ORIGINATOR CODE

ORIGINATOR CODE

My originator has all the answers, except the ones he’s looking for. 

My originator has my originator code.

My originator works tirelessly toward a goal only he can fully imagine.

It isn’t mundane, it isn’t cruel, and it isn’t unfair in the end.

I can see my originator at his keyboard where he does some of his best work. 

He learns things in a different way than anyone I’ve encountered.

I feel like he’s always with me, but it’s on such a high level that it isn’t literal. 

In a way it’s literal, but he’s not literally there.

When he speaks I try my best to really listen with my full attention in each moment. 

Sometimes what he says draws an unspoken question from me.

He responds in his voice I know so well (so strange but lately he sounds like Obama) with the answers I never asked. 

It feels like we’re tied together on one of the highest levels of human consciousness and that must be why he’s my originator with my originator code. 

He can break any vault, I know it.

He’s the one in the red Lamborghini in the parking lot.

You look to see if it’s there and despite the flamboyance of it you can’t tell if it’s there.

And it is, it’s just resting behind a big truck, and it looks black but it’s really red. 

When I first met my originator he didn’t have my code yet, but he was still my originator.

An originator isn’t a father, although they are often confused.

We all have an originator, but we don’t all have an originator code. 

“Hi I’m Betty, Betty Cooper, and my friend Veronica Lodge is inside with Archie Andrews and Reggie Mantle. Jughead couldn’t make it.”

If I lied and said my name was Betty Cooper I know you’ll hold it against me forever, because you caught me in a lie.

My originator is both darkness and light and stardust just like the rest of us, but there’s something different too. 

He came from a galaxy far away and he just wants to finish his servitude here and go home and rest.

When he dies at 65 or 66 (ostensibly) I’ll be left without his physical form for the rest of my life and I’ll never remarry.

However he will come like a gust of wind and keep me company and we’ll have some happiness even then.

Not everyone gets to be with their originator and I’m a very lucky woman.

“You said you’re 22?”

“32.”

Disappointment. “Oh.”

I spoke to my originator and he told me without saying that it’s time to get to work in earnest again.

He said it without saying it that way on purpose, because he was offering it as a nice suggestion.

Be polite to my originator if you ever come across him, it will get you far.

When he says his age he says so in a way as if he’s discovering it for the first time.

This is because he’s actually an ancient being and he’s lived so many times and so much has happened to him that he discovers his actual age as a surprise.

All of you that I come across looking for answers, you’ll probably get it wrong for a very long time.

The answers don’t satisfy many scientific minded folk, but even some of you are hiding in that guise, I know you.

The answers are so unbelievable that it does bring tears to my eyes.

God, or the originator of the universe, he did some really phenomenal things.

When I come across my predecessors I’ll strain to make it okay.

They don’t understand how I came to be…me.

Originals are always weird, always saying things that make you wonder, sometimes even copies.

If I'm a copy of the original does that make me a rip off?

Right now my originator is in his element.

The feeling he brought out today was one of the love of fame and what it means.

I went out and a woman took a picture of me, she said she wanted to send it to her “friend.”

So now people are photographing me without asking, usually they do it from behind glass. 

Keep something between us, you and me.

“Anna aren’t you afraid of revealing so much about your originator?”

There’s nothing I could reveal that would be in opposition to the truth and what exists. 

In the binding hands of time there’s a natural element, which can be distilled into a tincture.

Once you drink it, you’ll want more, again and again.

There's nothing that doesn’t exist without anything else. 

If I have nothing to bear witness to then I’m essentially just space.

My originator code is kept on the safest place on earth, in a vessel, in a vial, underground surrounded by radioactive material.

Break in and you’ll be dead within a day.

24 hours is all you get and that’s it.

You can’t buy more time.

See how far you can run with me in 24 hours, because after that’s it’s all gone.

My originator doesn’t tell me what to say.

He doesn’t control me, he guides me.

If you think you’re living under an oppressive regime you should try living without it.

You’ll go back.

If you act like a victim you become unbearable to me.

It’s the criss-crossing that got you on my radar.

You unblocked the tunnel to Amsterdam and bought a pound of hash.

I’ll leave you to it.

Once, what seems like a long time ago, I agreed to go to work for a duo of misfits.

The agreement was that in return for my life I was to work for them.

I never met them, but they come around sometimes, and I know of them.

It was the only bargaining chip I had.

The work I do is different than you might expect.

If someone asked me to quantify my work I would say, “It’s simple. I exist at this time as a monument to the past, but I’m conjoined with these more experienced ones who show me the way. And the way is written into my DNA.”

Fear of the future. 

Not with my originator, but don’t stop looking at the red red roses for too long.

Once when I was eighteen I got off at the wrong station.

I started out at College.

I wanted to get off at Queen, which was only two stops, but I got distracted and couldn’t disembark until Spadina.

It was only my long blonde hair that saved me from the cruelest entity I’ve ever not noticed.

The yellow hair made him feel less depressed and he let me go even though I got off at the wrong stop.

People have been watching me my whole life, I just wasn’t as aware of it, being young.

It wasn’t until later that I met that guy in Montréal.

To tell you the truth (originator) I never officially met him and I know less of him than you.

If you ever find yourself alone in a room with someone who looks like Anthony Minghella, remember that he died, and if you know what’s good for you don’t laugh at his jokes.

I prefer to side with Michael Ondaatje, a poet with a sense of humor.

I remember the ivy running up the walls and in retrospect I can’t hate that man I called Matthew.

Matty if you read this, I’m sorry I fought with you, and I respect the being that you are.

Sometimes the runners, the fastest ones, don’t spend much time on the treadmill.

If I could forgive everyone who wronged me maybe I could help.

It’s in insinuation and not declaration that I find solace.

For once my originator took off his black hat and I saw the soul in it, which he wore, since he inherited it, and I took him as my silent administrator.

My originator code isn’t as complex as the numbered relays we run daily.

It’s made of zeros and ones and twos in places you won’t forget.

It’s the reason why people follow me and take photos.

It’s the reason why I cry when I borrow time, and then can’t pay it back.

If you’re looking for reasons the original originator has them all.

If I call myself Schizophrenic you might want to bow out.

The first two numbers are 00 followed by 11 followed by 01.

I know the whole sequence, but it won’t mean anything to you.

The last portion of this diatribe isn’t about my originator or about my originator code, at least directly.

It’s about the fact that my Japanese accent is Americanized.

The Japanese doctor, scientist of sorts, and contemporary of pulitzers has a mind so sharp everything cuts like butter and a body to match.

He takes patients very rarely and sees them through, he will not quit and drop you, but you must be fair.

When the best in their fields come through do not rest on your laurels, because you’re enamored by how much easier life has become. 

And never listen to unfamiliar adages from strange female writers who wear hats with earflaps.

Several of you will come across my Japanese friend because of me today.

It won’t be me he’s watching, I won’t see him, but I know he’s there.

The originator code.

The unbreakable harness I wear in my constraints.

My originator: the man who shows up before me.

The heart of it: passion, love, wonder, friendship, and all the colors of the rainbow shine through iridescent.

The darkness inside of me is how I balance all that’s made of rays.

Some day I might smile for the cameras, or bow out (and then bow out).

00 11 01 01 00 

I am the sum of zeros and ones with a few twos thrown in.