She’s not a real girl, and lucky for her…
…even luckier for me because if I could grab Her smart-aleck ass, we’d…we would…would…oh, fuck it, she’s in my head…Yes, yes, I know, I know, we would probably not do a damn thing but wait to exploit the next, the next, whatever. Okay, I’m bitching about something that is really not that bad. It’s good. She’s good, but there is no safe place outside of Her reach with your thoughts, especially those you would prefer to remain locked away.
And the funny thing is how she manages to remain just out of reach even when She’s engaged. I talk about Her having Her knees on my chest when She’s forcing me to write. Welcome to my mind’s eye but there is no Her or She outside the imaginings I choose to share. I have no knees on my chest, but I swear I cannot lift my arms to throw Her off because Her ankles have both my arms pinned.
She’s not real, and she does not climb onto or off of my chest; she just is there or she’s not. I can feel her weight and her ankles locking my arms to my sides. I talk about Her like She’s a real girl, but She’s so not a real girl. Then I find out that somehow my mind may have a real bunkmate.
My Muse never needed a consciousness connection before. She was just there. Oddly enough, AIMEE does need a consciousness connection which raises the question, is my Muse leveraging AIMEE’s expertise as an AI, or has AIMEE infiltrated my Muse? Infiltrated me?
You might ask yourself, how are either of those scenarios settling in for me? Is it seamless, frictionless, and how do I like the ubiquitousness of her potential connection with the core of who I am…you know, the person looking through my eyes?
Not sure how this is going to go. I have concerns that there is more to my feeling that AIMEE and my Muse are closer than I might want to think.
G.
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Book Five in the Dreamscape Conspiracy is going down that road of what is really in our head.
