April 19th, 2024 10:43am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Sea read ( words) "Now what do we do? Continue sitting here, floating along an undetermined and uncertain path? Where are we going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Ah... Shit. Two must turn back to one because something just happened that we could not have expected. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ The question is now posed in the singular? Why? No more 'we' or 'us'? Fuck. Just... Fuck. I don’t want to hear Julia’s voice, but at the same time it is welcomed. I’ve been floating here for days without any external sounds or anything of the like. I miss it sometimes. The scene has changed. I am alone; ‘we’ are no longer the same. I am fucking alone, depressed, lonely and scarred too deeply to deal with her question right now. I’ve heard it on so many occasions that I could not even begin to count them all. Years have passed, and many journeys later I still can’t answer that woman. I expect that something will change soon, perhaps a way out of this boat. Every time Julia appears (even just in voice), I end up jumping through hoops and running around trying to find clues as to the reasons she places me in different, very confusing situations. They are often painful, as well. I don’t want any of that shit right now because I am having a hard enough time trying to understand this world. ‘Do you remember?' Ah, fuck me in a muddy ditch. Remember what, exactly? All of the other scenes through which I’ve already lived? The trains? Mountains? I don’t need this right now, damn it. Thanks to Julia’s voice, keywords are once again orbiting my fucking brain. Again... Damn it. What am I supposed to remember? Something from the roundhouse when her lesson ended up turned on its ear? Or maybe my loving relationship with Miramannee (Julie)? We were so happy and content to be there next to the river and surrounded by a plethora of natural beauty. Maybe I’m going to be punished for ignoring lessons as the two of us lived from day to day. I left everything behind because the trouble was causing heartache and pain and I needed to let go. Could that be the answer to Julia’s question? Or is it something else? So much has transpired throughout the years and several worlds that I can’t begin to answer her. Something must change, or at least I should be provided with a clue of some flavor. Maybe? No answer. There are never answers, only more questions and cryptic dialog, the extent of which has turned me against possibility. I am no longer open to what may take place in the future. Too bad for me. I do have an inkling of a thought that Julia may be referring to the doors and their differing interpretations. Hmm. Instead of ‘inkling’, perhaps I should have said ‘sinking’, as in a feeling. I don’t want to see any doors because after all was said and done – probably only a pause and not an end after those difficult times – I learned nearly nothing and came out the other side worse off than at the beginning. I really don’t feel like driving or working on the antennas. The latter will not require more than an hour, yet it still seems insurmountable. I have my morning stuff done and a drink (of course), but zero interest in doing anything else at the moment. Maybe the mood will change; maybe not. Now the day is Thursday. I did not drive over the hill yesterday, but I did fix both of the antenna problems; the radio signals are much stronger now and my link to the WWVB is repaired. I can’t mount it on the mast yet because of the weather. Once those issues were alleviated, I took the rest of my time relaxing. Since driving has been pushed to today, I no longer have a choice. Once my coffee is gone, I’ll head over there and get the job out of the way. Everything else is up in the air right now because the rain has returned and the concrete project has been tentatively pushed to late next week. Working inside the house may be my only option for the time being, although I can move a few things around in the garage, too. A little while later and I am sitting at the control center gazing at the lovely Roxanne and her unbelievably beautiful facial structure. The sight is very depressing (plus I am not happy that she decided to perform a scene with torso nudity). For whatever reason, I feel a bit more positive than I did earlier. The feeling of remaining home took over for a moment and I realized that the best time to leave the house and run errands is when I desire it the least. Now that I’ve driven, fueled the car and picked up the booze order, everything seems a little bit more comfortable. My routine is out of the way, too, meaning the free time window is now wide-open for the taking. Well, if I decide to do anything, that is. There are so many little improvements which I walk past each day that sometimes I believe I am far less capable of furthering myself than I had thought a few years ago. I am speaking of ‘little things’, such as the hub that still waits to be mounted to the underside of this table, or the fact that I need to relocate the tower from the table to the subwoofer. There are others, too. Many. Eventually, I will either give up on those projects or attack them while half in the bag. Which will prevail? There is no way to know. The pain is haphazard and very difficult to predict, meaning I never know what mood to expect each day. For the moment, I am comfortable sitting at the control center with the time and space to consider every option. That is not everything, however. I have found myself pondering the idea that perhaps if Roxanne were to appear and darken my doorstep, all of the bad would disappear. What do you think? Is such a dream wholly out of balance? Or am I simply reaching for anything with the power to help these painful days pass more comfortably? Maybe I should embrace the ill-advised second cocktail and see what develops. The house is quiet right now. It may not remain as such if my mood does not improve. Earlier, I mentioned that upon arriving home after fueling the car and driving over the hill, the positives were illuminated. Two hours later they are fading fast. This is an everyday occurrence because memories and emotional turmoil are far more compelling than anything else. They command me; dictate my actions more often than anything I see as uplifting. Most days there is literally nothing I can do about their deep effects upon my psyche. It is the rare occasion that finds me rising above after painfully forcing the issue by getting into some errant chore when I do not even remotely feel like moving around the house at all. Talk about fucking difficult; the entire idea is pathetic and I hate it, but sometimes there is just no way out of that little, depressing box. I am hoping to rise above this shit today. Time will tell, as will my strength. Ugh. Another day has disappeared and left me here to wonder if the time was worthwhile at all. Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting here feeling almost the same as I do right now, neither of which is a positive state. I indeed rose above for a little while yesterday afternoon. Today may be a different story because I need not leave the house. That means there may be no ‘up’ as opposed to the rewarding feeling of returning here after doing something I’d rather avoid. I need not leave the house. That means lots of time to work on whatever... But I cannot predict the mood at the close of business hours today. Good or bad. I just don’t know. Right now everything is fine because I have the editor, my program over there on the right, and coffee. Morning is thinking time. Once the morning disappears, the issues can grow beyond my ability to minimize them so they don’t affect the day too much. The more I think about this, the more I feel I should have a plan in place for such a contingency. Maybe that’s the best idea. The other two essays need to be put on a shelf for a while. One is difficult due to availability. Well, both of them continue to deal with impossibilities, so both are very trying on my mind. One is worse than the other, too. I can’t detail it here, but suffice to say that the Passion is second to the toughest shit with which I’ve ever had to deal in life. The Passion is impossible and very depressing because I am completely in love with it – yes, an inanimate object has that much power over yours truly – yet the other essay has been driven for almost two years (on and off) and weighs more heavily on my head than anything in my life. I think about it every single fucking day of the year. Every fucking day regardless of whether I am in a positive mood or not, those past images and situations call to me because I need them like I need oxygen. Writing about the Passion has become a double entendre from hell. I don’t even want to think about any of that shit. There is no choice in the matter, though, because I am too far gone. ‘You go, and you stay gone. Or you BE gone.’ Grammar aside, he hit the nail on the head. Spoken language is often allowed more leeway than the written word for the simple fact that inflection and emotion must power whatever is being said. ‘Gone’. Indeed. The point is well-taken. I already know what is on the other side of that statement. What was I saying? Ah... The very difficult, ongoing saga that I can’t seem to release. I have added lines here and there on occasion and often go back to recall certain scenes. The process damages me more than I can express, but I do it anyway. Even after a pause of months, I returned and wrote more of the past because I could not get the difficulty and pain out of my head and body. I had to write. Before I become angry and start to hate everything in the world, I must leave this alone once again. The wristwatch is one topic; the other entirely different and is going to kill me, sure as hell. One of these days... Wait for it. I’ve been speaking of the exit for a very long time. Make no mistake... Time is the only issue. This will happen when I can literally take no more. I guess this is one of those mornings that finds me unable to remove certain information from my brain to allow forward motion. I am hurting inside. Badly. The essays are going to be left alone for an undetermined period of time. I don’t want to end up in the ground today. Everything hurts. Call me what you will. Past circumstances continue to take their toll and very few individuals seem to give a fuck. I am not well. There is a strong possibility that I was reminded of that painful essay due to the program I have been watching during evenings. I could not begin to describe the vast amount of very picturesque forms that flow across the screen during certain scenes. The imagery is mind-boggling, but at the same time I realize what drives sales and entertainment in this nation, especially the prevalence it had twenty years ago when the series was new. When I made the decision to watch, it was because of aspects that I really enjoy, one actor I love, and the scenery of the city and state, not necessarily a billion female forms all over the place. They are a massive downside, and likely send me off a cliff more often than I realize at the time. Whatever. Everything fucking hurts me anymore. I may as well enjoy the show if I’m going to be in pain anyway. The essay relates – slightly – to some of the program material. I believe the more I watch, the more I’ll need to either read or add to that most damaging of entries. This is what I’ve become. Time and circumstance. Fuck off. A little time has passed and my usual stuff is done. I have a load of laundry running for posterity, as well. Other than that crap, I don’t know what to do because the memories have been pervading my every fucking step today. My head is having so much trouble that I don’t know if I can do anything else before late afternoon. This is completely fucked. I can’t get that shit out of my head. I am telling you that if I can’t find other options in the near future, my emotional condition will drive me over the final edge. I am not kidding. The current period has almost become too much for me to offset. My saving throws versus reality are nearly gone. I wish I could understand why things must be as they are. I am tempted to say that everything is unfair, but that term still causes trouble. I just don’t know the truth of the matter, so employing the word may not be appropriate. Well, no one will give half a blue fuck either way. In any case, I am not doing well this morning, housework aside. I am scheduled to attend an event for the brotherhood tomorrow morning – the largest and likely most important gathering – and as I sit here right now I have no idea if I’ll even be able to step out the fucking front door. Shit. I hate everything right now. I need ‘her’ so much right now that the knife is close. It is ‘out’. I do not feel well and only ‘she’ can fix it. Do I need to illustrate the ridiculous nature of such a statement? Should I describe it? I didn’t think so. Any reading here during the past four years would have already sent anyone the message that I am completely fucked in the head. Four years. Think about that for a minute. Is ‘she’ out there? Of course not. That woman does not exist, never did, and cannot in the future. ‘Her’ nature and feelings have become skewed and unrealistic beyond belief as my decline has progressed. They are even. One created the other, and then one distorted the other. This will continue until my death. ‘Roadies?!’ ‘Oh... You don’t wanna know.’ Believe me on that one. Just believe it. There is more here than anyone knows. And I mean ANYONE. Throughout the last nine years, precisely two individuals have been exposed to what I have become, and even they did not receive the full image. Trust me. I am far worse off than what you may believe. Well, if anyone gives half a shit, that is. I fucking doubt it. Why would anyone cast a glance in my direction? Why? I can’t find a reason. You probably can’t, either. Whatever. I am in a very bad state right now. Some of the situations I described in the other essay are fucking haunting me right now. This has been happening all morning and I can’t seem to get any of that information out of my head. I can’t relax and clear myself of enough trouble to do anything else. My program is running on the right-hand display, I have the typical glass of whiskey sitting on the left, yet inside my head is a cyclone of pain and trauma. The past – both near and far – is killing me inside and holding me back from making any progress on the house. The laundry is languishing in the machine because I need to fold a few sheets that have been in the dryer for two days. Lifting a hand toward anything productive feels nearly impossible. I can’t stop the carousel of images that is rotating in my brain. Motion pictures are playing out, too. This is all so very damaging that the knife will not leave my head. Today is Friday, April the fifth. I am going to lose my mind very soon. This is no way to live. I can’t fucking believe how much things have changed in the space of six months. I just can’t believe it. Is this the shape of things to come? Those who love me had better hope not. I am not kidding. For years I’ve stated that the end is near. I may be on a road with no exits. Or turns. Let us see what the afternoon brings. Yep. Nothing. I don’t understand. Am I paying the tab? The idea needs to be made abundantly clear before I will fully accept it. I mean... Yes, I can see such a fact, but the truth is that if it is true, I may as well stop trying because the die is cast and cooled. So is the tool with its galleries, connections and passages. Look it up. The point is I can see how my current condition could be viewed as payment for so much having gone aslant due to my past actions and decisions. I just need solid evidence. I already know that the shift from two years ago which caused my brain to alter the way it operates is plenty. My beliefs are but one small part of the situation, though. Just a segment. Maybe I should create a pie chart. Hmm. This is no way to live. Sunday morning is here, thank the maker. I went to the gathering yesterday and enjoyed it quite a bit before making a stealthy exit just prior to two o’clock. Being away from home early in the morning did fuck up my normal schedule, but today I should be back on track and exactly where I need to be. The drive this morning was uneventful aside from one of the market employees smiling at me... Twice. Perhaps I was smiling at her in the first place. I don’t know. People rarely look at me, although my eyes are almost constantly scanning the area for anything interesting. I will say that the market and drive this morning helped me return to my usual mindset, meaning I have the day to myself without any hiccups in the schedule. I fully intend to embrace everything I can today, from housework to whatever else. The woman at the market will be in mind, sometimes. I believe the reason for the exchange is that I know her from some other place or time here in town. I can’t be certain. She is not ‘her’, obviously. Moreover, I am so pleased to have the entire day to myself that her smile is already nearly gone. Had it been the other one... The Hispanic beauty with the kind eyes... My reaction would be quite the reverse. Anyway, all lovely, exotic, market produce workers aside, today is mine. That includes a shitload of time sitting right here to make up for yesterday. The last of the coffee is next to me. Afterward, I will begin the Sunday business and try to get the other essay out of my brain (again). That stuff just never stops. It only pauses from time to time and I can’t predict the feelings. I need to be able to relax because I can already sense a bunch of trouble brewing in the background, none of it being related to the smile from earlier. That was not a big deal. I am referring to the past, the memories that haunt me all the time, and the loss of very fulfilling and joyous times, most notably the glowing years. There was another reminder of that period while driving back from the City. At least when my housework begins I’ll be following along with the fourth series which began at the trailing end of that beautiful era. The second and third series were right in the middle of the best time of my life. As for the memories, they illuminate everything that is now missing from inside me. I see plenty while out among the masses. The rest remains in my brain and is very clear. I will refrain from citing examples. The Sunday business should help. Garbage, laundry, straightening up, the rest. I am hoping that once I put the show on the televisions and get busy with my stuff, all this difficulty will fade and help me to remain productive into the afternoon. There is always plenty to do, especially considering I was out of the house yesterday for six hours. I felt disconnected. At least ‘she’ left my head for a while. Better than nothing. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ ‘Stop asking me that question, damn it.’ ‘You created this journey. Do you know why?’ ‘No. Tell me.’ ‘You shall see forsooth.’ Splendid. I’ve been floating out here in the middle of nowhere and Julia will not stop questioning me or my actions. Is the past responsible? ‘You are responsible.’ ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ I really don’t need any more of these crazy adventures. Maybe I really should head over the side and see what develops. Maybe Julia will allow me to die for real. Eh... This is not real. Bad idea. I’ll probably end up on a fucking train somewhere in the desert. I wish that was funny. Wait a minute... What is in the water? Shit. Faces. I see them all murky, just below the surface. That reminds me of the third (second?) installment of the Rings trilogy when Frodo saw those people beneath the water. I know the faces; I can identify all of them. Women. Girls. They are all from my past, much like while I was stuck in that beautiful roundhouse and each person was at the controls of their own locomotives. During that insane scene, the only thought was that the locomotives each represented their individual lives, and for whatever reason they were all pointed at me as I stood on the turntable. Pointed? I don’t know. Real roundhouses do not contain turntables; they are always located outside, beyond the doors to the shop. This is different because I only see faces and they are stable; in place. They are also looking at me as if I need to say or do something from the boat. The sea continues to pay no mind as it remains unchanged, the sky swirling above without regard for whatever is beginning to develop down here. I know all of them. Each face is from a different period of my past and held its fair share of difficulties and other problems inherent in my ability to adapt or otherwise locate the ‘good’ in each relationship. I am beginning to believe that the idea of paying the tab is not so far-fetched. I always needed more; sometimes much more. I never felt that my needs were balanced or ‘fair’, either. The two shit situations heavily influenced my desires almost constantly. There were occasions in which I felt happy, though. I mean that. Those two situations caused me to be fairly selfish, so perhaps I am meant to face the music while held captive on the sea. I can’t know for sure because Julia will not give me a straight answer to anything. I hear questions and still do not know what to do about them, even after five years of this shit. All those places; all those names beginning with the letter ‘J’, and so many miles traveled across deserts and whatever the fuck else have hardly taught me anything. I know I was selfish. I know that I did not communicate much due to feeling like half a ‘man’, and that statement can only hold water if I ever was one in the first place. The two shit situations were inflicted upon me; not my doing. The way I’ve carried myself and viewed other people became skewed as a result. Such facts continue to this very moment and I hope Julia does not expect me to alter the way I think or live just because I have caused problems in the past. The faces may also be nothing more than reminders of how I arrived in this place. No, not the sea. I am talking about where I am in life right now and the fact that the way I think will not stop distorting itself as the days fly by. I have stated many times that I know what I am, and I’ve also made it very clear that I am not proud of what I’ve become. But... What about those two situations from forty-plus years ago? My formative years were completely derailed and nearly destroyed as a result, so I still don’t believe I can be held responsible for so much, most notably the issues attached to a bunch of faces staring back at me. I am already miserable enough. Reminders will only hurt me further. Do I have a choice in the matter? Nope. I am stuck in this little boat for Christ-knows how long, and the worst part of this situation is the fact that I have apparently not learned a fucking thing from either Julia’s intended lessons or the appearance of anything from the past. The faces are going to cause their fair share of problems. I wish I could steel myself against whatever may be coming in the future. Again... Nope. I am powerless here, just like every other netherworld that has come down the pike in the last four years. I love and hate that woman at the same time. She knows me entirely too well. Maybe such a fact serves me right. If I must pay, I may as well take care of everything all at once. This place is horrible. ‘Take them away, please.’ ‘Oh, you’re pleading with me now? Did I hit a nerve?’ ‘I already faced one of those situations and thought I destroyed it.’ ‘You did no such thing, mister.’ What the fuck does she mean by that? The passenger car... The gun... All those people and the gunman were supporting me. Was I wrong? I killed him in a very painful, violent manner. I faced down the man that was that boy. Maybe Julia is upset with me because I learned a mental lesson and then continued to write about all of the same problems despite the scene in the railroad car. Is that it? Why can’t I get a simple straight answer? Anything? Hello? Silence. The faces are still there. And as far as I am aware, all of them are still alive in reality, save for one. I can’t be certain, though. The only clear fact is that the Raven is gone. She left this world almost nine years ago at the tender age of twenty-four and I still feel the loss every single fucking day. God damn did I ever love that woman. She knew a portion of what I am. Given enough time, that stunning creature would have learned the rest. Of that I have zero doubt. The Raven was the only woman who truly aligned with my views of the world. I wish I could know if She may have aligned with Ashley’s beliefs. Well, had such a circumstance developed all those years ago, I probably would have joined Her. The world turned its back on one of the most unique examples of a person imaginable. As I sit in this little boat, I swear that if Julia takes issue with the Raven or my feelings for Her, I will end everything in a cold second. I am not kidding, either. I can't take that shit from anyone. The mind can conjure much in this world or any other, and such a fact lends to the idea of control. If I die in reality, none of the other worlds will exist. That is the only power I truly have. The faces will not let up on me, nor will my mind let up on the idea that the reason they are here is to destroy me once and for all. I cannot abide such a circumstance, Julia’s wishes or otherwise. I’ve had quite enough of this shit. If the faces do not fade or turn to something else, I will force the end. I will not be destroyed by others, only myself. The equation that is unbalanced right now is the idea that I am seeing faces which are significant due to BOTH shit situations, yet the driving force always seems to be the shit that took place in the passenger car nearly five years ago. One step at a time? Maybe? I don’t fucking know. She said I am responsible. For what? The two situations from more than forty years ago? I don’t think so, woman. Or a slough of bad and/or selfish decisions? Yes, that was all me, but she has to keep in mind that comfort, understanding and self-protection pretty well ruled the roost for many years and often flared when I became frightened or suicidal. The underlying issues were already there and would have ruined me for all time had I not made some very uncomfortable choices. They kept me going, for lack of a better description. The Raven was a part of that, as was the problem in the passenger car as well as everything that was related to the goblet. As I said in the beginning, everyone seemed to support my decision to shoot that asshole, so I did. There was no way for me to know the outcome, either. No fucking way. Scared? What did you say? Yes, I was scared out of my fucking mind; nearly as much as when I saw that little boy in the hopper. Nothing good came out of that crap, anyway. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I need the faces to fade away, however. That much is certain. I have to think about all this shit. Julia could really help me by informing me if there is a way to live without all this difficulty and pain following me every fucking day. I haven’t found shit. Maybe she knows. All of the convoluted imagery and crazy trips all over the place are only deepening my feelings of being lost and alone. Back to reality... The time is now a few hours later. I am partially finished with the Sunday business. The routine is finished, laundry is underway, and I have a head start on the garbage, including cleaning out the refrigerator. This is very good because now I can relax with my morning whiskey and gather some thoughts. The difficulty and heartache has been following at each step regardless of any good feelings of accomplishment. At least I have some hours to myself. Roxanne is on the right-hand display again, too. She is so uniquely fucking gorgeous that I can’t even begin to understand the massive gradient that has developed over many years. Not even a bit. I need her to hold me for years and make all of the bad go away. Nope. Her character is not real even if the actor is. I don’t know anything about the actor; the real person. The character is the one with whom I am enamored, just like the others. Jamie? Yep. Nora? Yep. Jolene? Oh, fuck yes. I have much less interest in reality right now than ever before, and such a stance is due to far too many factors to spell out here. Anyway, I was talking about business today. I will probably go a bit further prior to close of business hours because I need tomorrow to arrive with little to no responsibilities. Mondays are very important. As of yet, I’ve found partial success in suppressing the dire feelings which follow me each day. I am on the edge at this very moment. Monday, post-routine. The guys are here preparing the area for the new concrete pad. Excellent. I’ve been in and out of the house all morning, but still managed to finish my usual housework. Now I can relax at the control center with my cocktail. So far, the rectangle has been voided of soil and everything that was removed has been relocated to the opposite side of the yard. I didn’t want them to have to haul the soil and grass away. Now, nearly the entire yard is covered with grass. Very nice. By close of business hours, the entire area will be ready for concrete, which is scheduled to be poured in two days. That means a month from now I can order the shed. This is very good. I was contacted last night with the news that the project could begin this morning, so first thing I had to clear the area and create a smooth pathway through my garage. All of the work this morning combined with interfacing with the contractors (two friends whom I’ve known for a decade and worked with for many years) meant that finding distraction from the shit and depression in my head was pretty easy. Everything will return soon enough, meaning I need to enjoy the day as much as possible prior to falling away. It has occurred. It will occur. Aside from the business, I’ve been considering how best to proceed with storage once the entire project is completed. This is the single largest improvement to the house, save for the old windows being replaced some years ago. I am very pleased and need to maintain this wave as long as possible. The alternative is not good. My head quickly becomes preoccupied with beauty in general, and certain very specific emotions in particular. I don’t want that shit hitting me in the face today. Later. The construction crew has been here since nine and the project is moving along nicely. I am anticipating everything being ready to pour in a few hours. They are having lunch right now – I had a little something, too – and I provided chairs and bottled water so they are comfortable. The job is not easy and I like to help as much as possible. After working for many years in construction, I understand the value of a break. The concrete is indeed scheduled to be poured in two days. Since I was outside interfacing with my friends, I decided to play some music and work on the roof antenna farm. There are now three different antennas up there, two of which will be used for communication and the third for receiving the clock signal from Colorado. The mast looks much better without all of the weather sensors, too. The cable for the clock signal is already inside the garage, as well. I can tap into it whenever the mood strikes. As I suspected (and hoped), the difficulties have been pushed to the rear. I am going to enjoy the lack of heartache and pain for as long as I can today. Monday is behind; Tuesday is here. The purity returned early this morning and broke my fucking heart. The construction crew finished all of the prep work so the slab can be poured tomorrow morning. Everything out there is clean. My two antennas are mounted and one is wired. I can test it later if the mood strikes. I have the entire day to myself. All that I just mentioned... All positives save for one, and that one is killing me more quickly than I had anticipated when I suspected there had been a change two years ago. I am so sad right now that I could burn down the world. The shed project is a major leap for this house, and yet no matter what kinds of wonderful improvements or days come along, the purity or something along the same lines eventually comes along and smashes the quality of everything else. I don’t need to feel this way. There are already plenty of negatives floating inside my head each day. The purity is often the worst of the bunch. This is not fun. Sad. I am just so fucking sad. Yesterday I ran across an article regarding some of the feelings I’ve experienced throughout the past couple of years, and the resulting knowledge was both helpful and disheartening. I’m in a very bad spot here. Powerless, really. Since there is nothing I can do to alleviate some of the sadness, my only option seems to be sitting here typing or lashing out at the world, neither of which have solved anything in the past. What do I do now? Continue going through the motions? If I die on the boat, reality will carry on as if nothing happened. The only result will be yet another resurrection and probably an additional trip into some errant netherworld. The questions and cryptic statements will not stop, ever. Something has to happen, but what? Do you have the fucking answer? Nope... Because there is no detail inherent in these writings. If I expose too much, I’ll be ridiculed, embarrassed and on the receiving end of so much fucking backlash that I’d have to shut down the site, hide myself away and remain away from people for the rest of my life. As much as I need help, I need protection even more. Infinitely more, really. I am out of options save for what has already been suggested. This is a very bad situation. Dangerous, too. Those who care for me are on a slippery slope right now. The morning is horrible thus far. I didn’t ask for this shit. The boat awaits... The faces have faded away. Fallen away? Maybe. One is definitely gone; the rest remain. I remain, as well. I am stuck in the boat and trying to understand what Julia has been displaying. Each face represents a period of time, and the sum of all seems to add up to me being reminded of the problems I’ve caused. The question now is this: What the hell can I do about it? My life is very different now and I am no longer associated with or connected to any of them. I am alone in nearly every sense of the word. So, what is the meaning? Am I meant to feel bad all over again? That shit never completely faded, really. Those eras are always with me. I think about different times here and there and feel like crap all over again, in turn. At least they have disappeared for the time being. I still have to try and understand what Julia meant when she disagreed with my statement about destroying the past (shit situation number one). [As an aside, all of the nonfiction and combined fiction and nonfiction has been removed from the site. I will no longer allow anyone to read those stories. They are far too personal and never should have seen publication in the first place.] Julia came across very differently at the time, and I am speaking of being in the caboose after facing the past head-on. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and yet she does not agree that my solution to that scene helped me at all. I don’t fucking get it. If I am in this boat as payment for the past, I can understand the creation of this world. I really can. If it is something else, perhaps something yet to be encountered, I am at a loss. The sky remains unchanged (as does the light), and the water continues to lap at the sides of the boat. Lost. ‘This morning was a clue, and you cannot remember the catalyst.’ ‘A dream?’ ‘A dream, indeed.’ 'I don't remember anything but some issue with a raven... An actual bird this time.' 'The purity is at issue.' 'Splendid. Leave me alone for a while, please.' 'As you wish.' That’s it. I am definitely being held accountable for my actions and decisions from many years ago. That has to be the reason. How long will this go on? Is the sea all there is left for me? Alone in a boat with terrible memories and an even worse state of mind than ever before? That’s pretty fucking harsh. I’d rather die and lose the ability for thought than float along forever without ever being able to forget anything. This is even more fucked than I had thought a few days ago. Paying the tab. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of all the other shit in my brain. Nothing has changed in days. The water is still dark and fairly calm, the clouds overhead continue to swirl and threaten my little boat, and the horizon remains about as distant as Pluto. I asked Julia to leave me alone for a while and I am pleased with the silence. All I hear is gentle lapping. I can’t help but suspect that this will end at some point and I will shift to another place, just like in the past. In the meantime, I must sit here and try to understand the meaning of her comment about the situation in the passenger car. My suspicion is Julia did not see the killing as a realization or end. Honestly, I can’t argue because of my present condition in reality, but at the time I calculated that such action was expected of me in order to help myself leave the issue behind in life. Now Julia brings the purity into question. Wonderful. I am having a difficult enough time trying to deal with those feelings, and knowing that she is still inside my head all the fucking time does not help. Moreover, I fail to understand why my sleeping time and the purity are becoming a problem. It has little to do with the past, or does it? I could be way off base here. I will say that when I feel the purity, the first emotion is sadness because I can’t control it, nor can I do anything about such situations. Nothing. I am powerless during those moments. The entire topic hurts my heart so much that I begin to reach for unrealistic options in life. That is not good, and pretty much sums up the motivation I felt each time I ran away in the past. Well, I can’t do that now so I am left to live with the feelings. After a horrible disaster (like yesterday), the purity comes to mind – yes, while I am awake and aware of everything – and results in my mood dropping further than before. It is not my fault, either. I can’t help what happens. Not even a little bit. The feelings drive me up the fucking wall and cause my depression to deepen so much that the exit becomes brightly illuminated for a time, typically until I have to force myself to find some type of distraction during the day. I must admit that when I first heard Julia’s words regarding this shit, my initial instinct was that she was instructing me to find a solution, and the only way to do that is to cause even larger problems in life, both for myself and those who know me. No, not the end. I am speaking of yet another search, just one that happens to be very specific. I’ve considered it before, but every time I do something comes along out of the clear, blue sky and reins me back into where I should be. This is going to be tougher than all the other shit she put me through, combined. Bad piled atop other bad equals all of the good being permanently eliminated from my daily life. Bad wins, every time, and this is a big one. I always thought Julia’s lessons were all rooted in how I’ve developed as a result of the two shit situations. Now? She has taken issue with something very personal, and possibly the most difficult aspect of my present condition. I believe more conversation is on tap for yours truly, regardless of where it takes place. And regardless of whether or not Julia agrees, I am going to float along and rehearse some of the most important questions I’ve ever posed. What else can I do right now? The sea is endless, much like the slew of problems brewing inside me like Satan’s own coffee maker. I am percolating. I wish that was funny. In the past, whenever Julia sat with me to speak candidly, I was allowed to relax in an agreeable lounge in Vegas, something I have loved for so long that I can’t even begin to recall the number of occasions. The last one was almost five years ago inside Caesar’s Palace and one of the most beautiful, comfortable spaces into which I have ever sunk. I can only hope to be allowed such an experience again, especially considering the current scene. I’d like to throw questions at her like fastballs, but the past has taught me that violence – be it verbal or otherwise – never advances my situation in a positive direction. I will have to be careful. I’ll tell you one thing, though... I could really use a fucking stiff drink right now. That is not a joke, either. I’ve been stuck in this little boat for days without so much as the slightest alteration in the surrounding sea or sky. I need... Something. Please. Let us