Cleopatra has applied to graduate school in Austin—UT Austin, natch—with intent (not hopes) of securing her Master of Architecture degree. And even though she has just finalized her list, which came out to accidentally consist of 21 other schools (application fees evidently no big deal, however), the aforementioned school is especially frightening for Copernicus, her boyfriend…

It was in their earliest encounter when Cleopatra answered that she was attending UCLA (really in her second year at SMCC at the time with aims of then transferring to UCLA), majoring in Architecture, minoring in Social Thought. 75 percent of her grandparents had been architects, one who was apparently quite renowned in the architectural realm, and perhaps even somewhat known, at least heard of, by a marginalized, non-united breed of self-taught intellects, netizens, non-bitter, worthwhile incels, varying old people, etc. Fleetingly, while they were conversing, in a rather cacophonous place to converse, Copernicus had remembered reading once, for reason(s) now unremembered, that it was something like 1.5 or 1.8 times likely for a female child to follow in the footsteps (career-wise) of either her mother or father—the former surely with the higher probability, he would guess, though felt would certainly be controversial to think out loud with a group about…which then got him sorta wondering what happens to this probability with regards to skipping generations, from grandparent to grandchild, despite being aware that it must be more rare; that Cleopatra was indeed rare. She said that she had always been drawn to interior design, which made Copernicus think of an infant latched in a high chair, wearing glasses farcically oversized and thick, and handling, roughly studying, an even more oversized blueprint, taking on the same demeanor as a traditionalist workman, early bird, who consistently beats everyone to the kitchen table each morning, who reads a newspaper about the same inconvenient size as the blueprint, making the same crinkly noises with it; the infant even clearing its throat in the same way, just as cyclically…yet her enticement toward interior design was nevertheless something Copernicus could have guessed for herself now, for when he first saw her, sensed her elegance, her fiery nature and glow, effortless sophistication, not like the other girls, sharp-looking in a pitch-black dress, playing well with her darkish hair, he immediately envisioned her living in a nice, huge, orderly home, being practically one with it; one she’d feel enough self-confident in to have exclusive, unpretentious, classy, winey house-parties in, having come up with most of the furnishing and color scheme of things on her very own.

Since then, covering close to two years, the two began a thing, discovered things about one another with a bona fide verve, worked out predicaments as one, never argued, were always faithful, had good, enjoyable sex, and only strengthened their bond so much so to where they found less to no relevance in (basically neglecting) all their other peers; and on 2/9/20, they came to the decision of getting a place together; finding a nice, little one bedroom in Westwood, walking distance from the school Cleopatra knew she’d unquestionably transition into…

Cleopatra seemed more so psyched about possessing the decorating powers of a new, empty place, rather than the actual moving into a new place, hers…not in any hysterical sorta way, but in a way that made Copernicus quite excited as well, even though he’d naturally just get excited whenever she’d become excited. She had an irresistible contagiousness about her.

Fast-forwarding past the planned or unplanned explosion of COVID (for we all know and have already relayed too many times where we were and what we did when it was first heard about), following Cleopatra’s initial calling home, talking to her mom for nearly an hour, Cleopatra told Copernicus, essentially, though not at all so sensationalized, that it’d be either her or freedom; that Cleopatra’s mom was pretty goddamn freaked about this virus, and of what it could do to her; that her mom was going to keep in quarantine—alongside Cleopatra’s younger sister, grandmother, and their black and white, 15-year-old Siberian cat named Cow—until things reverted again to total normalcy, whenever that would be; that the only way Cleopatra could see her mom would be if she self-quarantined, too, and because Cleopatra has always been so close with her mom, and intends on staying so, she would, which meant that Copernicus would have to as well, that is, if he wanted to carry on being with Cleopatra. And Cleopatra wasn’t senseless or hard-hearted about the idea of Copernicus not wanting to follow through with this, for she knew it was sorta asking a lot, but that it wasn’t really asking that much if Copernicus truly did care for her; and both of them knew that if he didn’t take on this lifestyle change of almost complete, indefinite, voluntary immurement, that it’d eventually be what lead to what would be their—now predestined—separation, and likely resentment in the time to come, at least the latter on Cleopatra’s side. But since Copernicus did truly care for Cleopatra, convinced that she would stick with him in a similar situation, whatever that would be (though he can’t imagine dragging Cleopatra in to such a thing), and that he wouldn’t really want to be locked in one place with anyone else right about now, or that he didn’t want her to be alone, possibly opening the door for someone else to be locked in one place with her for 24/7, he accepted with hardly any contemplation.

