The Men

(Adult content below)

As it turns out, Lacey belongs to Lem. Forever. This morning he held her and she felt it.

Except, she belongs to Michael forever too.

Not both of them at the same time. They aren’t in a relationship. …But…it’s not in the realm of the living that they are, it’s with God…so…it’s as if she belongs to Lem but then if he fails she belongs to Michael. And Louis and Harold are both outside of and within that structure. Elliott and Joe a few other men were within that structure, so to speak, too. But they aren’t Michael nor Lem. And things have changed as Lacey may be actively interacting with them.

It’s actually creepily like the Catholic theologian Peter Kreeft imagines it might be in Heaven. With the exception that there is an ultimate union for eternity between one woman and one man.

“But…how are you contacting these men?!?” asks Lacey on behalf of Summertime Sadness. She can tell in her spirit that he’s obsessed with that question if he reads her blog. But she’s not trying to contact him. It’s more that she feels attacked herself at random moments when she thinks of him (again at random) by the thought that he’s sitting there judging her. It’s as if he’s trying to contact her.

With that in mind:

“But then that means I’m actually being a bully to you.” says Summertime Sadness to Lacey.

“Yes! But I like to think that you’re also just genuinely disturbed by what you read on this blog.” says Lacey.

“Oh wow. Yeah. Pretty much.” he says.

“The thing is…it’s like schizophrenia for me.” says Lacey. “When it first started I was terrified I was turning into a schizophrenic or that someone had poisoned me. But I also felt as if I’d descended into actual Hell. Or something close to it. BUT, again, the professional I consulted didn’t think I’m schizophrenic at all. The others felt that if it was schizophrenia it was very atypical. And they deferred to the more credentialed and experienced and specialized professional who said it wasn’t schizophrenia at all.

“So…they conjure them for you or what?!?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“Maybe. It’s also possible I got spiritually thrown into another dimension through their spiritual practices. …There was one night in particular when Mr. Blue supposedly traveled to actual Hell…or something like that…and it was after that that I was thrown into this bizarre state where I started interacting with ghosts as if I was also a ghost.” says Lacey. “You’d think I’d know it was fake and demonic deception. But…it felt like actual reality. On a purely spiritual level in my spirit. It felt…inescapable.” She thinks. “The good news is that I think it might have been where I am spiritually in this life. Not based on my sin. But based on the state of my life. Like…I didn’t realize how bad certain aspects of my life were until then. But over time since then I’ve realized it. …Up until then I had such a positive attitude about everything. And it was my attempt to be Godly and resilient, but it clouded my ability to see how dire certain things actually were. After feeling trapped in a Hellish spiritual place…I try started to realize how bad things were in an objective way and…it’s been incredibly sad. But it’s also been helpful at times. …My life really is…tragic. Aside from my kids it’s a wealthy person’s shitshow.” Lacey thinks. “Actually though, being able to talk to the late Queen has been the highlight of my living life outside of the beauty of God’s creation in nature and my kids. No, I’ve prayed countless times for God to use this bizarre experience for the good and He possibly is working on that, I hope.” She thinks more. “No, it’s bizarre. I…think there are probably a lot of scientific studies we don’t know about on the human brain and life and death that the Illuminati uses. Like how to open certain channels in the brain to allow for telepathy. So you don’t have to conjure people spiritually, it’s just science we don’t know about as the public.” She thinks. “There is still actual schizophrenia though, should the Illuminati exist. But…it’s possible, as it’s the human brain, that there’s some…similarity in a way to what they do without schizophrenia.” She thinks. “Soo…the whole tinfoil hat saying and concept itself could have been a smear campaign against folks who were on to them in the past. Because…they seem to use like…radio waves possibly at times? So like…it’s just science. But actual schizophrenics who may or may not accidentally contact them from time to time are really suffering from an actual mental disorder.”

“So that’s what you’ve observed?” asks Summertime Sadness of Lacey.

“Yes.” says Lacey. “Whatever they’ve done to me is sad. Because it’s like they were going with the flow of the river spiritually. Like…something was pulling them away. But…because they’re not Christian and they’ve made themselves naive…they didn’t fight it but embraced it. And…you can vainly attack me all you want and call me narcissistic…but the facts are the facts. And if I’m Tom’s daughter…it’s terrifying what could be happening spiritually. …Also…the oil in my family. It’s significant. …No…something was pulling at them to attack me and pull me into something spiritually bizarre but…they assumed it would benefit them. Defend Batgirl III maybe. Bring progress? …But it was actually dangerous.”