travel back to the real world for a little while... Later. How much later? Nothing matters. I finished my housework and have the rest of the day to myself. Dinner will be leftovers. Very simple. I don’t need anything heavy right now because I can’t even begin to recall a worse morning. I hate this shit with a passion unlike any other. One positive is that I interfaced with the shed company and can schedule installation for any day further out than a week or so. This is good because I can plan according to the time required for the concrete to fully set and be safe. Moreover, the shed plan shrunk by two feet on the length, meaning there are no permits or anchoring necessary, a cost reduction of more than two grand. Very nice. I swear to all that is holy, this project is about the only aspect of the present that is keeping me going. In anticipation of everything being finished, I ordered some lumber and other items to be delivered on Friday. As I said... Without the uplifting improvement to the house, I’d have little reason to draw breath. And? Something horrible just came to mind. I made a note that the gardeners are here and after seeing the date I realized today would have been the Raven’s thirty-third birthday. I wonder where She would be in life had that tragedy not occurred. I’ll tell you one thing... I could use Her understanding right fucking now. My sadness just increased ten-fold, as did my feelings about the purity, something She fully understood. Only Ashley felt the same and they are both fucking gone. Wonderful. I have never felt so bad in this life. Bad. I am beginning to believe that my needs shall go unanswered for the duration. There may be no way out of this situation. Not good. I feel terrible right now. I still love that woman more than words can express, and She (or anyone remotely similar) is now far too distant to reach. This is a shitty day all the way around. My life is pretty fucking pathetic if the high point of an average day is sitting here with a cocktail and the keyboard. I had much and threw it all away. And then I had much and again threw it all away. Both situations were byproducts of the two shit situations and circumstances related to a deep-seated need for understanding and comfort. Nope. I just wish I had known back then of even a little bit of the future. Perhaps some of the disasters could have been avoided. I can’t sit here and feel ok in life. I can’t run to the elusive comfort. I can be where I so badly need. I can’t fucking do anything but type. The cherry on top of today’s depression sundae is the use of one of the keywords from some years ago, and one still relevant in almost any social climate. There is nothing wrong with the dialog, however. The use of the term in this episode is absolutely justified, along with its context. The issue is it forces me to look at myself and wonder what the fuck I’ve become after all this time. To this very second, I still cannot reconcile a single keyword with respect to myself. This impossibility may continue until my end. The worst part is I am still deeply affected by those keywords regardless of time or my frame of mind, and the only path to relief in such a situation lies solely on the shoulders of other people. There is nothing I can do about it. Everything is related; everything combines and allies against me; everything pushes me to that elusive peace. The shit situations were unconscionable. What can I do right now to feel more comfortable? What? Do you know? 'Take that off. Now take that one off, and then put the other one back on.' Wednesday, post routine and everything else. The concrete pad is finished. Now I have to wait for it to fully cure – two weeks minimum; likely over a month to be certain – before the shed can be installed. I need to place the order by the end of this month to take advantage of a promotional offer. No problem. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll continue to create a plan for everything that will live in that space. I have my cocktail and several hours to myself today. After all of the work on Monday, and then the concrete pumping early this morning, I am fairly pleased about the peace and quiet right now. For whatever reason, my program is experiencing glitches during playback. I’ll have to switch to something else for a while. Yesterday the show was running just fine for over an hour. I don’t get it, but there are plenty of other options. Anyway, my plan is to sit here until it’s time to eat something, and then roll into whatever seems best. My head is full of yesterday’s pitfalls. I need something to distract me for a little while and ease the bad emotions, whatever that may be. Oh, and I learned something this morning during an episode of a science fiction program. The term ‘corvette’ goes back in history far beyond when the automobile of the same name – capitalized, of course – debuted in 1953. It refers to a class of warship that resides between a ‘frigate’ and a ‘sloop-of-war’. I am pretty old, but I never knew that one. Very cool. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, I will do whatever I can to distance myself from the horrible situation that developed yesterday. The sea pays no mind to my problems. The sea remains the sea. Some time has passed and I finished a few preparations for dinner. That will make the evening much easier and more straightforward. I have come to need the evening time to be very quiet and peaceful over the last few months. Anything I can do to make cooking dinner easier has become important because relaxing during the dark hours is critical to my well-being. Today’s business is completely out of the way, so I am hoping the previous sentence holds its day in court. My neighbor may be outside later with his buddy to perform some work on a truck. If so, I may spend a bit of time in the garage. That will be prior to the time for cooking. Tomorrow will be the first day this week that I have all to myself. I am looking forward to some peace and quiet. The other world cannot help. It is there nonetheless... ‘You dreamed of her again.’ ‘Yes, a bad one.’ ‘You must remain at great distance.’ ‘I know.’ Julia knows everything. I dreamed of the girl again early this morning. Well, in reality. In this place? I only think of her from time to time, nothing more. We were gently kissing and one of my hands was caressing her arm. The situation was nerve-wracking, tentative, and somewhat frightening for reasons I cannot disclose, yet at the same time I felt so wonderful, if only for a few fictional minutes. Everything beautiful is again absent and I am left here in this little boat to ponder the emptiness. Marvelous. From a high that cannot be measured, on to a low that I have known for years, and then further down thanks to my subconscious taking over for mere seconds and showing me a life that cannot be possible, ever. Well, there is a slim possibility of some kind of fulfilling connection. I can’t state that she would be truly impossible, although the actual odds are about the same as acquiring the Passion. They may as well not exist. But holy God, what I wouldn’t give to have those few precious moments back. No way. Dreams are under no one’s control. Apparently, Julia has a problem with the subject of my dream. She needs to take it up with whomever conjures such things, and not my desire to remove anyone’s clothing. My feelings toward that girl came about due to a puerile sticking point in time that came out of a dream two years ago, and then another. When I was young, a single dream for mere seconds was enough to catapult an acquaintance all the way up to a major infatuation that almost entirely took over my consciousness. Apparently, such things still affect me pretty deeply because two years ago my feelings took a major left turn into very bad territory, and the connection implied in the dream this morning only cemented my ill-begotten emotions regarding that girl. If Julia has a problem with the way my mind operates, she needs to consider shit situation number two rather than bitching to me. There it is! I’m sure something bad is going to happen after such statements and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. Whatever the case – regardless of Julia’s actions in this place or decisions about what should happen to me – I am still going to be the same depressed, overly emotional and weakened individual that is sitting in this little boat right now. Nothing is going to change, really. It can’t. My dream came about for whatever reason and from wherever in my brain, and there is nothing anyone can do about it here or anywhere else. The dreams will occur again, too. And I am ready for whatever shit Julia wants to throw my way. Fuck it. As I said, the issue is shit situation number two and the horrible inward turn I took immediately thereafter. Blame the cause of that shit, not me. I am exactly the same because I’ve become incapable of changing due to those periods pressing on my brain. Dreams about the girl are a part of that... Wishful thoughts combined with a dire need for the right person to hold me and make the bad – yes, even that of forty-plus years ago – go away for all time. Not fucking likely is what you should be thinking right now. Whatever happens from here forward, I am not going to bend my perception of what that situation did to me. The dreams of her can be damned for all I care. The sea pays no mind whatsoever. I expect nothing, just the same. Murky water. That is all. I am stuck. There is no tiller; there are no oars. I control nothing. The dream is fresh, too. I can still feel her lips; the soft skin of her arm. I need to cease thinking about her for a while or I’ll drive myself insane. Moreover, Julia will end up in a snit over my feelings for the thousandth time. I don’t need her shit. Being stuck out here in the boat is plenty, as is the mass of crap which continues to swirl inside as the clouds do the same on the outside. I wish I could know where this is leading. I know Julia and the way she operates. Something will eventually change. As I already mentioned, some protracted and peaceful conversation at an agreeable bar would be very nice right now. We’ve spoken at length in several different lounges throughout Las Vegas, and due to the nature of my upbringing and later years spent in Nevada – between the years of seventy and aught-nine I’ve spent at least ten days per year at one resort or another – there are few places on this fucking planet where I am more comfortable (one of which can’t be detailed here). I’d love to sit and talk for a little while without being subjected to an ethereal, resonating voice while languishing on the sea. My latest dream involving the girl has hit me upside the head more than the previous occasions, and I could really use more insight than one-line responses and questions. Naturally, I need time to think to myself, but the truth is I can only float out here for so long before becoming desperate for a pair of ears, and Julia’s are likely the only ones available anymore. In reality, there are none. A meeting in a cozy spot is the type of change I need more than any other. This is making me very sad, to be honest. The sea continues to pay no mind. I hope something changes soon. Flash! Desert. Sand. Heat. Wind. Here we go again... The sea is gone, replaced by a scene I know all too well... Off in the distance I can see a structure and already know what it is. The hotel, but which one? The crazy hotel from the negative material plane? Or could it be that familiar, dreamy clone of the Mandalay Bay, the resort that lives in my heart? I can’t know from this distance, but fully intend to find out after some walking. Wow... Being on my feet feels wonderful right now despite the heat. How long was I in the boat? Fourteen days? That sounds about right. Damn. Here we fucking go again. Julia is brutal with the changes. I had hoped for a nice, air-conditioned lounge. Now I have to trod the desert sand in order to even see if there is one available. Just... Damn. Hot. Damn hot. Whatever. I’ve done this before – alone except for the little scorpions who seem to be absent this time – and made it to the doors and into the air conditioning just fine. I can do it again. Walking slowly and steadily will bear fruit soon enough. I already know that my arrival will be greeted brightly just like every other visit. The staff – whomever they are – know their positions very well and there has never been a lack of comfort. I can’t wait to get inside and try to forget about so many days in that little boat. Wow... The place appears a bit different from the last visit. There is no dragon atop the tower, nor is there a railroad track running behind the property. Is that to the west, as if the hotel resides on Las Vegas Boulevard? The gates are open. I could use a bit of cool air and some water right now. The lack of Julia’s booming voice thus far has helped ease my mind for the time being. Maybe we will sit in a lovely lounge and talk at long last. Eh... I don’t know. On the flip side, maybe I’ll be chased through the property by a man with a gun. I just never fucking know. To the gates with all haste. The massive resort entry is much like the hotel related to dracorum, yet different somehow, as if the old, creepy place has been merged with one of the great loves of my life, the Luxor pyramid. I have so many memories in and around that resort that I would not know where to begin. Passing the lush landscaping shows me that this place is indeed a clone of the holy pyramid. Right on through the marble entry, to the right, and I see the registration desk as it was during my last solo visit to this beautiful place. Time to check in and find out if we are to meet for a bit of conversation. That was the norm of the past. The main thing bothering me right now is a shit ton of memories flooding me from a big lounge to the left... Yes, it is Aurora for the tenth fucking time. Good and bad; bliss and heartache. Everything from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows took place right there in that fucking lounge, all of which is still marked and stored inside my head. I am going to have a hell of a time sitting at one of those tables if Julia wishes it. Maybe I can suggest a different place, such as Flight or whatever. Even the Island bar would be easier on my head and heart right now. Hmm. I need a room. ‘Welcome. Everything is ready for you and your bags have been delivered.’ 'Thank you very much.’ Keys. ‘Enjoy your stay, sir.’ Yeah... My stay is not exactly REAL, now is it? She was kind and pleasant, like always, yet somehow a bit robotic in her mannerisms. A machine? No, of course not. The woman is a clerk in a fictional resort in a fictional world, nothing more. I’ll head to the inclinator and see what’s what when I arrive thirty-one floors up. If memory serves, I’ll have two rooms and a spa. Not bad. I just wish this was a real visit rather than something designed to disassemble and repair my ailing brain. To the room with all haste. As usual, the accommodations are excellent. I’ve stayed here many times before, too, so I know what I’m saying. The closet appears to be stocked with my typical attire, the vanity holds all my stuff, and the view is to the direct south – straight to the fucking Mandalay Bay, of course – and my other home away from home. A bit of time to clean up and I am ready to slide back down the inclinator. ‘The cocktail salon, my love. You know.’ ‘Okay.’ Fuck me, that place is two hotels north from here and a hell of a long walk. Why? I mean... I don’t want to sit in Aurora because I’ll end up all fucked up in the head, but isn’t there something closer? ‘You’ll see.’ As I head for the inclinator and digest Julia’s cryptic shit again, I can’t help but recall so many beautiful moments spent in this resort, and others. Some of the best and most heartwarming times of my entire life have been lived here at the south end of the Strip, otherwise known as Paradise on maps. I guess I’ll follow her lead and see what’s at the base of this angled lift. Oh, boy. The lounge is fucking gorgeous, all dim and alluring. People are literally sunk into plush chairs and sitting in front of mahogany tables lit by candles. There are gas lamps on the paneled walls; chair rails separate deep blues and greens from the lush, polished wood surfaces. If anything can make me feel physically comfortable – aside from the obvious, absent aspects of life over which I agonize daily – this is it. I am definitely not standing in a clone of the pyramid because this lounge, all themed in French decor and overflowing with flowers, used to be just off the main casino in the Monte Carlo, a hotel I miss dearly. Like many of the other loving places I used to visit as often as possible, the resort is gone these days, having made way for yet another MGM. Whatever. I need a drink. The upside is that we are not in Aurora. I really don’t need to be hit in the heart with every beautiful face that accompanied me while sinking into those big chairs, not to mention the gorgeous woman sitting nearby at a slot machine and whom I sent a trio of lemon drops as I relaxed and made goo-goo eyes at a call girl. Don’t even fucking get me started. Anyway, I will sit and await the arrival of the queen of ambiguity and difficulty. Booze, please. The server’s outfit kind of follows suit with those at the Venetian; a very short dress, hair up, and a pair of beautiful three-inch slingback heels. Wow. I’ll have to keep any comments to myself once Julia appears because otherwise she will chastise me like last time. I have a half-track mind, and after all these years it just doesn’t work any other way. The stunning server approaches. Nice. This place is just what the doctor ordered. Drinkie time. Wait a minute... She took my order, left for the bar and then returned with an icy glass of scotch, and took a seat. She is sitting next to me at this very moment. The fuck? I guess I am meant to stare and make nice with her because Julia is not here as of yet. I don’t know what to think. I don’t recognize this woman at all, not even from past visits to the netherworld and its slew of beautiful, inviting cocktail lounges. ‘I know you prefer the perfect cube in your drink. Is it ok?’ ‘Yes, it is delicious. Do I know you?’ ‘Not yet. I am Juliana, and I’m here to ensure you are comfortable.’ ‘Sitting with me?’ ‘As a beginning, yes.’ Huh? Another woman whose name begins with that fateful letter. And she is here for me? Or did Juliana mean that as a customer, her job is clear? I don’t know, but one certainty is that in this world, nothing can be certain. I suppose I’ll sit, relax, and just go with it until something needs my attention. ‘I thought this might be a nice change after the sea.’ ‘You know about that?’ ‘I know quite a bit, mister.’ And... Here we go. Is Juliana going to be the next Julia? Or, perhaps, more like Jaime? God forbid this woman becomes another Justine. She represented every fucking mistake I have ever made, and I need more reminders like I need to be killed again in this world. Maybe the best way to proceed is to simply go with the flow. I am much better off here than in the boat, and the surroundings are infinitely more attractive and comfortable than the sea, meaning hopefully I can deflate for a long while and think about everything. Oh, one idea just popped into my head: I can sit here and lap up all of the scotch and visual information until someone either takes issue with what I am doing or alters the scenery. The point that is stuck in my head is Julia’s reference to the purity. I honestly don’t know how to deal with that sort of thing. I’ve been questioning the appearance of the purity for quite a while and am not ready to discuss it with anyone else in either world. Oh, there are a few souls which come to mind when the need to explore strikes me, but the truth is if confronted with an actual person, I’d probably shut down and disappear. As beautiful as this woman is, the downsides of revealing sensitive information come to mind before anything else. I need to talk about this shit, too. I need it badly. If I take a chance and let slip all of the problems related to the purity, I may find myself either falling away for the last time or relieved for the first. I can’t know, and that is the largest issue in my head right now. Juliana is here for a reason, but only Julia knows what it is. The only avenue is to throw out a line. Damn, she is something to see. Ah... She tossed a line first. ‘Purity.’ ‘Yes ma’am.’ ‘Relax here for a while. We will then head to your room.’ ‘Ok. You’re the boss.’ Again... She is stunning. No sooner do I relent to her request when she tosses a smile the likes of which I have not seen in thirteen years. I may be in trouble. Juliana rises, grabs the serving tray and gallops off to the bar. I am alone again, yet not as deeply as while in the boat. I have a sinking feeling – no pun intended – that I’ve not seen the last of the sea. That place was the very definition of a ‘sea to suffer in’, as it were. I have no doubt I was there for good reason. I don’t feel very well right now. Reality must enter... Thursday is here, and as I mentioned yesterday, this is the first weekday in four that I’ll have to myself. Plans for the next several hours are few. The morning has already been pretty fucked up, so I need to lift myself a bit in order to pave the way to a better day. Well, if lifting myself is even possible anymore. Something came along a little while ago that I fucking hate, so I’ll have to move up quite a bit just to make it through the rest of the morning without flipping out. All I can do is try. Time for housework. Later. The routine is out of the way and I have my typical booze here on the table. I removed the left-hand display for the time being because I may replace the smaller unit in the garage and leave this system with only two. The table is much neater and access to the closet no longer has a ‘pinch point’, to use NASA’s vernacular. I still have to move three components: The RAID unit will move to the table along with my printer, and the tower will move down to the top of the subwoofer. The entire system will be much neater. I also have a USB hub that will be mounted on the underside of the table for ease of access and stability while plugging and unplugging different peripherals. Once all of it is in place, this control center will be much more user friendly than it has been for the last year-plus. In addition, I am already planning to upgrade the tower sometime during the next few months. My last machine suffered from updated software throughout a period of years all running through the same, old hardware. I do not intend to allow this machine to fall behind. That is the main reason I opted for a desktop computer rather than another laptop. On other fronts, the concrete is out there setting and drying, and representing one of the largest improvements to this living space since the new windows were installed. I have to wait a while prior to ordering the shed, so during that period I’ll be planning my storage strategy and the installation of power for lighting and outlets. On yet another front, I am awaiting a quote for installing a gate on the east side of the garage to replace the existing (crappy and ugly) fencing. It’s a small project and will require no more than a few hours for the right contractor. I just wish all this progress and planning had the ability to improve my mental and emotional condition beyond the obvious short-term enjoyment. I successfully reconfigured this table to be more flexible. The tower is below and the hub is mounted for ease of access. My neck is killing me, though. I did something the other day, the pain began to fade soon after, and now it has returned most likely due to laying under the table rewiring and mounting parts. Shit. Whatever. I need to prepare the vegetables for boiling soon. Hopefully, the work will not exacerbate whatever is going on with my neck. Natalie Dormer has got one stunning pair of big doe eyes. Wow. Not only that, but her eyebrows match the ‘cat’ and/or ‘doe’ themes. Unbelievable. I had felt a lot of heat over some comments about the race girl and the Raven several years ago. I’ll refrain from going on about Natalie right now for the sole reason of needing to put the proper words together prior to gushing. Yep. Nothing can stop the flow of information here regardless of the type of content. Anyway, I only have a few items left to hook up and organize here on the table. Perhaps I’ll get to it tomorrow. The vegetables have to boil and then cool and drain for quite a while. I should get started. Regardless of the positives, I am falling away. Friday hath arriveth on the heels of a partially decent Thursday evening. This improved setup looks even better today than it did yesterday. Not bad. There are still some details to work over, but for the most part everything is nice. Thankfully, everything on the home front has been quiet with respect to beauty and the oft-shitty manner in which I view the world and its contents. Quiet is good because any noise injected into my eyes causes everything to return in force and render me unable to move in any direction. As much as I’d like to see everything, the best thing for me is to see nothing at all. That day in the parking lot just outside the door of the market was horrible. And then the other one... The woman who tugged at her yoga pants in front of the counter at the other market. Terrible. And? The last one was just recently and nearly had me doubled over from emotional trauma. While I am home, the only bad things tend to stroll by in the sunshine from time to time, and there can be no predicting any of them. Fortunately, I am further away and everything tends to calm down within a few minutes, the key person notwithstanding. That one is just bad in every sense of the word. She causes pain and it is not her fault. She makes me very sad and it is not her fault. She brings up more desire than I can possibly describe and it is not her fault. Maybe I should ask to see Jaime the next time the netherworld rears its ugly, barren head. Maybe. I could use some understanding ears right about now. More than that, actually, yet as time passes, I see the past becoming more and more distant along with any hope of real comfort. This is not good at all. One day bleeds into the next and they all run together like a long, depressing movie that never seems to end. The lack of beauty outside my window or in the stores is just one smidgen of positivity among a mass of problems. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I am more stuck right now than I have ever been in life. I’m sure I’ll get my stuff done today and roll into the evening ready to cook and whatnot, but all the while those problems will be following along and taking much of the good out of whatever comes along with the ability to make me smile. The concrete pad, for example, is one of those good things for the household. It will fade like everything else. The newness will wear off and I’ll be right back where I started, just with less time left. I might not go to the store today. My head is fairly sideways, so remaining here and taking care of some housework may be best. I’m sure at some point the other world will intrude and leave me full of questions again, mostly the main question with which I’ve been wrestling for many years. So, some hours have passed since I sat here and pondered the nature of the universe and my place within the same. The housework is finished, including two loads of laundry. Dinner will be very simple, so I need not make any revolutions until later this afternoon. I worked in the garage for a little bit, too, and my efforts in organizing have been going quite well. I successfully removed a block of marble from beneath the audio system and installed the large monitor (that used to live on this table) where the smaller unit once lived. The flat panel should enjoy improved viewing over the older, curved screen. I am awaiting the lumber delivery, as well. When it arrives, I’ll have to ensure the garage spaces are still accessible. Organization is one of my strong suits. Well, one of the few left that I actually embrace. Sad. Whatever. I am looking forward to everything hitting the driveway so I can take care of business. Saturday morning is here, along with a shitload of rain that began in the middle of the night, enough to wake me due to the sound. Damn. Yesterday went fine for the most part. All of the stuff I ordered arrived, I replaced the front porch light fixture, and finished the laundry. Not bad. There was ample time for me to consider the circumstances of my present condition and how I may appear to other people. I keep thinking about the questionable behavior in which I have engaged in the past and the way my head tries to push away the bad and rationalize such a deep-seated need. I can sit here and state that I can’t help it, but the truth is that I can actually avoid such things. All I would have to do is put my mind to it and follow through each day, one at a time, as the alcoholics say. I don’t see a problem altering the way I do things for the greater good of my own self-control. The problem is there is no one telling me what I should or should not do because no one knows about any of this shit. Not a fucking soul. So, I need to continue analyzing how I feel about myself and whether or not there is any harm inherent in such behavior. This affects no one but me. The situation was on my mind as I worked around the garage yesterday, too. I replaced the light fixture, set up all of the new lumber so it is out of the way, and took care of cutting up some crap so it will fit in the trash can tomorrow. All the while, her image and what I’ve seen in the past kept creeping in, perhaps trying to derail my thought processes. Some time during the afternoon and just prior to my dinner preparations, I began to equate the aforementioned behavior and the purity, believe it or not. I need to figure this out because Julia took issue with the purity and it’s not my fault. Dreaming of the girl could be a connection between the two problems. I can’t know unless we talk about it, so... There has been a woman (guest star) in this episode that is driving me insane. Yep... All dark and flowing, both hair and eyes, slender build, sharp shoulders... The whole shitaree. Time for some housework. And... Done. I also went to the market to cash a check and pick up a few staples for salad that will accompany dinner tonight and tomorrow. Thankfully, there was nothing of note in the store. I don’t need any more shit in my head these days, but sometimes I need to shop. The trip went very smoothly, including the bank business. Excellent. Upon returning, I felt very comfortable again. Now I have everything finished and a big, fat cocktail. I am currently running an experiment on the right-hand display because the program – thus far just the dragons – seems to be having a playback problem. I switched to the old standard, the vampires, to see if the issue is with the website, player, or just that one series. So far, this show seems to be running just fine. I guess I’ll leave it for a while. Now that a few points of business are out of the way, the plan is to relax for the duration. The weather is precluding anything being done outside. I hope it passes soon, too. We can always use the water, but for fuck’s sake... More than three or four days of dry weather would be really nice right now. On the upside, I can work here in the office and continue where I left off with the control center reconfiguration. I always enjoy working in this room during inclement weather. It keeps me warm for whatever reason. I guess the other show is the only one with a problem. This one is streaming just fine. Crystal clear and smooth. Whatever. I suppose I’ll stick with this program until something else calls me. The story, characters and other references often cause all sorts of problems with regard to my past, but at least I watch alone and know everything in advance. Some time has passed and I am in for a comfortable afternoon. Lunch is out of the way, as well. I may or may not put together a slow-cooker recipe for dinner. If I do decide to put it together, I’ll have to have everything mixed in the cooker by three or so. Tomorrow will entail the typical morning drive and visit to the market, after which I’ll settle into my morning routine with coffee prior to taking care of Sunday business. The day is now Sunday and the drive is behind me. There was no visit to the market this morning. I have my coffee and this machine for the duration, or until such time as I need to begin the usual housework. Last night was a bit of an impromptu meeting in my garage for a while, and today I am pleased that it went smoothly. Difficulty could have ramped up horribly and very quickly had I not remained so balanced throughout the time. One other facet that I can barely mention was in my head for a long while and nearly had me giving up completely and heading to bed for the night. I need to keep certain parts of life and thoughts out of this content. I don’t need any backlash. As for today, I will mostly take it easy except for the necessities. I need to think about everything. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I keep seeing Roxanne on the screen. The best thing is to look away and simply listen, yet my brain has to see her face sometimes. There is no way around it. I have to see her when I can because like so many others, as time passes, my feelings increase in depth. I will love her soon because I am a fucking basket case. Anyway, Sunday and Monday are my favorites. I’ll make the most of today as best I can, and then relax in and around everything. Most likely I will end up right here at this machine more than once. ‘What you are doing is wrong.’ ‘It doesn’t affect anyone else.’ ‘Just you, my dear, and that is not good.’ I can’t disagree with her, but at the same time I was correct with such a response. I was not suggesting that I am an all-around good person, only that I do not allow my shit to bleed over into anyone else’s life. That would be unfair. I believe hurting myself is a given at this point and cannot be stopped. At least I know myself and what I am doing. I also know that either one of these women will have a problem with me no matter how I try to explain myself. At this point, there is little reason to continue along the lines of my questionable behavior. More important is the idea that Julia brought up the purity and the way it has affected me. ‘Your behavior stemmed from the purity.’ ‘No fucking way.’ ‘Yes fucking way.’ How can that be? Two years is two years, and the purity did not strike me until a few months ago. I don’t understand. ‘Think back some years and tell me there were no discussions of such things... No words of purity.’ ‘Shit.’ Ah... Yes. Now I get it. The purity did not appear out of the clear, black sky. It’s been present for much longer and had been a point of contention some time ago between myself and basically the whole of society. Unbelievable. There was one person who discussed the circumstance quite a bit more than any others, mostly because I had been having trouble trying to reconcile my feelings on the subject. She helped, somewhat. All that is gone now. I have no one off whom to bounce thoughts, ideas or anything else even remotely difficult. Floating along on the sea had me considering the idea that the purity may leave me forever, hence the deepened, depressive state that will not let up. I am beginning to believe that some of my more elaborate dreams came about due to fearing the end of something beautiful. The entire affair makes me very sad and somewhat unwilling to discuss my feelings or any details. I may end up without a choice, however. I’ll have to force the issue and suffer the consequences, I guess. ‘Some parts of life that leave us cannot be regained.’ ‘Marvelous.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Flash! The sea. What about my hotel room and that beautiful cocktail server? Shit. I really don’t want to sit in this little boat anymore. I thought this part of her lesson was in the rear-view mirror. Part of me had relaxed a little bit, too. Now I am all tensed up again, damn it. I had a date with Juliana for some peaceful conversation in my room – likely with all of the comforts I’ve come to expect from both the town and past circumstances in this world – and now I’ve been tossed to the sea for the second time. Something I said ran aslant of Julia’s hopes. She keeps railing about the purity and I don’t know what the hell to say. The problem is in my head much of the time, it appears at night once in a while, and most days I become overly sad about it and can barely move around the house. If my desire and recent alterations to the way I think were truly caused by such a problem, Julia had better leave me alone about it. My reaction will only further divide us. The situation is such that I believe I’ve been placed in the boat again to think about everything and try to put some aspects of life in line. Right now my shit is all over the place. This is going to take some time and likely leave me a ball of sadness. Moreover, everything that comes to mind must be gone over with a fine-toothed comb in order to protect myself from harm, ridicule, embarrassment and other types of backlash. I don’t need that shit. Floating. There are no longer faces in the water, thank the maker. More reminders are only going to send me flying again. The main problem here is the way I feel about losing something that is nearly as important as breathing, and the way it may have altered what I see out there in society. Yes, those visions that appear once in a while are two-fold problems. First, they leave me full of needs and desire because I am overly obsessed with such forms and must know why they appear as they do, and second, no sooner does something beautiful appear and then disappear when the purity and all related feelings slam me in the brain. Afterward? I can’t think straight for one fucking minute because I feel too much loss; too many holes inside me. The purity is simply the latest victim. I am not suggesting that what I’ve said here is everything, either. I can’t know anything for sure. I can only suspect. The longer I float along and remain completely alone, the more I analyze. This is far from over. As of this moment, I would seem to have plenty of time for thinking. Maybe it will help. Also, perhaps I can eventually reach a point that will allow me to leave this behind... The sea, boat and foghorn. The entire world. Everything is uncertain. Julia stated that what I’ve been doing is wrong. At first, I was sure she spoke of the recent questionable behavior in which I’ve engaged. Now? I believe it is something else. I don’t feel good about it, either. Not one bit. My life and world are so different than years ago that the gradient often leads my head into very negative territory. Once I fall off that cliff, there is only one way to return. Unfortunately, that one way is not something I enjoy. It would seem that Julia feels the same, but what the fuck can I do about it? Alter my behavior? Nope. That will cause other problems. I don’t have the first damned clue as to how to proceed in my life and live any other way. I can’t stop seeing and feeling the massive gradient between then and now. I just don’t have the power or ability to stop that harmful shit storm from hitting me in the head each day. I don’t know what that woman expects me to do. ‘I removed her and put you here because you need to think.’ ‘No shit. Why can’t she be in the boat with me, at least?’ ‘Desire.’ Yep, I get that one. That word she uttered is the great unstoppable force of the galaxy and there is not a damned thing I can do to cease feeling the way I do at times. I have zero options on that fucking front. And Julia is exactly right. Given enough time, I would have pushed. No fucking doubt. Well, it was a shot and I took it. The truth about the matter is when the passage of time is combined with so many barren years, this mindset is the result. Desperation. Yearning. Pain. The purity and the way it weighs on my head came about for the same reason... Time, good and bad. The good is represented by memories, whereas the bad is pretty much everything else that has transpired throughout the past few decades. I had zero concern about what is now referred to as ‘purity’ because at the time there were options in life; situations that embraced it. I did not need to be concerned about 'why'. At present, all of the options are gone. Every single fucking one of them. I don’t know what to do, so the only way I live is to repeat the last couple of years. They have been a slow, downhill slide into nothingness, much like what I see when gazing from the boat toward the horizon in any direction. All I have left is this little boat, the occasional, resonating foghorn, and dreams of where I so desperately need to be. There are further details, but I can’t lay them out here. Doing so would result in me withdrawing completely and permanently. Others need me and I can’t do that. I can’t even disappear because what would be left behind is horrible to consider. When I say that I am stuck, I mean it, and not just in the boat. I am stuck in life. I can lash out and nothing comes of it. I can consider possibilities and nothing comes of them. The only path is a continuation of the same shit. Every now and again the purity will come along and send me into a hole with all haste. I hate this. I shall float along and wonder. 