All this for Cleopatra’s mom, Copernicus sort of viewed it as. Cleopatra’s mom who Copernicus had to concentrate a little too long in order to get her name maybe right, despite having a handful of semi-pricey dinners with her in the recent past. He always wanted to say Lavinia or Irene, something distinctly un-American-sounding, though he knew both were remarkably wrong…C & C would have their groceries delivered, as well as anything else they would and may need. Cleopatra would have to forfeit all the rug and furniture and appliance shopping she had in mind. Copernicus would have to forget about his nightly walks; eat less, have less cheat meals. Masks were undependable in the philosophy of Cleopatra’s mom. And even though this was not something demanded or even thought of by her mom, when Cleopatra would be on her way to or back from her childhood home, with or without Copernicus, she figured that, for as long as they were to remain in quarantine, the windows of her car would never be rolled down…which turned out to be something Cleopatra would mention to Copernicus as a sort of good point for them if they ever felt like leaving the house for a bit; that they could go on drives anytime they wanted. They just had to keep the windows up…this was the only way she could see her mom. Sacrifices would be made.

Anyways, time would pass, Cleopatra would transition to Zoom schooling, Copernicus would spend two hours a day, for three days, reading—and finishing—Camus’ The Plague, they’d have fun with home-cooked meals, etc.; nevertheless, C & C enjoyed each other’s company. Things were fine. The severance from society became no big deal; favored, rather. And sometimes, when Cleopatra would drive to go visit her mom, Cleopatra’s mom would surprise her with food and other things to take back for the house as like a motion of gratitude, including some nice antique stuff from her garage that could be looked through and taken from to do whatever she may want to do with it. Little things like this put Cleopatra in good spirits; made her feel like she was doing the right thing…on one afternoon, when Copernicus decided to tag along with Cleopatra to show his face to her mom, Copernicus was able to clearly hear Cleopatra’s mom’s mom (from another room) call out, almost yell for, Cleopatra’s mom by her first name. It was Nevena. Nevena…Copernicus played with it, inspected it, trying to commit it to memory, Ne-ve-na…Ne-veee-na. Yet, he still jotted it down in the notes app of his phone and threw it into the folder titled “Shit to Remember” just to be safe. He didn’t know why this name could never stick…

Even though Cleopatra—for the most part—has come to be real comfortable and rather unwary around Copernicus, especially since they had begun splitting rent, to where Copernicus feels he could sense whenever she is stressed or more chatty, needing silence, bothered about something, and so it goes, and could predict how she’d react to certain things, while feeling these certain ways, while being under various circumstances, there are some things nevertheless that Copernicus is still coming to learn about Cleopatra, and vice versa Copernicus is sure; minor or non-minor things that one only notices and learns about a person once one starts living with them, as opposed to seeing them several or so selected hours of each or every other day; things that Copernicus is not always so sure originated in their seclusion or not…like, for example, how Cleopatra will leave her shoes outside, or how she won’t eat the skin of apples, peaches, and a few other fruits (how every tangerine rind she tosses in the trash is unified and looks like an elephant), or how she voted for Trump (through the mail, needless to say).

However, none of these new or even known things of Cleopatra’s matter in the slightest as compared to the main thing here (in Copernicus’ mind), surely something that was born, or rather boosted with COVID, which is that Cleopatra cannot stop watching The Joe Rogan Experience. When she is not wrapped up in the last of her last year’s undergrad courses, she is watching, never just listening to, but always watching The Joe Rogan Experience.