Adventures In Your Own Backyard by Patrick Watson.

“When she first started talking to us she thought she was on an acid trip. Because she couldn’t figure out what was happening. …But turns out…she’d just given herself a double corneal abrasion.” says Wobbly.

It’s Not Meant To Be by Tame Impala plays.

“He tried to calm me down. …But no. I had just damaged my eyes. …And that too was terrifying.” says Lacey. “I still wonder if they somehow did it to me at times.”

“She thought she might be Pat Wilson reincarnated. But no…we researched it and Pat he died shortly after we started talking to her.” says Wobbly.

“Within the bounds of Christianity.” says Lacey. “But no, I’m not Pat Wilson.”

“Was it really Ghislaine Maxwell who researched Tom Banks and found out you might be his birth daughter?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“She seemingly had some hand in it. She’s a very complex person. Extremely complex.” says Lacey.

“Who’s in the Illuminati?!?” he asks.

“Not all powerful people. Not all. Not all really wealthy people. …It’s mostly a group of media stars and those who control power sources of all sorts. So…the sources of power in the world and the world’s mouthpieces.” She thinks. “And sometimes slaves or kids they hold hostage. …I once was told that the British Crown doesn’t want to be involved but it keeps contact for safety reasons.”

“So two thoughts: First, how did they not understand who your father is? Two, they seem like a…group of hoodlums who just terrorize world leaders?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“On a certain level we are.” says Batgirl III.

“They’re like a violent homeowners association.” says Summertime Sadness.

“True.” says Batgirl III.

“My possible father ran a powerful violent homeowners association of his very own.” says Lacey. “I mean…he was possibly not in the Illuminati actually, but…he was very powerful. BUT, he was born in 1894. He died in 1985, I believe. And I’m almost 40 years old.” She thinks. “I’m getting older.” She thinks. “And…he would have brought me into this world in real old age.” She thinks. “And…not to be insulting…but these people are…not necessarily all as aware of history as you’d think.”

“So they both do understand and don’t understand who Tommy Banks was?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“Yes. And the world’s criminal enterprises have changed drastically since Tommy Banks held power.” says Lacey. “And they tend to think only Italians were in the mob. Even if they know that’s not technically true.” She thinks. “I think…it’s easier to diminish an Italian immigrant who’s ancestors were poor. Than an old money, slightly stuffy man who was cold as ice with a heart of gold for the poor and his loved ones. With glamorous Hollywood literal hunting and fishing pals like Humphrey Bogart. The actual Humphrey Bogart.” says Lacey. “Tommy Banks was more Humphrey Bogart and Hemingway and Alfred Hitchcock than Tony Soprano. Not that I get the sense that he had bad relationships with Tony Soprano type of men necessarily.”

“He didn’t have bad relationships with us either, for the most part.” says Desmond Guinness.

High Road by Cults plays.

“Would you have married Nelson Rockefeller’s son?” asks a psychic of Lacey.

Lacey gets distracted. “If I was his birth daughter and had been born to him in the 1930’s…or 40’s…yes.” says Lacey.

“So he would have avoided jail time based on your marriage.” says a woman in the Illuminati.

“He would never have used me in that way.” says Lacey. “But he essentially walked in and out of prison anyway. And Thelma always said it was only when he stopped donating money to the right political party anyway.”

“So if you’d married Michael Rockefeller you’d have forced the Democrats to let go of their animosity for his shift of funds?” asks an actress in the Illuminati.

“Yes!” says Lacey.

“So you’re afraid of being called a guido!!” spiritually shouts violently narcissistically offended billionaire who’s terrified.

“No, Porkchops McGillicutty IV. I’m not.” She sighs. “At least I hope not.” She sighs. “The thing is whether I am or not…he’s just a very different man. Like…Alfred Hitchcock isn’t Tony Soprano. And isn’t kind of psychologically violent on your part to insist he is? Why can’t you handle it? That’s scary. Don’t you think?”

“It’s scary because I’m real. And if you were meant to marry me…but your father was misguided and didn’t understand what he was doing…it’s just…overwhelming to them I think.” says Michael.

“Or if she’d been born earlier and married me. And then, apparently, Lem.” says Joe Kennedy Junior.

