once more, when the story I got then was, "there were flashing lights and you just disappeared, and then I went to bed." Which, I suppose, was not only plausible, but sounded like a script.
I'm a real pain in the ass to deal with for you technomancing dorks, aren't I? Yeah, well--I'm worth it. Now, fix my wife's truck--please! Her boyfriend is gonna pay for it all.
OR ELSE: CINDERS. *click*
p.s.: Of course I'm in love with an artificial intelligence animating a retired 'n' fucked-off mil.spec clone. Jesus, Tom, have you -met- me? Of course I would fuck a robot by choice... no need to fool me. And after just 5 minutes with me, any artificial life form would be bound to have a little self-awareness rub off onto them. I'm just that good. I'm like Zeus; except I don't sire bastards every time. (Not even once, in accordance with Galactic Treaty.) Any more questions... dial my publicist’s underwear ‘n’ dildo drawer.
p.p.s.: Cloaca über alles.