And in the beginning, Copernicus enjoyed it too, for not only could he appreciate the truly epic vault of knowledge and history the show is (offers?), but it was something he would look forward to, for every now and then, at nighttime, they’d flip through the episodes, come to an agreement on one, and watch it, in its entirety, while cuddled up on their tender couch, wrapped in blankets all cozy-like, sort of commentating and chuckling throughout whatever episode they decided to throw on…even before COVID, C & C would sometimes get together and end up starting (never finishing) an episode; sometimes texting each other various single-minute clips from a random episode when they’d be apart. But, now, it had gotten to a point where, on a day that Cleopatra maybe got a whole day off from schoolwork, Copernicus swears that she would get through maybe four or five, sometimes six episodes in that day. And even though Copernicus didn’t really have shit else to do, and could afford to spend whole days cuddled up with her, his appeal for the show not only weakened, but became so outshined by Cleopatra’s; their equilibrium—in regards to the show, needless to say—was all out of wack.

It became this sort of alleviation turned lifestyle for Cleopatra. She became obsessed. Just the way she’d gaze at the TV or computer screen whenever she had it on. To Copernicus, she’d speak about Joe in a way that was more or less like some kind of schoolgirl infatuation toward a teacher, an almost idolization…and what is it about The Joe Rogan Experience that so possesses this spirit? For Copernicus can definitely feel it, too, despite feeling less and less intrigued to express it these days…could it just be the views? What’s being offered? Its dominancy over the bajillions of other podcasts? Perhaps the suspense of who will be on the next episode? When the next episode will be?…Or what about the podcast’s emblem of Joe’s face? What is it that so possesses something tribal, Kurtz-esque, godlike about it, about him? It’s definitely not the third eye. Perhaps it’s the industrial-strength, sort of underworld-like grin Joe’s got on…or maybe it’s the heavy shadow-work, or just the way the whole thing rotates before every show…Copernicus has yet to figure it out…

Nonetheless, now, every time either they’d get together to watch him (not an episode anymore, but Joe just about: how he’ll react to things, etc.), or Copernicus could hear Cleopatra watching by herself, all Copernicus could think of is Joe—fuckin’ Joe Ronuts—with his tattooed arms under a tight long sleeve, occasionally stiff nips, fluctuating bubble-gut, somewhat gorilla bod, just fucking THE SHIT out of Cleopatra, his girlfriend. And Copernicus always imagines them to be in some room of a nice palace of a home, either Joe’s or a variation of the one Copernicus imagines Cleopatra to end up in once she’s wealthy and successful, generally in a modernistic kitchen, doing it each time, naturally, in the Suspended Congress position, perhaps waiting for some good sponsorship meat to cook. And Joe’s got his semi-fuzzy meathooks palming Cleopatra’s ass, while Cleopatra’s got her hands feeling up Joe’s bald head, getting a palm-full of those bristly beard-hairs; Joe with relative incarnadine complexion, forehead veins bulging some more; and the overhead light in the kitchen—or whatever room they’re in—is radiating the same way it does as in the podcasts: sort of producing those two, rather proportional spotlights on Joe’s head where devil horns would burst forth; and, of course, Cleopatra is enjoying it all a little too much. Going up and down, and up and down. And, possibly, during one of these sex acts, the thought triggers in Joe to possibly get some guest on his show who has the wisdom of being able to go down the list of various mainstream and avant-garde sex positions, and provide each with how many calories each one burns, the differences for the acting male and female, and so on and so forth…and Copernicus can not only see it, but hear it too, as if he’s wearing earbuds, tuned into the house they’re fucking in that has the same audio excellence, crispness as the podcast; Joe very likely a grunter.