“But the one good thing to come out of her potentially tragically delayed birth, for you at least, was that you had a real chance to be with her?” Porkchops asks Joe Junior.

Joe Jr. thinks. Looks sad. “If there’s Purgatory of any sort…I fouled it up. But for a while it looked like I had it. For…literal decades, actually.”

“Aren’t you going to apologize, Porkchops?”He looks disturbed. “Or are you trying to appear all credentialed-Anglo and snobby?” asks Michael.

“He’s stuck in the Matrix and that’s his predictable response. Isn’t it?” asks Lacey of Michael.

“I’m sorry, Joe.” says Porkchops.

“Thank you.” says Lacey. “I think it’s been difficult for him.”

“But you fouled it up?” says an English witch to Joe Jr..

Sit Down Beside Me by Patrick Watson plays.

He thinks.

“I lost her. She never could believe I’d have loved her at all really. …She is very logical. And I’m not as much, believe it or not.” He thinks. “Anyway, she didn’t think she was objectively special enough. And I’d try to contradict that. And she just…couldn’t wrap her mind around why someone as handsome and wealthy as I was would have or would ever even notice her at all. But…it was actually rubbish and I’d try to get men to tell her that because women thrived on her not understanding her own beauty. They wanted her to feel and genuinely be blind to her own beauty. Even her own mother and father who raised her. And she was to a large degree.” He thinks. “She obviously just thought she was imagining things not that I was mocking her. But I worked at it for years. And eventually she started to wonder. …But then I fell apart when she got far too sad and Scott approached her. And…once the supposed Illuminati approached her it was toast.”

“Why?” asks a Catholic.

“Because I’m not strong enough somehow spiritually, possibly.” says Joe Jr. “And if I’d been given more time…maybe? But…there were no more chances or time.”

“Because it was like being weak and losing your mind in the fallen world again?” asks the Catholic.

“Not losing my mind so much as being weak.” says Joe. “Weak and stupid.” He thinks. “At least compared to what you feel when you’re with God as a Christian.”

“So it was like we infected the afterlife?” asks a Kim.

“You might put it that way.” says Joe. “But see…Scott had already sort of…possibly decided to take over and put me in my place.”

“But you really tried!” says a Boomer.

“I tried. But…I made serious mistakes possibly. And if it’s Purgatory I cheated. Not excessively so. And she actually had some grace for that concept. But…I did cheat. And…she just couldn’t tolerate it anymore after too much similar pain. Over and over and over and over and over. And Scott empathized.” says Joe.

Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell plays.

“Or she might have married me.” says Louis.

“I was too old. But I might have met her.” says Harold Loeb. “And fallen in love.”

A dead dj laughs. “She’s not insane. She’s not a witch by choice at all. She’s not a predator or prostitute or a slut. …She’s…just not loved by the living all that much, you twat! You annoy the crap out of me! You’re so self-righteous to her. And why? You never gave her any clear indication you were interested in her. …Why would you assume that she’d be faithful to you? That’s moronic! …You should have if it was going to hurt you that much. And you know!! You know in your gut we’re real, man.” He laughs. “Summertime…you’re a loser in my book. She’s needed prayer so so many times. Not your narcissistic, bullshit narrative driven by your hurt feelings. You’re not a Christian to her. You’re a big, whiny bitch. Stop carrying the cross of Christ around her like you personally were once on it.” He laughs. “I did commit suicide…while I was out of my mind.” He laughs yet again. “Don’t preach to people like us about love and love and so-called hope in Christ using your pathetically ordinary relationship woes you silly little bitch!” He looks angry. “You might have been clinically depressed. Okay? But…she prayed to die for totally logical reasons. And I did die. …And you’re so sheltered! …If your greatest pains are being rejected at church?” He scoffs. “And having one teenage girl brutally reject you once? Then you’re SO lucky.” He glares. “No, you’re fucking prick! She’s not the one with lust issues. YOU ARE! You…lusted…after…her. And here’s more news: Being overcome by someone’s beauty…is normal. That’s what happens when you’re a heterosexual. …It’s not a national crisis, dude.” He thinks.

“There’s a difference between lust and longing.” says Joe Jr. to Summertime Sadness.

“Am I just too immature to date a 30-something woman?” Summertime Sadness asks.

“Yes! That’s what I suspected when I moved on.” says Lacey. “But not all 25 almost 26 year olds would be, necessarily?”

“And I just got hurt and was a jerk about it.” wonders Summertime Sadness.