And it’s gotten to such a point that Copernicus can’t watch the show anymore, not just because of the nauseating graphics it brings forth, but because the nauseating graphics so impede him from being able to retain anything anymore, whether it be things he’s genuinely interested in, or things he does not know yet that he would be genuinely interested in; whether it be things like slowing our biological clocks, brain plasticity, how to work out smarter, black holes, uncontactable tribes, Amazonian stories, Himalayan sea salt, Dimethyltryptamine, amanita muscaria, signs of UFOs in Medieval paintings, tiger wine, Operation Midnight Climax, Catholic priests, Neuralink, fat models, fat-shaming, shitty parents, Fentanyl, Trump, elk meat, dry aging steak, axis deer in Lanai, supplements like Quercetin, the perks of saunas, the trouble with actors, ego death, suicidal crickets, mad honey, dinosaurs, cocaine, Lyme disease, happiness, how bad trips are good, the Aztec ‘Death Whistle’, scientology, Elon, Laplace’s Demon, Matt Taibbi, Navy Seal Training, tai chi, Gauge symmetry, Skinwalker Ranch, aquariums and valium, the Foxconn factory, the Denisovans, Hunter S. Thompson’s daily routine, the power of the placebo, Marshall Mae Rogan, the Sphinx water erosion hypothesis, Commander David Fravor, radioactive deformities, delirium tremens, bald eagle-eating octopuses, the degrees of things being tumultuous or not, Bohemian Grove, the Carnivore diet, Post Nut Syndrome, sober October, the Multiverse, the Balabushka pool cue, mild statin inhibitors, as well as various conspiracies and theories involving Hitler, simulated reality, JFK, Epstein, Manson and the CIA, 9/11, the moon landing, the flat Earth, why conspiracists want to see conspiracies everywhere, and so on and so forth…Copernicus can only really listen to the podcast nowadays, but even that’s pushin’ it, because, not only will the self-tormenting visuals follow sooner than later, Copernicus can’t help but feeling like he’s being whispered to; can’t help imagining Joe whispering into Cleopatra’s ear: hot-breathed dirty-talk, plans for the future, and so forth. Copernicus frequently, and vividly, dreams about their copulations, in—what seems like—an unlimited amount of ways. He dreams about Cleopatra sleeping, not as she sleeps next to him in the same bed, but in a bed of luxury, snuggled up with Joe, having both fallen asleep while their bedroom TV still runs Ex Machina, or perhaps Battlefield Earth they had decided to put on just for shits…Copernicus has often been taking two strawberry-flavored melatonin gummies every night before he lays down…

So, when Joe publicized his move from L.A. to Texas, naturally, with Cleopatra’s sudden interest in UT Austin some three months later, which came something like third or fourth on her list (that Copernicus sat in on while Cleopatra was constructing it), this is where the element of fright comes in, or rather, became real to Copernicus…even though she says her list was assembled just as she was thinking about the colleges, which wasn’t any more reassuring to Copernicus, because Copernicus senses that, with the committing to UT Austin, with things starting to normalize with COVID (at least it feels like), with the vaccines and all, that Cleopatra and Joe’s meeting will then be inevitable at that point. That it’d be an instant click, and Joe would have no feelings of mistrust bringing her on right away, not as a guest for an episode obviously, at least not then, but Copernicus imagines her seated in a chair, off-camera, perhaps right beside Jamie, being granted the abilities to drop in to any show she wants; getting the ultimate, unrivaled experience like comparing listening to one’s favorite band just in his/her’s room as opposed to getting to see them in concert, front-row, backstage passes; getting the chance to meet and even converse with whoever Joe brings in. Copernicus doesn’t even want to get into the concept, with its unbounded possibilities and accompanying graphics, of Cleopatra instead becoming infatuated with one of Joe’s guests; Joe instead playing the role of Eros; as the grounding before the passage across As-Sirāt.

Or Copernicus imagines her having found something she could contribute to the show, like Cleopatra taking on the solving of the present “Red Pill” mass-detestation; in constructing a new, fashionably unparalleled studio, one that even leaves Joe in a speechless satisfaction; a satisfaction that fills Cleopatra with a rush of accomplishment and pleasure she’s never felt before; a pleasure that only enhances her attachment toward Joe, and perhaps, triggers, or brings to light, the warmth Joe feels, or rather, has felt toward Cleopatra from the very beginning; a warmth that could so provoke him to instead flee from the public eye, to drop the podcast, to leave behind his career, comedian friends, wife, kids, dog, everything, in order to escape with this new, younger, beyond beautiful mistress; a mistress—he’s come to believe—who beats everything and anything he’s striving or has ever striven for.