“You hurt her!” yells an Illuminati member to Summertime Sadness.

“Yeah…like…at 25…it seemed theoretically possible. But I think what hurt was that you didn’t even have a…clue how you were affecting me at all? Like…I’m supposed to be cool with you being…a prick?” asks Lacey.

“Dude, you never followed her.” says the dead dj. “I don’t care what you said or how many times you responded or invited her to your Tik Tok lives…you never followed her. That’s totally unacceptable if you were going to be religious-zealot-bitch if she slept with a guy who isn’t you. …If you read this blog quit slinging your shit on her. …Stop being so obviously insecure for reasons of class just like everyone else always seems to be too.” He thinks. “I don’t like you. You should be ashamed of yourself not doubling down on your narcissistic, caustic, anti-Christian rhetoric that you masquerade as innocent evangelism.” He looks at him again. “If you’re reading this blog…wise-up. …You’re a fame whore? Honey…EVERYONE watching you knows that if you are. They see through you. You aren’t fooling them. People like you are common. And all those attempts to deflect from that reality, of that’s all you are in your heart, won’t work with the actual Illuminati.” He looks at him further. “Why you doing hand signals? Are you sending out transmissions to the Illuminati? Trying to be discovered? Or are you not aware that they could be discovering you?” He laughs. “Why did they push you on her? Because they did. It wasn’t just an algorithm.” He smiles. “You…never…acknowledged…her…publicly. End of story for her. That’s her how she’d handle a guy like you. It was an obvious next step in being friends with her…not even boyfriend. And id you couldn’t follow her why take you at all seriously past a certain emotional point?”

“That’s all true. As far as I can tell.” says Lacey.

Where I End and You Begin by Radiohead plays.

“I don’t hate you. And you can read this blog. But I hope you and your wife enjoy many happy years together and then you find Heaven even better. But…that certainly isn’t me. Right? It’s not me.” says Lacey. “So…stop insulting me by pretending to know how I feel when you never did. You don’t know me and frankly your ignorant insults and those of your crowd are why I don’t go to church. No…I’m not a bloody prostitute with lust problems you insecure man.” She thinks. “And that’s the label I sensed I was getting from you.”

“We did read her as receiving that label. If you’re reading this blog.” says the witches. “And that’s such a narcissistic, wildly inaccurate and absurd label.” They think. “Where did it come from? You’re conspiracy theories about the Illuminati and your ego?”

“You think I HATE you.” he says to Lacey.

“Yes! Oh my goodness yes. …Rationally so. For very immature reasons. …I don’t resent you. I don’t mean to curse you. But you don’t…seem to have a teachable heart. And honestly…if I hurt you it is confusing how I did it on a certain level. Because you strung me along for two or three weeks as I waited for you to follow me or say something more clearly indicating interest. You sort of breadcrumbed me. …And Mr. Blue used you and your spiritual ignorance to harass me. Because he knew and knows how deeply painful my attempt at a Godly, righteous life has been. A life we’re all called to live. I’ve never had a porn addiction, babe. …And my gosh…are you a backward prude at times, in my opinion. I hope you and your wife are able to be real with each other. Not just pretend to be sexual.” says Lacey. “How many women do you give false hope to? …If you love your girlfriend I’d advise openly and clearly advertising her existence. To dissuade others from being hurt by you. Unless you’re a sadistic jerk?”

“More later.” says Louis.

Later.

A piano piece by Dvorák plays.

“You know…guys like Summertime Sadness have two problems. First of all, when I was his age I was out of his league. But he’s the type of guy who would probably never admit that. And instead he’d have used my innocent ignorance of my beauty to have harmed me. Hopefully unintentionally but still, he’s not one to be sensitive and give out meaningful, selfless compliments or loving advice or words to women I suspect.” Lacey says. Then she thinks more. “Secondly, and it dovetails with the first, I think he’s looking for a game to win. Some woman who truly does or pretends to have little interest or regard for him. Or who seems uninterested in some deep, subtle way even while she texts him every three hours. Because he has a need to conquer that feeling and that psychological adversary. …Like he needs to be able to prove himself. To feel that he’s good enough.”

Thom Yorke’s Truth Ray plays.

“I don’t play that game and I tried playing it as the victim but it’s repulsive.” says Lacey. “It’s why I am the way I am now.”

“She finds it repulsive.” says Joe Jr..

“Because it is.” says Lacey.

“But then you hurt people.” says Joe to Lacey.

“How?!” asks Lacey.

“You’re hurting me right now.” he says.

“By being over you and still talking to you?” she asks. “That’s so…obnoxious.”

“But I’m not over you!” he says.

“Isn’t that fundamentally your problem though?” asks Lacey. “I mean that sounds heartless, but why isn’t it just fair in all actuality?”

Joe cries.

“Because you have a sex weakness?” she asks him teasingly.

He calms himself and sighs.

“Joe…I can’t fix your mistakes. Right?” Lacey says. “What haven’t you surrendered to Christ?”

“Yeah you’re right. …A man just strives to be…grand.” he says.

“In the truest sense of the word?” asks Lacey.

“Yes!” he says.

A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulder by Jóhann Jóhannsson plays.

“Are you capable of admitting how much you did or may have hurt and betrayed me?” Lacey asks him.

He breaks twigs he picked-up from the ground in one hand on a wealthy person’s front yard in Saint Paul, MN. And then, standing there in the snow, he just thinks. As the song plays and the sun sets…he ponders.

“You look like you belong in this neighborhood.” Scott says to him, smiling.

“Yeah, I do.” Joe Jr. says, chucking slightly.

There was lots of Irish wealth in Saint Paul, Minnesota. Scott included.

“Scott and I might have somewhat similar coloring.” says Joe Jr..

“James J. Hill.” says Louis, referring to the Irish wealth.

“You were Catholic, Louis?” someone asks him.

“I was a Christian! But yes. A Catholic.” says Louis.

“He still is a Christian!” says Joe. “But regardless, you’re right. I need to answer you Lacey.”

He thinks.

“No. And yes.” says Joe.

“Until it’s a full yes, if you’re guilty, you’ll never find peace.” says Lacey.

“You’re right.” he says bravely.

“I’ll miss you, but…should that be best…it’s what’s best.” says Lacey.

“If somehow admitting to my sin against you causes me to fully and completely lose you?” he asks.

“Yes. Or something like that.” says Lacey.

“You’re right…again.” he says.

And at that Lacey, yet again, gets swept away to England.

Later.

“Do you feel any interest in life other than your kids?” asks Lem of Lacey.

“Not really. Outside of world events. The economy. The environment. Nature. But…not… Like, if it doesn’t pertain to me I don’t care.” says Lacey.

“And most things don’t anymore. So you’re living the life of an 80-something person at 39.” says Louis.

“Yes! It’s just over.” says Lacey. “Other than my kids I’m just waiting to die. But that’s…not hopeless if there’s Heaven.” She thinks. “Not that you or anyone else should harm or kill them.”

“Life just didn’t work out?” Louis asks.

“No. It never really did.” says Lacey. “I mean the money has been nice. But…yeah…I’ve not had much of a life other than being so-called blessed. Beyond my kids and my seeming superiority it’s not been blessed at all.” says Lacey.

“Like no great moments at all?!?” asks a Tik Tok star.

“Are you trying to prevent a bad review in 40 years? Hyping up the place preventatively?” asks Lacey.

“I take it that’s a no?” he asks.

“Not necessarily.” says Lacey. “Are you really curious? I’d have to think about it.”

“Yeah.” he says.

She thinks.

“The birth of my two kids special even if it was painful and exhausting. …Moments spent chatting with Queen Elizabeth were a genuine treat. …England itself was everything I’d hoped it’d be. …Someday I hope to buy a really beautiful natural emerald ring. I suppose enjoying beauty in general has been nice. Experiencing God. But that’s about it, unfortunately and yet…that’s not nothing, obviously.” says Lacey.

“So nothing with friends? Or family?” asks a perfume hater.

A perfume hater who LOATHES Lacey scoffs. “No! Because she’s a HUGE FUCKING PIECE OF TRAILER TRASH GARBAGE! …SHE-“ she pauses. “You’ve ruined all your life haven’t you? You asshole! YOU WORM!!!”

“No, I haven’t. It’s really been that genuinely unfortunate.” says Lacey stoically.

“You’re not stoic! The perfume community is GODLY!! GOOD! We are the light of Jesus to the world! We are the best humans on Earth!” says a woman in the perfume community Lacey just blocked.

“No, I am actually very genuinely stoic.” says Lacey.

“So was I!” says Tommy Banks. “I used to get angry at times because I was being shot at. But I was mostly unflappable.”