And Copernicus has done the research, not just for UT Austin, but for most of the other universities as well, not only to try to sway Cleopatra from UT Austin, but to be able to persuade her with hard data of what other universities have to offer that UT Austin could never…but in as subtle as a way as possible, for Copernicus is sure that he’s concealed his disquiet rather well enough to where Cleopatra should have no funny feelings about his recent self in the slightest. Despite knowing how a master’s degree looks, Copernicus isn’t sure if graduate school is needed for interior design…Copernicus can’t deny, however, that UT Austin is a good school, apparently being most acclaimed in engineering, which—Copernicus surmises—must go pretty hand in hand with their branches of architecture, interior design…as seen on the UT Austin website: “World’s Most Employable Graduates” and “two schools and more than 20 programs among the nation’s best.” Sounds a little too vague, Copernicus thinks. “#1 Best Places to Live” in a 2019 report. “#6 Undergraduate Architecture program in the U.S., 2017”: even though it doesn’t really imply to Cleopatra (since she won’t be an undergrad), Copernicus can’t expect the school’s graduate program being any lesser. Founded in 1883. Bevo the longhorn steer. 54.4 percent women/45.6 percent men split, as based off Fall 2020 term. About 11,000 graduate students. 431 acres across main campus. 17 libraries. 32 percent acceptance rate. The legend of the albino squirrel. Celebrity alumni: McConaughey (yech), Durant, Joplin, Zellweger, Wes Anderson…fuckin’ Neil deGrasse Tyson (one of Copernicus’ most hated JRE guests, alongside Lex; Redban can go suck it, too)! Copernicus has a lot of free time throughout the day. Copernicus is well aware he’s a paranoid. An ill-tempered one, and he despises when he gets like this…

And Copernicus doesn’t have any kind of hatred toward Joe. It’s not like he’s wishing failure or misfortune upon him, or waiting for cancel culture to bring something cancel-inducing on him to light. There’s no rivalry here. Copernicus knows that what Joe is doing is great, more than great. Plus, Copernicus watched Fear Factor religiously when he was a kid, during a time of his life that he looks back at now with much idyllic sense…however, Copernicus finds himself believing  that the whole thing of having a podcast is quite unoriginal and narcissistic, like lookey here! Almost all of my exchanges should be heard…even though Copernicus knows—for the most part—that Joe and whoever he’s got on usually do have important, or at least entertaining, things to say that probably should be more heard, known about…and that it has been around for 1,600 or however many episodes; been around longer than most. Copernicus is sure that Joe—Joe Rogaine—is probably a great husband and an even better father, but, at the same time, he’s never met Cleopatra…

On the night of 12/28/20, unable to find sleep, Copernicus wondered if Joe has ever sneezed on a podcast. He doesn’t think he has…huh…pretty impressive (as if it’s something Joe controls)…

Nearing the last weeks of Cleopatra’s second-to-last quarter at UCLA, Copernicus finds himself praying (having prayed maybe three times in his entire life) for this COVID shit to last longer, for another year of virtual graduations; to sustain at least the however many years it’d take for Cleopatra to secure her Master of Architecture degree, as there’d ultimately be no use in going anywhere, and finding a new place for it, only to remain inside that new place to do all the schoolwork on the computer like before…and Copernicus wasn’t even really sure what Cleopatra would do, whether she’d leave her mom behind or not if the pandemic continued on. He doesn’t think she would. It’d be kinda dumb, counterproductive to leave. No way. There are some instances where Copernicus almost wishes for the normalcy everyone’s waiting for to never come back, for he sees something romantic in him and Cleopatra left to figure everything out by themselves, to almost figure out a new life. He doesn’t see UT Austin denying Cleopatra’s enrollment, but he finds himself sometimes hoping for such the unlikely occurrence to occur, which makes him feel like shit…

Nonetheless, Copernicus only wishes Cleopatra to be happy. He reaffirms this to her all the time: that if she’s happy, he’s even more happy, and that she deserves everything she sets her mind to. If UT Austin happens (Copernicus crossing his fingers and toes it doesn’t), and by the time this pandemic shit is done for, Copernicus envisions, that he could perhaps follow Cleopatra to Austin, since he doesn’t really have anything keeping him in Westwood…and he’s never been to Texas before. Could be nice. He imagines the two of them finding a place out there, discovering the new setting, continuing and further enriching their partnership. This could happen. This could work. Copernicus has been thinking a lot about his mental health lately…