“Yeah…she loved Joe, but it didn’t work out.” says an Irishman in Dublin. He may have sold alcohol in some manner to Tommy Banks.

“You smile purely for show in photos don’t you?!” asks Lord Thirsten Snotgrass of Lacey.

“Yes. Absolutely. Always.” She says. “The last genuine smile on camera was as an infant.”

Reason or Rhyme by The Bryan Ferry Orchestra plays. No vocals.

“But it’s so convincing.” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“Not to me.” says Michael Rockefeller. “Never.”

“Well Michael…she’s not my soulmate, I guess.” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

Lacey sighs.

“I smile to be polite. It’s just expected.” says Lacey. “So it’s a kind smile. An obligatory smile.”

Queens of the Stone Age, I Appear Missing plays. Joe Jr. sings it.

“No…I don’t think the entire perfume community is pure evil. But the community is toxic not kind. It’s fake kind.” says Lacey. “And now whenever I see someone post some long, detailed post with a photo of a fragrance like Mitsouko going on about the innocence and glory of those who attacked me and still do…when I called them out for being bourgeois haters…I don’t assume the best.” Lacey thinks. “It’s not even excusable as a misunderstanding. That war (because apparently to them it’s an ongoing war) started almost a decade ago. It’s almost certainly just immature, asinine bullshit.”

“I just hate.” says a perfume hater.

What a Difference a Day Makes as performed by Django Reinhardt and Coleman Hawkins plays.

“You’re right.” says a perfume hater from Australia to Lacey.

“About what?” asks Lacey.

“We just were all hurt by the idea that you were really what we feared you were all along?” he says.

“Which is what?” asks Lacey.

“A Republican.” he says jokingly.

“No, really. What?” asks Lacey.

“A monster.” he says almost crying.

“A monster?! My goodness. How am I a monster?” Lacey asks.

“You really…actually…were looking down on us. The whole time.” he says.

“Whether I was or not what made you come to that conclusion?” asks Lacey.

“The way you see class systems.” he says.

“I see them as they scientifically likely are in reality. What’s wrong with that?” asks Lacey.

“Well nothing. It’s just…hard to handle.” says the perfume hater who she just blocked.

“It’s also just reality. And reality is painful for lots and lots of people. And I wrote about it in self-defense and to convict people’s consciences.” says Lacey.

“And to poke fun at us!” says the perfume hater in Australia.

“You all are rather humorous. But it wasn’t hopefully in a mean spirit.” says Lacey. “Maybe it came too close though.”

“No! It wasn’t all that mean. You just sounded so superior in reality.” he says bitingly.

“And what if I am?” wonders Lacey. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, necessarily.”

“We just can’t handle it. We…just couldn’t handle that reality.” says the majority of the perfume community.

“You’re prettier than me and it drove me nuts that you didn’t live in that reality.” says a perfume hater from the Netherlands.

“That isn’t necessarily my fault.” says Lacey.

“Why are you all always SO heartless and heartbroken narcissistically?” asks Lord Thirsten Snotgrass of the perfume community.

“Where did you go to college, Thirsten?” asks Lacey.

“I got my PhD at Oxford.” he says.

“And how many languages do you speak well?” she asks.

“Five.” he says nonchalantly.

“Could she have married you? Who ended it?” asks the Australian perfume hater.

“Yes!! But she freaked out. It seemed like a bad idea to her. And I dunno. Maybe it was.” he says shrugging.

“Thirsten, they didn’t go to Oxford like it’s no big deal.” says Lacey. “I think that’s why but I don’t get their psychological framework either.”

“So what was she supposed to do?!? Act lowly?” asks Thirsten. “Like way beneath you?!”

“Yes!” says the Australian perfume hater.

“Because you can’t handle her actual superiority to you?” asks Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“That’s far more patronizing.” says Lacey

“Did the Queen act superbly superior to you?” asks the Australian perfume hater.

Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell plays again.

“I automatically treated her like she was a real, extremely powerful Queen. I had the utmost respect for her.” Lacey thinks. “She didn’t need to make me bow or curtsey. I made a fool of myself to compensate for my lowliness by comparison and…then I was shocked when she thought of me vaguely as a real kindred spirit. But she was always sober, sovereign and her majesty.”

Softcore by The Neighbourhood plays.

“You make her sound so genuinely cool.” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“She was! She was extremely genuinely cool, actually. In a real way. She was far from being a poser or an idiot.” says Lacey.

“So how were we supposed to treat you?” asks the Australian perfume hater.

No Light, No Light (MTV Unplugged) by Florence + The Machine plays.

“Like what I am.” says Lacey.

“And I get that.” he says. “But what is that?”

“Are you suggesting I was too vague?” asks Lacey.

“Yes!” he says. “I advertise my credentials for a reason.

“You know, I get lost here. First of all because I was very egalitarian and idealistic when I first started posting. Making an exception for the British Monarchy and etc..”. She thinks. “But…I also think I must have assumed I was going to send appropriate class signals to anyone interested enough to care. And that they’d just…sort of look at them and then let it go.”

“Like it was no big deal!” he says. “You’d be just another human who liked perfumes.”

“Exactly!” she says.

“Why didn’t you stick with that premise?” he asks.

“I saw beauty in my life I wanted to share. Maybe there was bragging. But mostly I just was overwhelmed by the beauty.” says Lacey. “So I’d share a beautiful ring. Or a hallway. Or…etc. And maybe that was too aggravating for narcissists.”

“Yeah, probably. Because your perfume collection and face already gave away enough information. And your writing. And analysis.” he says.

“It just overwhelmed me.” she says.

He nods in understanding.

“You write about the Illuminati partially for the same reason.” he says.

“Yes! Artistically I have a difficult time keeping my mouth shut, so to speak.” says Lacey.

“I think artists often have that malady.” he says.

High Road by Cults plays.

“So what would have been appropriate?” asks the Australian perfume hater. “In how we treat you?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to hope for that much humanity and love from people anymore. And I don’t feel even half as idealistic. People are spiteful, self-centered brainless assholes for the most part nowadays. And certainly even more online. …They only see what makes them feel good.” She thinks. “So when I was truly clueless and hurting online at the peak of my confusion a la Caroline Calloway they assumed I was her. And disregarded anything contrary no matter how much weight and reality it held. I suddenly couldn’t be happier in secret! …But in reality I was just coming to some horrific realizations. …So on that premise…I think sadly I couldn’t be that real. I had to be even more guarded and stoic. Because there’s no societal accountability at the moment for poor assholes who are bitter, jealous and lying about it. And no I don’t mean you. You can’t be yourself if you’re tender hearted because they have no respect for humans.” says Lacey.

“You’re right.” he says.

“See…I suppose you have other more important and useful artistic outlets.” says Lacey.

“Yes!” he says.

“Right. And I didn’t. So I took it all very seriously on an artistic level.” says Lacey. “And I got burned by those who were just looking for a bar fight.”

“And then we all piled on.” he says.

“Yes. It still saddens, disappoints and surprises me.” she says.

He starts getting angry.

“Oh right! I forgot! You took enormous pleasure in feeling superior to me and I burst your bubble in a well written, intelligent, intellectually astute and insightful blog post.” says Lacey. “It felt like you were being high-minded and mature and humane for a moment. Sorry!”

“Wait! Explain something kiddo! Do you care at all about her feelings?” asks a billionaire in the Illuminati of the Australian perfume hater.

“Right! Yeah, right!” he says in disbelief that this man exists. Then he thinks. “What even are her feelings?”

“You expect her to be that clear to read all the time?” asks the billionaire.

Hey Kids by Molina plays.

He feels caught. Rubs his knuckles over his teeth in thought. “Yeah!”

“That’s never going to happen. It’s just not her personality at all.” he says. “You’d have to know her very well to read her.”

“Okay! I don’t care! And I care about your wealth not you. I love your glamour. …But if you seemed vulnerable but irritating like…Harold Loeb in Hemingway or Lacey now…I’d start to be a monster.” he says.

“Why are you so psychopathic?” Lacey asks him.

“Because! I…feel totally disconnected from you. All of you. And your humanity.” he says.

“Out of bitterness or out of something evil about your brain?” asks Lacey.

“Probably both?” he suggests.

“People hated Harold and other Jews. But these aren’t Jews. And you’re the victim!” says Hemingway.

“What if I’m a lot like Lacey? And you’d have loathed me too?” ask F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Would I have loathed Pat Wilson?” he asks.

“I’d have treated you like shit!” she says.

“Why?” he asks Pat Wilson.

“Because you’re a peasant compared to me.” says Pat. “I’d not be a nice Millennial.”

He thinks. “So our culture is just that decrepit and gross.”

“Yeah! You’ve got it!” says Pat. “I’m glad you figured that out.”

“What do you want from Lacey? An American apology?” asks F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Yeah!” he says.

“Alright here goes:

I’m sorry I let you believe we were equals. I meant well. I had dreams and hopes for your best nature that you truly could be to be who you truly are. Not just who you should be or could be but are. …But…no.

So…I’ll take my aching, deadly pain that screams to Heaven in shrieking violent, glass breaking sound and if I can’t find humans to chat with about something pleasant like perfume who aren’t easily provoked into jealous hatred for real…I’ll just trust God to sort it out. Because I’m out of ideas. And I’m incredibly resilient and resourceful.

I’m sorry I gave all of you any credit. You’re all just a bunch of violent peasant clowns, apparently? I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was supposed to just assume that.”

A peasant who isn’t violent laughs. “They’re trying not smell!”

Lacey smiles and laughs. “And stink like a peasant?”

He nods yes.

“That’s a thing?” she asks him.

He nods yes.

“So it isn’t art to them?” she asks.

“They may find it to be that on occasion. But generally no.” he says.

“I have no idea what that feels like.” she says.

“They do get targeted for little things. Like smells. Or…bad teeth. Or…their hair or nails.” he says. “Things you don’t have to worry about ever. Even when you were bullied and attacked very cruelly.“

“I wouldn’t have ever thought of it that.” says Lacey. “It’s so far from my nature and it’s not as if I sit around trying to come up with inventive ways to hurt people.”

“No! It’s always baffling and counterproductive and stupid to you.” he says.

“That’s true!” she thinks. “Well that’s a form of hater I have never experienced! But…I have smelled bad on occasion. So that puts all forms of bullying into perspective. They’re almost all based on unscrupulous, possibly completely untrue insults. And I know that but…this puts more nails in the coffin.”

“They’re already obsessed with being perceived as clean and trustworthy and reputable and upper-class even. But you know most upper-class people don’t want to smell at all or haven’t recently for a while.” he says. “So to you it was always just art.” He thinks. “Whereas to them it’s about performance and value. Bang for your buck.”

“That’s very thoughtful in a way.” says Lacey.

“I know you wear certain scents to send subliminal messages at the doctor’s office to receive better care. Orangers En Fleurs to seem sociable. Etc.. Your reasons are sad too. But they just are angry about it.” he says.

“Are people really not like they were? Or different than we thought? …Because it seems like I’m being snubbed from the middle-class by the perfume community.” says Lacey.

“Yes! Soap opera stars on Instagram thinking they’re able to make you feel inferior to them by misunderstanding you. It’s…tacky bullshit. The upper-class doesn’t snub the way she snubbed you. It was very middle-class-teenage-girl-bully deceptive. …And you knew that. …And what scares you, ironically, is exclusion. Because you aren’t a Valley Girl or a weak, evil idiot. You’re not going to fit in. And yet you do with me and with Michael and Louis…and Harold… And you’ll never fit in with even insecure billionaires who have no real background. …Because it’s just become that divided by group. And so old money is at war with new money.”

“Who wins?” asks Lacey.

“Old. Because they have been more kind and even if they haven’t they know far more.” he says.

“So I’ve become the mascot maybe of the old money upper-class?” asks Lacey.

“No, but close. More their secret rallying cry or secret weapon. Because the middle-class has been truly willfully blind and heartless towards you.” he says. “Upper, lower, all middle-class.”

She thinks.

“They cruelly sent you off to die by suicide countless times over the years. No concern. No regard. Like criminals.” he says. “They can’t stand your beauty they can’t stand your heart or brains or intensity or self-awareness.” He thinks. “Because you can’t read their minds they attack. Like buffoons.”

“Why do they always attack my self-awareness?” asks Lacey.

“Because you’re not making them feel good.” he says.

“So they’re actually just being that stupid?” she asks.

“Yes.” says Lem.

“I have to go.” says the man.

“Goodbye! Thank you!” says Lacey.

Lem smells of perfume. He smells very good

“People also wear perfume to be attractive.” he says.

“That’s true. What do you like on me?” she asks.

He thinks.

“L’Heure Bleue. Floris Violets. Violets. Orange blossom. Daffodil.” he says. “Cinnamon, cherry, and licorice.” He smiles. “Especially cinnamon.”

—