'You are getting somewhere rather than grating against my wishes. Very good.' 'Does that mean I can get the hell out of this place?' 'Keep going.' Marvelous. Thanks, babe. Where the fuck is Melanie when I need her most? Shit. No one is listening. Well, one person is, but she’s just a pain in my ass. I love her, too. Isn’t that just peachy? This boat ride is yet another clambake in a long line of the same. At least Julia said I am getting there. At least Julia said I am getting there. But, wait... Getting where exactly? Understanding how the purity is related to my feelings for beauty? Or maybe the damaging dreams and the massive shift they initiated? I don’t know. I’ll keep going. A tiny bit of understanding is better than years of heartache and confusion. If Julia believes I am making progress, so be it. I will perform a bit less grating and bitching and a little more thinking. The damaging dreams are just that... Harmful. The reason cannot be revealed, however, even though they relate directly to this problem of overt desire as well as my feelings toward the purity. The passage of time becomes brightly illuminated when I think of the subject in those dreams. From the long past to more recent little memories, everything hits me square in the head when I think of her. There is a line that is far behind me now; a distance great enough to ensure it can never be seen again. She brings that line to mind and causes me to see everything differently for a short time. I end up climbing and climbing the same hills from the past over and over until heartache and pain take over and cloud my vision. Once the great power of the universe comes along, everything is set in motion again, most often from the beginning. This cycle was not caused by her. It is a horrible convergence of circumstances that I am helpless to affect. All I can do is sit here – be it in the goblet, a boat, or some errant desert scene – and send my thoughts to the winds. Nothing changes until there is another vision. Amplification, further (very painful) suppression, and eventually I just give up for a while and try to embrace something which can still bring a measure of joy, even if that is only a few moments. I have nothing else anymore. I was there. Now I am here. This is all related. I know the way I’ve been thinking is not good. I also know that the recent alteration in my daily mindset is equally bad. I cannot help what I feel, though, nor can I be expected to simply flip a switch after decades of being squished, routed and otherwise disregarded. I’d like to disappear and leave the message ‘here you go; look what you caused’ plastered everywhere, but that would be unfair to them as well as myself. I honestly don’t believe anyone thinks about that sort of thing anyway, because I don’t speak about my feelings in reality, ever. And that is another facet of this fucking problem. I only speak to people here in this world and it is not real. The inside of my head could be the topic for one hell of a paper, I’d bet. Well, thinking is one of my strong suits regardless of how distorted my sense of beauty and desire have become. I can actually illustrate them fairly well with a single line: ‘She cannot respect him because he worships her.’ That is out of balance and my understanding is that very few people think along such lines; mostly the opposite. I have to go back to where this began... Desire and its relationship to the purity and my feelings regarding the beauty that I see from time to time. Oh, and memories, too. I can’t leave out the memories because there are very specific aspects of the past that cannot and will not return. Anyone who does not wish to subscribe to my interpretation is precisely correct... There is not enough here for a full analysis. Lots of words, not much substance. Perhaps floating on the sea is not the best place for me to think about all this shit. But then again... What would be a good location? Someplace helpful? I don’t know. That little lounge was lovely and staffed in a very classy manner, but it was taken away like all the others. I seem to do some of my most effective thinking while sunk into the plush luxury that only Vegas can provide, and then when I find it after days on the sea, Julia changes her mind and sends me back here. Why? Because I was a micron away from feeling a mass of desire for that gorgeous cocktail server? Isn’t that why she is there? To retain customers through alluring glances and carrying a beautiful body? Vegas is driven by two powers, one of them being obvious. The server was the other, and I don’t see anything wrong with wanting her physically, especially after years of trying to understand how the obsession ran out of control and sent me into a desire-laden gulag. ‘I took all that away because you can’t focus while in the presence of such loveliness. Believe me... I know because you’ve done it with me. Remember?’ ‘Yes, I know, but for fuck’s sake... Can’t I have a bit of good as a pause from all the bad?’ ‘Not right now. That was my mistake. Keep going.’ Ugh. I suppose her words are better than nothing. I can honestly only go so far with this crap because the details have to remain shrouded. Too bad. There is so much information in my brain that I’m losing grip, yet any of it flying off the keyboard will cause more harm than good. I can’t have that. I need real ears in the real world. Julia is in my head. Not helpful. The sea just goes on and on and beyond my control. No oars; no tiller; no propulsion. This is like my line of thinking each day. I step into a topic, railroad it to death, string along a few connections from a to b to c, and then go over all of it again with different words. I keep coming to the same conclusions. The boat keeps moving along and everything appears exactly the same. I do not see an end to the sea; nor can I imagine an end to this analysis – not that I’ve traveled from a lack of understanding to any other place, either – because the answers rest solely on the shoulders of other people; some fictional and others that are no longer alive. My dreams create desire. The visions I see from time to time cause desire. When both situations pass completely unrequited, I end up trying to answer the question of ‘why’. That question never leads anywhere good. It leads me in circles, some already mentioned and others I cannot detail here. The sea pays no mind to all this heartache. On and on it goes, like the horizon. I am going somewhere, yet I am also going nowhere. Circles. I don’t know what else to do. Part of me believes that I must eventually push the girl and those dreams away, but I don’t know how. I can’t help feeling this way and wanting so much. For the tenth time, I am a product of the past; time and circumstance. I don’t know of any other way to live. Everything hurts all the time, most notably when I recall the past and the beautiful places I was able to visit. No more of that, I guess. All has been ripped and torn away, leaving me to yearn and hurt. Again... The sea remains unchanged, unflapped, and uncaring. I couldn’t find any caring if it was glued to my fucking forehead. I believe the damaging dreams have been the most powerful catalysts in recent years, propelling my feelings of desire from mild to overwhelming. They were born of squishing and desperation; disregard and pain. The two shit situations are in both worlds for the duration. I can’t do anything about them. More shit will come along and remind me of those horrible years, and then I’ll try to find answers again. A circle. And then at some point, another dream. My desire will peak and drive me out of my mind, and then it will fade until the next dream or vision. A circle. I may languish in this little boat forever. Somehow, it seems appropriate. I am beginning to hope that Julia gives up this quest for understanding and education. Every fucking adventure has left me either worse off or exactly the same, so why would she believe that another trip through the netherworld will make any difference? Is this driven by hope, or something else? What was the genesis of her motivation? Eh... I am asking too many questions. I know all of the details. I just can’t always put them together or into a context that relates to why I turned out this way. I’ve been placed right smack in front of some of the worst imagery as driven by memories and feelings of loss, and after each occasion I ended up in the same bowl of soup. The sea is simply the latest incarnation of my mind’s eye reaching for understanding. Well, if something doesn’t exist, searching is for naught. There is a statement for the ages. The truth is that I just don’t fucking know. The real world is no different, yet I’ve been searching for so long that the process is ingrained; second nature; automatic. And speaking of the real world, let us return... I don’t know if I’ll accomplish much outside the typical scope of my Sundays, but I will try. There are things I need to toss in the trash – one of those situations in which I reduce the footprint of large items and get rid of them a little at a time – so I’d like to be able to finish everything I have in mind at a decent hour and then return to my office work. I am experiencing mental distractions (forms) this morning and will probably have to push pretty fucking hard to move away from the control center and take care of some housework. Sometimes this is just not easy. I do not have excuses. I have reasons. One of them is the purity and the way I felt in recent days about certain people, from both the past and present. I don’t want to lose any more of my life. A bit of time has passed and my usual morning work is complete. I also had a little snack. I still have dry cleaning and garbage business, although the clock is on my side right now. We are just shy of noon. There is a capture which grabbed hold of my attention because it drove my mind all the way back to the first damaging dream; manicured fingers tugging gently at a bra strap. I can’t stop thinking about her this morning. That was around two years ago and still I am captivated by the imagery. There is probably nothing I can do about these feelings. They continue to deepen and I am often at their mercy. Ugh. The motion those fingers caused is nearly too much for me to reconcile. The housework has not helped, but it needs to be finished regardless of the mass of difficulty inside me. I always manage to get through the day. I don’t know how, but I always make it. Perhaps there is a smidgen of hope that comfort and understanding could be out there, somewhere. I am desperate. Such a fact is very dangerous. Anyway, from here forward I will slowly chip away at my chores and relax here and there. The most powerful force in the universe has taken its toll. I can only rise from here. The morning has not been entirely disastrous. There were good points. Nothing insane, but better than disaster. The Raven’s near-twin sister is on the display right now. That’s a bad thing. Perhaps I need to reach for more good today. And I did, believe it or not. Everything is finished. The only tidbit is the second round of dishes that I will put away later when I begin dinner preparations. The garbage is at the curb and the dry cleaning is finished and put away. This is very nice. If I could just get the beautiful vision of her breasts out of my head, the rest of the day would go just fine. Oh, yes... And the Asian girl that appeared for a few seconds of this episode. Super cute. Ugh. I’m tired of wrestling with these feelings every time I run across beauty. I should be pleased with my accomplishments thus far today. Instead, I am trying to climb out of the same fucking hole. Maybe I am better off on the sea. Maybe. Monday morning. Good fucking God is Oona ever beautiful. Right out of the gate, too. Damn. Nearly the Raven’s twin sister, Oona has some of the darkest eyes I have ever seen. Every time her stint on this series comes around, I am floored by her appearance and my feelings for her deepen. Not good. Well, what is good anymore? Monday is ok, I guess. Everything is reset for another week, the garbage is picked up, my silly little game begins with another week-long challenge that always calms me on stormy seas, and I have hours of peaceful, quiet time at home. Monday is ok. Not good, just ok. The other things I need are beautiful, although they will most likely never exist. Another clambake. Anyway, I have to take care of the usual stuff today and visit the hardware store and market. I should probably clean the bathroom and work in the office, too. I don’t want the house getting out of hand. Dinner will be pretty simple, much like last night, so the late afternoon will have me preparing a few items in that direction. My projects remain on hold due to the temperature being so low each day. Oh, I took care of some details yesterday so that more crap could be tossed in the organics cart, but the real work of improving the garage and such will have to wait. Once the shed is installed, all of that will change. The house is going to benefit to a great extent. Perhaps while everything feels so hurtful and negative, the shed can lift me for a little while. Perhaps. I can’t know as of yet. I just have to wait. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... I could not utter a single word. Not even a damned syllable, only a smile. I smiled. She smiled back. And then she disappeared for a little while. I had thought she was the same gorgeous Latino girl I had seen that morning some weeks ago, but I couldn’t be certain, nor could I read whether or not she was working at the market like the other one. They could be one and the same, however my head was so fucking sideways that I barely had the operative force to run through my grocery list and grab the items I needed. Shit. I continued to shop, and then lo and behold she was RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME AT THE SELF CHECKOUT. Again my head turned to fucking clay. I can’t even begin to recall a time when I gazed at a more beautiful woman, ever. There was the server, although as time passed, I began to believe I was seeing what I WANTED to see as opposed to her actual appearance. My mind operates in strange ways sometimes, so the server will forever remain a mystery. At the market? Nope... No mystery. She was right there looking so stunning that I barely had the brainpower to scan the items. Again... SHIT. I had to say something. The compulsion and desperation were overwhelming, yet I just continued to process my purchase. My obsession was absolutely screaming for me to tell her something – anything that would clearly transmit just exactly what she was. I needed so badly to inform her that I noticed, and my attention does not hit a high point like that very often. The biggest problem was not her form-fitting yoga pants – black, of course, and the prime color for showing off everything that cannot be hidden by such material – it was her huge, super-sweet, dark doe eyes. Yep. The very windows that melt me into a puddle of goo. That diminutive girl caused more torment, torture and damage than ANYONE I have ever seen in that fucking store. I had to say something, but what? Look at me... Read all of the words. You can glean what I’ve become as a result of all of the years of pain and desperation, not to mention the skewed nature of my reality due to the two shit situations. What the fuck could I say? Some off-the-cuff remark telling her that she’s beautiful? Nope. A compliment is always nice, but honestly, I don’t believe there can be a positive outcome anymore because of my debilitated mental and emotional condition. She looked squarely at me with those eyes at first. Right, straight into me just like the race girl. Do you know what that means? It means absolutely nothing. My perception of a woman looking into my eyes is nearly as skewed and distorted as my sense of beauty. Nothing was there. She is a person and was walking toward the same display case in the produce department. That’s all. Walking. She saw me, excused herself for nearly walking into my basket, and then went on about her business. EVERYTHING ELSE took place inside my head. That is God's honest truth. And the compulsion to say something stems from the same place. She had nothing to do with it. She was a person. Just a person. Not a god or anything else. She was either shopping or taking care of some operation for work. I can’t remember if she was the same girl that caught me off-guard some weeks ago. Whatever the case, she is a person in a market. I am the one that ran around the universe in milliseconds and then walked out in acute pain. Holy shit. Never before have I gazed upon a sweeter pair of doe eyes, and believe me... I have been searching desperately for a very long time. The eyes are key. Always... The eyes. As you can see, I am back home after visiting both stores. I picked up everything that was needed, took care of the daily routine, and then poured a massive glass of depressing liquid to allow me to sit here and wallow in pain. I have never needed to say something more than when she stood next to me. This is a clear indication that my life – sordid, good or bad as it has been – is already over. I can’t speak to anyone. I cannot ever be good for anyone. And? I’ll never find ‘her’ because I’ve become far too fucked in the head. This ranks up there with a handful of the worst days of my life. Good God was she ever something to see. Those eyes are going to kill me, bury me in the soil, and haunt me no matter what comes next. She was unreal and my words have barely even scratched the surface in this worthless, wandering paragraph. I am ruined. The only smidgen of good is that I did not say anything. None of this is her fault. Just a person shopping in a market. Nothing more. To me? She was the beginning and end of the fucking universe. Go back and read this shit again. Perhaps you’ll see what I mean by ‘basket case’. The largest and most beautiful pair of dark, doe eyes that I have EVER seen has taken its toll. Let us see where it leads. Think of how many words I have devoted to gushing about Jamie's eyes. They are now second in my world. Yep... I am THAT fucked up over what took place just a little while ago. 'Poor nose.' 'Don't feel sorry for him. He'll be halfway up your ass before the night's through.' This program just kills me sometimes. I see the girl on the screen with a pair of breasts that should be classified as human art, yet the other one from the market has altered my stance for the time being. She will either fade or kill me. I don't care which, to be honest. If I end up dead, the torment and pain may disappear. I can't be certain, but the possibility is there nonetheless. There is just no way to know unless one travels across the last threshold of life. The girl at the market has effectively removed any wonder regarding what I see on the display. Not her fault. Those at fault are gone. I need to die on the sea. Maybe that will cause a change. I feel like lashing out thanks to the numbing effect of the alcohol. Nope. That is not going to happen because I know that I’ll come out the other side no better, and possibly worse. I suppose that is growth. Lashing out really seems enticing, too. I need it sometimes. At least I’ve learned something. No matter how I behave now or in the future, my feelings will not change or improve. Hmm. That is growth, actually. Too bad other facets of my life can’t follow suit. My ambition is being reduced by a measure with each passing day; Satan’s ‘red wine reduction’. I wish that was funny. There will be no lashing today. I am going to keep my little empire quiet so as to avoid attracting unwanted (and unwarranted, to be sure) attention. Quiet. I’ll have lunch soon and finish off the kitchen. Afterward, I have no fucking idea. Maybe I can tool around here in the office or in the garage for a little while. Nothing is appealing right now, though. Not even lunch. Her face is still smiling at me and I feel like dying. Tuesday morning with zero fanfare for anything I enjoy. Zero. The girl from yesterday is forcing me to look at myself, where I have gone throughout the last four years, and the bleak, empty future (alone). Not good. Maybe I’ll sit here all fucking day and wallow. I never lashed or swung the hammer yesterday because I knew it would not get me anywhere. The girl at the store killed me inside a little bit. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything. Even after lunch when I drove north to the cleaners, her eyes were still penetrating my psyche and calling to me from afar. Nothing happened. The afternoon faded like most days and I found myself relaxing with part of a movie. Dinner preparations came and went. That is that. Nothing of note took place in my little world... In reality. The other place? The inside of my head where dreams are manufactured in seconds? Oh, that was different. We ran away together. I cared for her and she cared for me. Everything was peaceful. No briefcase, though. Only the two of us were present. I loved her and could barely deal with not being in constant physical contact. None of that happened. There is nothing for me. This is a perfect example of why I always say that I can’t be good for anyone. The main reason is that reality cannot compare to dreams and wishes. No girl can come along and align to what I have grown to need. There will be no car arriving in front of the house. There will be no briefcase. All I did was look at her for seconds and everything ended up turned on its ear. Now I can barely function. My life was already truncated all to shit, and since yesterday I will say that the process has continued and forced me into an even smaller space. Sitting here this morning with coffee is really nice, yet I already know that at some point later I will fall on my face. Not good. The feelings never stop; the need never goes away; the pain is chronic. I will do my best to go through the motions of housework and some laundry and then see how I feel by late morning. I should probably focus upon little things and planning for the shed completion rather than pushing too hard. The fence company is going to be here in less than an hour for an estimate, too. I don’t want to appear like a basket case to other people. That shit has to remain private. As an aside, the woman with Peter throughout part of the first and most of the second seasons is irritating as hell. She is a perfect example of a complete waste of space; selfish; self-important; asshat. She is almost constantly condescending, as well, which makes matters even worse. When she speaks, I feel this deep need to push her face through a brick wall with the front bumper of my car. Well, whatever. The character is just not pleasant. No big deal. Now, where was I? Ah... I have to be careful in avoiding the pit of despair today. Her eyes will not let up and I don’t know how to deal with so many reminders of everything that is either gone or both gone and never to come along again in life. I need reasons to avoid the soil, yet they continue to fade away, completely beyond my control. I don’t like this shit at all. As you can see, my current emotional state is precluding any ability to follow a narrative or topic sentence within these paragraphs. In short, I am much worse off right now than yesterday at this time. The eyes have it. Her eyes were far too sweet for me to forget. I need to hold her. More importantly, I need her to hold me. Nope. My horizon in reality is beginning to resemble that of the netherworld... Nothingness. I wish I could know what lies beyond that fucking line. The morning routine is out of the way and I met with the estimator for my upcoming gate installation. I’d like that to be complete prior to the shed arriving. I’ll have to trim our plum tree, as well. That’s an easy one. I must say that the house is improving quite a bit since the shed plan began to take shape. Every space will benefit. Goddamn does Osha ever have huge eyes. Wow. She’s pretty scary, yet the eyes are amazing. Rarely have I seen their equal. I will refrain from yesterday’s eyes... The girl. I believe I’ve already gone around the world with my feelings for her. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, I may or may not run some laundry, and aside from that, not much will be accomplished today. I don’t feel very well and need to sit here and ponder my entire fucking life. Roxanne’s character is about to disappear from the series. Ooh-fa. I’ll miss her (just like all the others). Who cares? Do my feelings even fucking MATTER? Her name in the series is Doreah and I need to kiss her labia for six months. Shut up. And now I have to see Natalie’s big, beautiful eyes? Thanks. Just fuck me in the ass with Satan’s scalding-hot, thorned tail. Splendid. Blah, blah, blah... Killmecakes. From here forward, I suppose the best plan is to run the aforementioned laundry and then take care of some garage work. The fence estimator indicated that the crew will need access behind the chest freezer to anchor one post to the wall. I already moved a few items off the shelf, so I guess I’ll continue with that process just in case the scheduled installation arrives soon. I’d also like to take some measurements along the south wall for the future, as in post-shed construction. There will be lots of wall space and I am planning another mural, one far larger and more dramatic than the others. I already have the lumber and lighting, so I can make revolutions toward the goal of seeing it lit at night. People already question the appearance of the garage at night – some don’t feel comfortable standing among all of my symbols – and my intention is to cause more questions and concern. I am not a happy person, so anything with the ability to lift my stance is welcomed. The look of the garage at night is one of those aspects of living here with such power. I need it, and I need people to be unable to understand me. Small steps are all that are required for the time being. Maybe I’ll head out there after lunch. The sea awaits... ‘She was another example of that which you must overcome.’ ‘No fucking way. Really? I was just looking.’ ‘Weakness allowed her to enter your heart at second glance.’ Well, there it is. I guess no matter what I do or where I look or turn, something will always be wrong with my behavior. Julia is right on the money, though. The girl did enter my heart, and the reason was her fucking eyes. There was so much sweetness that I could barely understand how a creature with such power could have been created in the first place. I am so weak that the slightest hint of attention – not even actual affection – sends me into a tailspin. That is desperation, pure and simple. All it takes is a fucking glance and I go insane. Such feelings are indicative of several problems, as well. Not only do I feel completely fucking tormented when a situation like yesterday develops out of thin air, but afterward I have trouble going through the simplest motions or chores because my head ends up filled with ‘what-ifs’ and other questions. I also go back in time and recall those two damned situations that have ruined me for all time, and all that accomplishes is the creation of a mass of anger. I realize I am all fucked up. I know it all too well, and at the same time I can’t help but believe that there can be someone out there with the ability to take it all away. Whatever that is, one aspect is certain... I am losing my fucking mind. Julia said ‘weakness’ allowed that girl to enter my heart and I cannot disagree. She was just another example of how weak and desperate I’ve become. Moreover, each occasion sends me further down the rabbit hole and inflicts deeper pain. I don’t see how this place is supposed to help, either. I am made to sit and float along with nary a clue as to a destination, all the while I’m left to think that my behavior is dead wrong. What the fuck am I supposed to do after all this time? Put a huge smile on my face and act like life can improve? Tell me how, damn it, and maybe I’ll try. Otherwise, I don’t believe any of this shit can help me live any better. Period. Oy... The water seems unsettled now. The peaks are growing and rocking my little boat more and more. This just fucking happened, too. No sooner did I mention that I can’t see anything improving, when the waves rose and removed my line of thinking. I may be stubborn about things, but I am rarely incorrect. Rocking. Rolling. No music. Nothing is funny. Maybe Julia will finally put me in the water and kill me at long last. Days of this shit is just too much. Bigger wake is not helping me remain comfortable in this fucking boat. Something is happening. ‘Are you becoming uncomfortable?’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘As you wish.’ Marvelous. Now I am probably fucked. The waves continue to rise and my little boat is rocking nearly enough to send me overboard. Is that Julia’s intention? Her vague words are not fucking helping, to be honest. I am supposed to be learning, yet she will not make anything clear. What am I to think? Was that beautiful girl yesterday some kind of lesson in reality? I don’t get it. Julia might kill me, but after all these different worlds and journeys, I already know that something else will be created to test me. The plain truth is no matter what she does or where I end up, the two shit situations cannot be denied, removed from memory, or otherwise minimized enough for me to be comfortable in life. There is no denying such a fact. I don’t understand. And now the big one: When she asks me if I know what I have to do, is the correct answer the idea of putting those situations behind me and moving forward? How in the blue fuck am I supposed to let go of all that pain, all those years lost to heartache and yearning, and the torture I feel when I see something beautiful? Is that a fair question? Are any of my questions fair? I love Julia tremendously. I really do. She was created by my own mind. We have embraced and enjoyed the deepest comfort imaginable. Have I been wrong all this time? Years have passed since I died on the railroad tracks – the worst, most disheartening scene through which I have ever lived – and I still can’t comprehend what Julia wants me to do. She is the one who created that journey and was responsible for the damaging scenes through which I had to stroll, the end being the worst. I died right there within feet of finally learning the purpose of all those railroad cars, and nothing ever came of it. Being reminded of shit situation number one was very unpleasant and I really don’t need any more of that stuff in my life. I already have reminders each day that do not fail to appear no matter what I may be doing. That is the part that really grates against my willingness to continue trying to learn from all this. The shit is in the past, set for all time in stone, and there is nothing I can do about it, yet she carries on questioning and throwing me into these fucking situations thinking that I can overcome the past and find a more peaceful, fulfilling life. I don’t fucking think so, rolyaT. Look it up. Anyway, the sea seems to be calming now after my little mental tirade. Very good. I must sit here and consider what I was thinking and then try to answer the big question; I need to know what it is Julia wants me to do. She never says anything clearly unless I’ve fucked up. Now that the water is letting up its influence on my little boat, I can only assume that Julia has calmed, as well. Maybe I’ve driven the point home enough by now. The sea is calmer than prior to that little upheaval. Hmm. I guess I did ok this time. Usually when I bring Julia to the point of causing train wrecks, explosions, storms or any other type of disaster, I end up flashed to somewhere else and left to wonder what I did wrong. Oh, I've been wrong on plenty of occasions, yet at the same time I've also been quite correct, such as when I referenced those two situations from the past. There is simply no way around that shit anymore, and regardless of her actions, questions, or my words, no power exists that can remove those two traumas, nor can I come to terms with either of them for the purpose of increasing my own self-esteem or improving daily life. Forty years is a very long time to carry anything. So is the sheer number of occasions that found me in one type of therapy or another. If Julia could let up on those situations and their crippling, years-long effects upon every fucking aspect of my life, perhaps I can get the hell out of here. After all this time, I am actually unwilling to entertain the idea of ‘acceptance’, even if it extends my lifespan. I can’t do it. No way. That period created the person sitting here right now – good and bad as I may be to others – and if they fade away over time, I may not be the same person. That means the good will leave with the bad. I can’t have that. The ideal path for me to follow would be to take that period into consideration each time I have trouble living through a single day without becoming preoccupied with suicide, and then backing off. Other people may not appreciate such a thought, but the truth is that I must care for myself before anyone else. That is a process I have yet to achieve. In short, I will not apologize for who and what I have become. If the two shit situations disappear from my life, I will not be the same person. And forgive me, but such a stance would mean that something special could be lost. That statement is not a conceit. I’ve been good for other people... Helpful; knowledgeable; generous. They should thank their lucky fucking stars, but I digress. The sea is fully calmed. The sky remains unchanged. This world is now silent. All I can hear is my own breathing. Very interesting. Julia will most likely take issue yet again with my feelings for that beautiful pair of eyes at the market. I can’t blame her, either, because my heart is pretty weak and seeing a person like her should not have such a dramatic effect upon my psyche. That girl represents the deepest need inside me. I fucking NEED her to hold me and state in no uncertain terms that everything will be alright. This place makes me yearn for her touch even more than reality, yet the latter must intrude. The sea is calm. My mind is not. I need her. The next day... But does the day matter? Nope. I did work in the garage yesterday and upended my entire system of organization. The huge mural that will live on the south wall is partly built. Sometime later today I’ll have to move a few more things around so the car will fit inside. Right now I have too much shit swirling inside my head to really make any decent plans, so for the time being I’ll just wait. I have coffee and Natalie’s big eyes to keep me company. My feelings for the latter are dead-on matches to everything which has already been going on inside me. I can’t help it. Beauty does that, especially when there is a touch of sweetness to the look; bearing my mind toward the possibility that the owner of the eyes might understand. Or, at least, try to help. The girl in the store created the highest order of that wish. The scene has switched from Natalie to Nathalie. I wish that was funny. The dreams and wishes do not leave me, ever, meaning every single fucking moment of each day – no matter what I am doing, not doing, or thinking – is occupied by feelings of emptiness, loss, and assuredness of a bleak future filled with the same and nothing more. Those eyes catalyze my heart every fucking time. ‘She’ or ‘her’; whatever the case, my need has never been more acute than it is at this very moment. All the good I did yesterday no longer matters because I can only feel pleased for a split second before everything comes back and I fall away. I don’t know what I’ll be doing later today. No idea. Maybe nothing. I have to go to the market again for two items and I sincerely hope the visit comes and goes without problems. I don’t need to see her again, but I need her to wrap her arms around me and put an end to this shit once and for all. Nope. Nothing. My head is really going through it this morning. The difficulty will not fucking let up. I am tempted to go back to the other essay, but that always conjures beautiful memories and never ends well. The compulsion knows no bounds, though. If I return there, the morning will turn into a disaster, for sure. I have never needed ‘her’ so badly. This shit will come to a head at some point, mark my words. I have to go to the market so I can feel a little good upon returning. Done. My usual morning housework is finished, too. I have a load of laundry running, and gaining access to the area as well as being able to lower the swinging clothing rack required moving some things around. My garage is in disarray right now, but it’s no big deal. I have to make a bit of a mess in order to create improvements. I should be able to accomplish more after lunch if I can find the motivation to do anything but sit here. I’ll finish the laundry in good time and then the afternoon will be wide-open, yet my brain is so sogged with damaging information that I doubt I can lift a fucking finger in any productive direction. There was nothing to see at the store. The only issues are already at work inside me. The program on my right-hand display is glitching again. Damn. I may have to switch to something else. Pause. The streaming media is no longer glitching. This is good because the writing, acting and direction are fucking outstanding. It is one of the highest-rated television series in the history of the medium, and for very good reason. The entire production is fucking unbelievable and I love it. Too bad my dreams never went anywhere because I was afraid of everything. I’ll never know if the path would have led anywhere better than where I am right fucking now. I’ll never know. I did nothing. I was scared. Marvelous. Anyway, this program is so fucking amazing that each time I run through the episodes, I often can’t believe what I am seeing and hearing. Once the viewer becomes emotionally invested in the characters, the love for some nearly offsets the loathing of others. The gradient is vast. None of this matters. Ugh. ‘Progress peaked at frozen pizza.’ – John McClane. I can’t disagree. Lunch is in the oven and the laundry is almost finished. My garage is closed – typically due to clothing that must air-dry on the rack – but will be opened after I eat a little something. I still need to finalize the plan for the latest mural, meaning the garage will probably be a bit messy until I get things in order. I have to attach two pieces of plywood to the first half of the wall panel, place it in position, and then install mounts to the second half. Once those are complete, I can organize everything and clear the center of the garage. Something just came to mind as related to my desire to be home most of the time. I have to bring the car over the hill tomorrow for service (I have an appointment in the morning) and will need to kill some time during the process. The plan is to take a stroll to a nearby department store and shop for a few clothing needs and then likely return to the dealership to wait. Thursday means I need to go on a little adventure later this morning. I have the other car and will be dropping it off at the dealer for service, during which I may or may not have time to go shopping across the street. I am a bit concerned about being exposed out there sans the benefit of my car, although every occasion of such feelings typically eases once I arrive at my destination. I am not overly worried, just a bit nervous it will pass. Returning home will feel a thousand times better, too. I’ll have to keep that in mind. My usual daily business will commence after the car is serviced. I am having trouble doing anything else right now because going over the hill and dealing with people is not exactly my favorite activity. Depending upon the time required for them to finish and oil change and tire rotation, I may simply relax in their waiting area rather than taking a walk. Moreover, I forgot to grab my sunglasses from the other car before it left. Damn. I do have a backup pair, but I never liked them very much. Ugh. I guess I’d better get ready. And... My business is now finished at just after twelve. Not bad. The service went very well and I indeed walked to the big department store and did some shopping. Upon returning to the dealership, I relaxed in their comfortable lounge with some water and read the book I have on my phone. The show is glitching again. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, since everything is out of the way and my head feels better due to being home again, I may not plan much for after lunch. Then again, a second wind is not out of the question. Sometimes being busy in the garage as I work toward the goal of the new mural helps push the beautiful, stirring (read: impossible) eyes and other shit out of me for a little while. The work is tedious compared to my typical chores around the house because I have to keep moving certain items out of the way in order to focus upon the wall, and then everything goes back into place when I am finished for the day. Those items are a small portion of what will eventually live in the shed, meaning I rather jumped the gun with the beginning of the new mural. Had I waited another month, the process would be much more straightforward. I guess I became excited about the prospect of creating something new and dramatic. No big deal. Maybe I will go out there in a little bit. Hmm. I did just that. A few hours in the garage and the entire back panel (two full sheets of plywood) is in place and leveled. I also put the other two large decorations to the left of the big square. They are nice and level, as well. As I mentioned earlier, I had to move everything again, but I will say that each time I do, the process gets a bit easier. There is also the opportunity to toss some things in the trash; mostly crap I haven’t seen for a long while. Friday morning is here regardless of my needs or concern for the passage of time. The morning has been peaceful and I will continue to relax and gather my thoughts quite a bit longer than usual due to so much having taken place this week, all of which commanded my attention and time and even took me out of the house on three occasions. Today shall be all for me. As of yet, all I've done is a bit of preliminary work on the daily chores and sipped coffee. Soon I'll have to take care of the rest so that I can decide whether or not to go any further. As I said, the work is eased each time I step into the garage. One more time; the bad place must be visited... The sea pays no mind. Nothing has changed for quite a while, either. No voices; no sounds; no nothing. I am just sitting here on very calm water and left to my thoughts. All of the good and bad has been flowing through me like two dedicated rivers; neither is more powerful than the other. The eyes pull me, and then I become sad, eventually that sadness turns to anger because I am left with nothing (like always, and for a very long time). The process soon repeats. I have no avenues to explore; no options to weigh. I am on a straight line in life. I don’t even know if the fucking boat is moving anymore. Earlier, I thought I could spy a bit of a ‘V’ emanation from the bow when the water was still a bit rougher. Perhaps I was mistaken the entire time. In any case, I am definitely not moving right now. Either something will change sooner rather than later, or I am meant to sit here and further analyze. Splendid. I thought I already went over as much as possible; the two situations having taken over my entire existence and disallowed true happiness, connections or fulfillment. Career paths? One of those situations destroyed the possibilities before any presented themselves, thus rendering me too fearful to move in any direction. Hence? I sat still in life and did my best to seek as much comfort and security as possible, from lavish trips allowing me to blend in and become a ‘number’, on to the smallest details of my personality, such as creating a ‘barrier’ between myself and others while in restaurants. I sought atmosphere and beautiful locales within which to sink and blend. Very few people understood my way of thinking, most likely believing that I enjoyed the exotic appearance of some rare places. The truth was I needed to hide and keep myself out of anyone’s line of sight as often as was feasible, hence the ‘barriers’. Darkness was paramount. All of that would have been completely upended had I followed one of the dreams in life. Nope. Too scared. Situation number two fucked me good. All the while, the first situation took its toll on my mind and body, often one much more than the other. The process usually led to an even stronger need to hide myself away. The major problem with that idea was a deep-seated need for there to be someone on my arm to tell me I’d be ok. There it is, plain and simple. None of this shit, be it trains or resorts, doors or seas, is going to change the way I live my life. I just don’t see how it could. Julia may have other ideas, too. I need to be ready just in case there is another flash and I end up elsewhere with even more fucking questions. Thanks, doll. For the time being – because I already know full well that there will be a change at some point – I am going to try to understand why I felt so much fucking torment and pain when I saw that girl at the market the other day. Julia even mentioned that my weakness and desperation seem to be not only at an all-time high, but increasing exponentially with no end in sight. The only factor seems to be the appearance of whatever woman stirs me. The latest was injected into my head and heart so quickly that I thought I’d fucking pass out. After all these years, I still don’t get it. A while ago – perhaps a few years – I calculated that the numbers were enough of an obsession to drive me into the ground whenever I felt the need to ‘know’ why a certain form appeared so attractive. I really needed to measure and understand just when the numbers became pushed far enough (exaggerated) before the subject began to become unattractive. Not long after that? I began to feel deep physical desire upon noticing a shape aligned with my obsession, and that was the worst turn of the card imaginable. It basically represented the end to any hopes of measurement or drawing, or anything else, really. I wallowed. Now? The desire is out of control on two different fronts: One is obvious, and the other is my desperate need to BE held rather than to hold. I don’t ever see it changing, nor do I believe anything will come along or be discovered in the future which can alleviate the pain. This would seem to be an impossible conundrum and I don’t even know why I have to go over it so much. I’m fucking sick and tired of this condition. ‘Leave the other information alone.’ ‘Why? It is compelling and beautiful.’ ‘It is destroying you. That particular part of your life is over.’ ‘Fuck off, woman.’ Great. Julia is telling me to leave the essay with all of the trauma and memories out of my life. How the hell can I do that when it represents the only positive aspect of living in a very long time? I can’t just let go of all that shit because sometimes I need to read it, or possibly add a few lines because the mood strikes. While it is true that wherever I revisit the essay I end up in a dark mood, at the same time I truly NEED to recall such beautiful moments due to them now being completely absent. I don’t see the possibility of anything on the horizon, so going back in time is all I fucking have. ‘Destruction, my love.’ ‘Yes, I know. But how?’ ‘You are already aware of the process. I need not detail it for you.’ ‘I fucking hate this shit.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Here we go again... Julia feels sympathy for me, but at the same time she tries to force me into behavior that I really don’t want to embrace. Shit. What do I do now? Jump out of the boat to illustrate the depth of my despair? The essay describes some of the best times of my life, and then heads into the present reality with deep descriptions of how I’ve been affected by everything having disappeared – ripped and torn away in a violent manner and leaving me more broken than ever before – possibly forever. My emotions run the gamut when I read or add to it. All of that information came about due to reality and the way I lived for a while, and the truth of the matter is that NONE of it would have taken place had it not been for the effects of the two shit situations. Julia needs to understand that, once and for all. I am tired of sitting in this fucking boat and having to pare every thought down to the number two. And yes, those fucking periods more than forty years ago. They explain everything except why I can’t seem to live without them. This had better be the end of Julia issuing suggestions that I disregard memories that are beautiful. Yes, they cause pain, but only because I do not envision ever being that comfortable again. Period. That information represents the end of me. And if this is all there is to be, I will not know how to live my life any differently. That much is certain. I am barely hanging on at all, let alone truly enjoying everything because there is always a cloud of shit just above my head waiting to pounce and ruin whatever is happening. There is another small road trip next month that entails a nice hotel stay and dinner in one of my favorite restaurants. It will be an opportunity to bring the camera and capture trains, plus I’ll be able to dress nice and wear one or more of my watches. That all seems wonderful, yet I already know there will be bad things in my vision, difficulty in spending time with two other people and holding back my torment, and upon returning home – whatever amount of comfort that may entail – means I’ll be right back here with a head full of hell. There is just nothing I can do about it. The sea is all around and will follow me wherever I go. Julia’s words will ring over and over inside my brain. And as I have pointed out on too many occasions to recall, each day is a little bit worse than the last, and that means next month I’ll be in worse shape than I am right now, and this is pretty fucking bad. I just don’t know what the fuck to do anymore except continue to think about everything. I end up sad, angry, or a combination of the two, both leading nowhere except deep depression. There is no relief; there are no outlets; there is nothing on the horizon aside from more of the same. I don’t see myself living much longer regardless of what Julia tries to teach me. This is completely fucked up. I have never felt so bad, and that’s not the first time I pointed out the truth. The water is becoming rough again, yet there is no wind. Very rough. As I think about the motion, it increases. What the fuck? There are no faces in the water so I should be thankful, but I don’t understand what has... Ah, shit... I can barely hang on to the... Splash! Some sort of weight or restriction will not allow me to right myself or swim... My legs barely work and I can see the light above fading quickly. Fuck... Gulp! ::: choke ::: Dim. Everything is dimming now. I am half full of... Blackness. Dead. I knew it." 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April 19th, 2024 10:43am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Sea read ( words) "Now what do we do? Continue sitting here, floating along an undetermined and uncertain path? Where are we going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Ah... Shit. Two must turn back to one because something just happened that we could not have expected. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ The question is now posed in the singular? Why? No more 'we' or 'us'? Fuck. Just... Fuck. I don’t want to hear Julia’s voice, but at the same time it is welcomed. I’ve been floating here for days without any external sounds or anything of the like. I miss it sometimes. The scene has changed. I am alone; ‘we’ are no longer the same. I am fucking alone, depressed, lonely and scarred too deeply to deal with her question right now. I’ve heard it on so many occasions that I could not even begin to count them all. Years have passed, and many journeys later I still can’t answer that woman. I expect that something will change soon, perhaps a way out of this boat. Every time Julia appears (even just in voice), I end up jumping through hoops and running around trying to find clues as to the reasons she places me in different, very confusing situations. They are often painful, as well. I don’t want any of that shit right now because I am having a hard enough time trying to understand this world. ‘Do you remember?' Ah, fuck me in a muddy ditch. Remember what, exactly? All of the other scenes through which I’ve already lived? The trains? Mountains? I don’t need this right now, damn it. Thanks to Julia’s voice, keywords are once again orbiting my fucking brain. Again... Damn it. What am I supposed to remember? Something from the roundhouse when her lesson ended up turned on its ear? Or maybe my loving relationship with Miramannee (Julie)? We were so happy and content to be there next to the river and surrounded by a plethora of natural beauty. Maybe I’m going to be punished for ignoring lessons as the two of us lived from day to day. I left everything behind because the trouble was causing heartache and pain and I needed to let go. Could that be the answer to Julia’s question? Or is it something else? So much has transpired throughout the years and several worlds that I can’t begin to answer her. Something must change, or at least I should be provided with a clue of some flavor. Maybe? No answer. There are never answers, only more questions and cryptic dialog, the extent of which has turned me against possibility. I am no longer open to what may take place in the future. Too bad for me. I do have an inkling of a thought that Julia may be referring to the doors and their differing interpretations. Hmm. Instead of ‘inkling’, perhaps I should have said ‘sinking’, as in a feeling. I don’t want to see any doors because after all was said and done – probably only a pause and not an end after those difficult times – I learned nearly nothing and came out the other side worse off than at the beginning. I really don’t feel like driving or working on the antennas. The latter will not require more than an hour, yet it still seems insurmountable. I have my morning stuff done and a drink (of course), but zero interest in doing anything else at the moment. Maybe the mood will change; maybe not. Now the day is Thursday. I did not drive over the hill yesterday, but I did fix both of the antenna problems; the radio signals are much stronger now and my link to the WWVB is repaired. I can’t mount it on the mast yet because of the weather. Once those issues were alleviated, I took the rest of my time relaxing. Since driving has been pushed to today, I no longer have a choice. Once my coffee is gone, I’ll head over there and get the job out of the way. Everything else is up in the air right now because the rain has returned and the concrete project has been tentatively pushed to late next week. Working inside the house may be my only option for the time being, although I can move a few things around in the garage, too. A little while later and I am sitting at the control center gazing at the lovely Roxanne and her unbelievably beautiful facial structure. The sight is very depressing (plus I am not happy that she decided to perform a scene with torso nudity). For whatever reason, I feel a bit more positive than I did earlier. The feeling of remaining home took over for a moment and I realized that the best time to leave the house and run errands is when I desire it the least. Now that I’ve driven, fueled the car and picked up the booze order, everything seems a little bit more comfortable. My routine is out of the way, too, meaning the free time window is now wide-open for the taking. Well, if I decide to do anything, that is. There are so many little improvements which I walk past each day that sometimes I believe I am far less capable of furthering myself than I had thought a few years ago. I am speaking of ‘little things’, such as the hub that still waits to be mounted to the underside of this table, or the fact that I need to relocate the tower from the table to the subwoofer. There are others, too. Many. Eventually, I will either give up on those projects or attack them while half in the bag. Which will prevail? There is no way to know. The pain is haphazard and very difficult to predict, meaning I never know what mood to expect each day. For the moment, I am comfortable sitting at the control center with the time and space to consider every option. That is not everything, however. I have found myself pondering the idea that perhaps if Roxanne were to appear and darken my doorstep, all of the bad would disappear. What do you think? Is such a dream wholly out of balance? Or am I simply reaching for anything with the power to help these painful days pass more comfortably? Maybe I should embrace the ill-advised second cocktail and see what develops. The house is quiet right now. It may not remain as such if my mood does not improve. Earlier, I mentioned that upon arriving home after fueling the car and driving over the hill, the positives were illuminated. Two hours later they are fading fast. This is an everyday occurrence because memories and emotional turmoil are far more compelling than anything else. They command me; dictate my actions more often than anything I see as uplifting. Most days there is literally nothing I can do about their deep effects upon my psyche. It is the rare occasion that finds me rising above after painfully forcing the issue by getting into some errant chore when I do not even remotely feel like moving around the house at all. Talk about fucking difficult; the entire idea is pathetic and I hate it, but sometimes there is just no way out of that little, depressing box. I am hoping to rise above this shit today. Time will tell, as will my strength. Ugh. Another day has disappeared and left me here to wonder if the time was worthwhile at all. Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting here feeling almost the same as I do right now, neither of which is a positive state. I indeed rose above for a little while yesterday afternoon. Today may be a different story because I need not leave the house. That means there may be no ‘up’ as opposed to the rewarding feeling of returning here after doing something I’d rather avoid. I need not leave the house. That means lots of time to work on whatever... But I cannot predict the mood at the close of business hours today. Good or bad. I just don’t know. Right now everything is fine because I have the editor, my program over there on the right, and coffee. Morning is thinking time. Once the morning disappears, the issues can grow beyond my ability to minimize them so they don’t affect the day too much. The more I think about this, the more I feel I should have a plan in place for such a contingency. Maybe that’s the best idea. The other two essays need to be put on a shelf for a while. One is difficult due to availability. Well, both of them continue to deal with impossibilities, so both are very trying on my mind. One is worse than the other, too. I can’t detail it here, but suffice to say that the Passion is second to the toughest shit with which I’ve ever had to deal in life. The Passion is impossible and very depressing because I am completely in love with it – yes, an inanimate object has that much power over yours truly – yet the other essay has been driven for almost two years (on and off) and weighs more heavily on my head than anything in my life. I think about it every single fucking day of the year. Every fucking day regardless of whether I am in a positive mood or not, those past images and situations call to me because I need them like I need oxygen. Writing about the Passion has become a double entendre from hell. I don’t even want to think about any of that shit. There is no choice in the matter, though, because I am too far gone. ‘You go, and you stay gone. Or you BE gone.’ Grammar aside, he hit the nail on the head. Spoken language is often allowed more leeway than the written word for the simple fact that inflection and emotion must power whatever is being said. ‘Gone’. Indeed. The point is well-taken. I already know what is on the other side of that statement. What was I saying? Ah... The very difficult, ongoing saga that I can’t seem to release. I have added lines here and there on occasion and often go back to recall certain scenes. The process damages me more than I can express, but I do it anyway. Even after a pause of months, I returned and wrote more of the past because I could not get the difficulty and pain out of my head and body. I had to write. Before I become angry and start to hate everything in the world, I must leave this alone once again. The wristwatch is one topic; the other entirely different and is going to kill me, sure as hell. One of these days... Wait for it. I’ve been speaking of the exit for a very long time. Make no mistake... Time is the only issue. This will happen when I can literally take no more. I guess this is one of those mornings that finds me unable to remove certain information from my brain to allow forward motion. I am hurting inside. Badly. The essays are going to be left alone for an undetermined period of time. I don’t want to end up in the ground today. Everything hurts. Call me what you will. Past circumstances continue to take their toll and very few individuals seem to give a fuck. I am not well. There is a strong possibility that I was reminded of that painful essay due to the program I have been watching during evenings. I could not begin to describe the vast amount of very picturesque forms that flow across the screen during certain scenes. The imagery is mind-boggling, but at the same time I realize what drives sales and entertainment in this nation, especially the prevalence it had twenty years ago when the series was new. When I made the decision to watch, it was because of aspects that I really enjoy, one actor I love, and the scenery of the city and state, not necessarily a billion female forms all over the place. They are a massive downside, and likely send me off a cliff more often than I realize at the time. Whatever. Everything fucking hurts me anymore. I may as well enjoy the show if I’m going to be in pain anyway. The essay relates – slightly – to some of the program material. I believe the more I watch, the more I’ll need to either read or add to that most damaging of entries. This is what I’ve become. Time and circumstance. Fuck off. A little time has passed and my usual stuff is done. I have a load of laundry running for posterity, as well. Other than that crap, I don’t know what to do because the memories have been pervading my every fucking step today. My head is having so much trouble that I don’t know if I can do anything else before late afternoon. This is completely fucked. I can’t get that shit out of my head. I am telling you that if I can’t find other options in the near future, my emotional condition will drive me over the final edge. I am not kidding. The current period has almost become too much for me to offset. My saving throws versus reality are nearly gone. I wish I could understand why things must be as they are. I am tempted to say that everything is unfair, but that term still causes trouble. I just don’t know the truth of the matter, so employing the word may not be appropriate. Well, no one will give half a blue fuck either way. In any case, I am not doing well this morning, housework aside. I am scheduled to attend an event for the brotherhood tomorrow morning – the largest and likely most important gathering – and as I sit here right now I have no idea if I’ll even be able to step out the fucking front door. Shit. I hate everything right now. I need ‘her’ so much right now that the knife is close. It is ‘out’. I do not feel well and only ‘she’ can fix it. Do I need to illustrate the ridiculous nature of such a statement? Should I describe it? I didn’t think so. Any reading here during the past four years would have already sent anyone the message that I am completely fucked in the head. Four years. Think about that for a minute. Is ‘she’ out there? Of course not. That woman does not exist, never did, and cannot in the future. ‘Her’ nature and feelings have become skewed and unrealistic beyond belief as my decline has progressed. They are even. One created the other, and then one distorted the other. This will continue until my death. ‘Roadies?!’ ‘Oh... You don’t wanna know.’ Believe me on that one. Just believe it. There is more here than anyone knows. And I mean ANYONE. Throughout the last nine years, precisely two individuals have been exposed to what I have become, and even they did not receive the full image. Trust me. I am far worse off than what you may believe. Well, if anyone gives half a shit, that is. I fucking doubt it. Why would anyone cast a glance in my direction? Why? I can’t find a reason. You probably can’t, either. Whatever. I am in a very bad state right now. Some of the situations I described in the other essay are fucking haunting me right now. This has been happening all morning and I can’t seem to get any of that information out of my head. I can’t relax and clear myself of enough trouble to do anything else. My program is running on the right-hand display, I have the typical glass of whiskey sitting on the left, yet inside my head is a cyclone of pain and trauma. The past – both near and far – is killing me inside and holding me back from making any progress on the house. The laundry is languishing in the machine because I need to fold a few sheets that have been in the dryer for two days. Lifting a hand toward anything productive feels nearly impossible. I can’t stop the carousel of images that is rotating in my brain. Motion pictures are playing out, too. This is all so very damaging that the knife will not leave my head. Today is Friday, April the fifth. I am going to lose my mind very soon. This is no way to live. I can’t fucking believe how much things have changed in the space of six months. I just can’t believe it. Is this the shape of things to come? Those who love me had better hope not. I am not kidding. For years I’ve stated that the end is near. I may be on a road with no exits. Or turns. Let us see what the afternoon brings. Yep. Nothing. I don’t understand. Am I paying the tab? The idea needs to be made abundantly clear before I will fully accept it. I mean... Yes, I can see such a fact, but the truth is that if it is true, I may as well stop trying because the die is cast and cooled. So is the tool with its galleries, connections and passages. Look it up. The point is I can see how my current condition could be viewed as payment for so much having gone aslant due to my past actions and decisions. I just need solid evidence. I already know that the shift from two years ago which caused my brain to alter the way it operates is plenty. My beliefs are but one small part of the situation, though. Just a segment. Maybe I should create a pie chart. Hmm. This is no way to live. Sunday morning is here, thank the maker. I went to the gathering yesterday and enjoyed it quite a bit before making a stealthy exit just prior to two o’clock. Being away from home early in the morning did fuck up my normal schedule, but today I should be back on track and exactly where I need to be. The drive this morning was uneventful aside from one of the market employees smiling at me... Twice. Perhaps I was smiling at her in the first place. I don’t know. People rarely look at me, although my eyes are almost constantly scanning the area for anything interesting. I will say that the market and drive this morning helped me return to my usual mindset, meaning I have the day to myself without any hiccups in the schedule. I fully intend to embrace everything I can today, from housework to whatever else. The woman at the market will be in mind, sometimes. I believe the reason for the exchange is that I know her from some other place or time here in town. I can’t be certain. She is not ‘her’, obviously. Moreover, I am so pleased to have the entire day to myself that her smile is already nearly gone. Had it been the other one... The Hispanic beauty with the kind eyes... My reaction would be quite the reverse. Anyway, all lovely, exotic, market produce workers aside, today is mine. That includes a shitload of time sitting right here to make up for yesterday. The last of the coffee is next to me. Afterward, I will begin the Sunday business and try to get the other essay out of my brain (again). That stuff just never stops. It only pauses from time to time and I can’t predict the feelings. I need to be able to relax because I can already sense a bunch of trouble brewing in the background, none of it being related to the smile from earlier. That was not a big deal. I am referring to the past, the memories that haunt me all the time, and the loss of very fulfilling and joyous times, most notably the glowing years. There was another reminder of that period while driving back from the City. At least when my housework begins I’ll be following along with the fourth series which began at the trailing end of that beautiful era. The second and third series were right in the middle of the best time of my life. As for the memories, they illuminate everything that is now missing from inside me. I see plenty while out among the masses. The rest remains in my brain and is very clear. I will refrain from citing examples. The Sunday business should help. Garbage, laundry, straightening up, the rest. I am hoping that once I put the show on the televisions and get busy with my stuff, all this difficulty will fade and help me to remain productive into the afternoon. There is always plenty to do, especially considering I was out of the house yesterday for six hours. I felt disconnected. At least ‘she’ left my head for a while. Better than nothing. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ ‘Stop asking me that question, damn it.’ ‘You created this journey. Do you know why?’ ‘No. Tell me.’ ‘You shall see forsooth.’ Splendid. I’ve been floating out here in the middle of nowhere and Julia will not stop questioning me or my actions. Is the past responsible? ‘You are responsible.’ ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ I really don’t need any more of these crazy adventures. Maybe I really should head over the side and see what develops. Maybe Julia will allow me to die for real. Eh... This is not real. Bad idea. I’ll probably end up on a fucking train somewhere in the desert. I wish that was funny. Wait a minute... What is in the water? Shit. Faces. I see them all murky, just below the surface. That reminds me of the third (second?) installment of the Rings trilogy when Frodo saw those people beneath the water. I know the faces; I can identify all of them. Women. Girls. They are all from my past, much like while I was stuck in that beautiful roundhouse and each person was at the controls of their own locomotives. During that insane scene, the only thought was that the locomotives each represented their individual lives, and for whatever reason they were all pointed at me as I stood on the turntable. Pointed? I don’t know. Real roundhouses do not contain turntables; they are always located outside, beyond the doors to the shop. This is different because I only see faces and they are stable; in place. They are also looking at me as if I need to say or do something from the boat. The sea continues to pay no mind as it remains unchanged, the sky swirling above without regard for whatever is beginning to develop down here. I know all of them. Each face is from a different period of my past and held its fair share of difficulties and other problems inherent in my ability to adapt or otherwise locate the ‘good’ in each relationship. I am beginning to believe that the idea of paying the tab is not so far-fetched. I always needed more; sometimes much more. I never felt that my needs were balanced or ‘fair’, either. The two shit situations heavily influenced my desires almost constantly. There were occasions in which I felt happy, though. I mean that. Those two situations caused me to be fairly selfish, so perhaps I am meant to face the music while held captive on the sea. I can’t know for sure because Julia will not give me a straight answer to anything. I hear questions and still do not know what to do about them, even after five years of this shit. All those places; all those names beginning with the letter ‘J’, and so many miles traveled across deserts and whatever the fuck else have hardly taught me anything. I know I was selfish. I know that I did not communicate much due to feeling like half a ‘man’, and that statement can only hold water if I ever was one in the first place. The two shit situations were inflicted upon me; not my doing. The way I’ve carried myself and viewed other people became skewed as a result. Such facts continue to this very moment and I hope Julia does not expect me to alter the way I think or live just because I have caused problems in the past. The faces may also be nothing more than reminders of how I arrived in this place. No, not the sea. I am talking about where I am in life right now and the fact that the way I think will not stop distorting itself as the days fly by. I have stated many times that I know what I am, and I’ve also made it very clear that I am not proud of what I’ve become. But... What about those two situations from forty-plus years ago? My formative years were completely derailed and nearly destroyed as a result, so I still don’t believe I can be held responsible for so much, most notably the issues attached to a bunch of faces staring back at me. I am already miserable enough. Reminders will only hurt me further. Do I have a choice in the matter? Nope. I am stuck in this little boat for Christ-knows how long, and the worst part of this situation is the fact that I have apparently not learned a fucking thing from either Julia’s intended lessons or the appearance of anything from the past. The faces are going to cause their fair share of problems. I wish I could steel myself against whatever may be coming in the future. Again... Nope. I am powerless here, just like every other netherworld that has come down the pike in the last four years. I love and hate that woman at the same time. She knows me entirely too well. Maybe such a fact serves me right. If I must pay, I may as well take care of everything all at once. This place is horrible. ‘Take them away, please.’ ‘Oh, you’re pleading with me now? Did I hit a nerve?’ ‘I already faced one of those situations and thought I destroyed it.’ ‘You did no such thing, mister.’ What the fuck does she mean by that? The passenger car... The gun... All those people and the gunman were supporting me. Was I wrong? I killed him in a very painful, violent manner. I faced down the man that was that boy. Maybe Julia is upset with me because I learned a mental lesson and then continued to write about all of the same problems despite the scene in the railroad car. Is that it? Why can’t I get a simple straight answer? Anything? Hello? Silence. The faces are still there. And as far as I am aware, all of them are still alive in reality, save for one. I can’t be certain, though. The only clear fact is that the Raven is gone. She left this world almost nine years ago at the tender age of twenty-four and I still feel the loss every single fucking day. God damn did I ever love that woman. She knew a portion of what I am. Given enough time, that stunning creature would have learned the rest. Of that I have zero doubt. The Raven was the only woman who truly aligned with my views of the world. I wish I could know if She may have aligned with Ashley’s beliefs. Well, had such a circumstance developed all those years ago, I probably would have joined Her. The world turned its back on one of the most unique examples of a person imaginable. As I sit in this little boat, I swear that if Julia takes issue with the Raven or my feelings for Her, I will end everything in a cold second. I am not kidding, either. I can't take that shit from anyone. The mind can conjure much in this world or any other, and such a fact lends to the idea of control. If I die in reality, none of the other worlds will exist. That is the only power I truly have. The faces will not let up on me, nor will my mind let up on the idea that the reason they are here is to destroy me once and for all. I cannot abide such a circumstance, Julia’s wishes or otherwise. I’ve had quite enough of this shit. If the faces do not fade or turn to something else, I will force the end. I will not be destroyed by others, only myself. The equation that is unbalanced right now is the idea that I am seeing faces which are significant due to BOTH shit situations, yet the driving force always seems to be the shit that took place in the passenger car nearly five years ago. One step at a time? Maybe? I don’t fucking know. She said I am responsible. For what? The two situations from more than forty years ago? I don’t think so, woman. Or a slough of bad and/or selfish decisions? Yes, that was all me, but she has to keep in mind that comfort, understanding and self-protection pretty well ruled the roost for many years and often flared when I became frightened or suicidal. The underlying issues were already there and would have ruined me for all time had I not made some very uncomfortable choices. They kept me going, for lack of a better description. The Raven was a part of that, as was the problem in the passenger car as well as everything that was related to the goblet. As I said in the beginning, everyone seemed to support my decision to shoot that asshole, so I did. There was no way for me to know the outcome, either. No fucking way. Scared? What did you say? Yes, I was scared out of my fucking mind; nearly as much as when I saw that little boy in the hopper. Nothing good came out of that crap, anyway. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I need the faces to fade away, however. That much is certain. I have to think about all this shit. Julia could really help me by informing me if there is a way to live without all this difficulty and pain following me every fucking day. I haven’t found shit. Maybe she knows. All of the convoluted imagery and crazy trips all over the place are only deepening my feelings of being lost and alone. Back to reality... The time is now a few hours later. I am partially finished with the Sunday business. The routine is finished, laundry is underway, and I have a head start on the garbage, including cleaning out the refrigerator. This is very good because now I can relax with my morning whiskey and gather some thoughts. The difficulty and heartache has been following at each step regardless of any good feelings of accomplishment. At least I have some hours to myself. Roxanne is on the right-hand display again, too. She is so uniquely fucking gorgeous that I can’t even begin to understand the massive gradient that has developed over many years. Not even a bit. I need her to hold me for years and make all of the bad go away. Nope. Her character is not real even if the actor is. I don’t know anything about the actor; the real person. The character is the one with whom I am enamored, just like the others. Jamie? Yep. Nora? Yep. Jolene? Oh, fuck yes. I have much less interest in reality right now than ever before, and such a stance is due to far too many factors to spell out here. Anyway, I was talking about business today. I will probably go a bit further prior to close of business hours because I need tomorrow to arrive with little to no responsibilities. Mondays are very important. As of yet, I’ve found partial success in suppressing the dire feelings which follow me each day. I am on the edge at this very moment. Monday, post-routine. The guys are here preparing the area for the new concrete pad. Excellent. I’ve been in and out of the house all morning, but still managed to finish my usual housework. Now I can relax at the control center with my cocktail. So far, the rectangle has been voided of soil and everything that was removed has been relocated to the opposite side of the yard. I didn’t want them to have to haul the soil and grass away. Now, nearly the entire yard is covered with grass. Very nice. By close of business hours, the entire area will be ready for concrete, which is scheduled to be poured in two days. That means a month from now I can order the shed. This is very good. I was contacted last night with the news that the project could begin this morning, so first thing I had to clear the area and create a smooth pathway through my garage. All of the work this morning combined with interfacing with the contractors (two friends whom I’ve known for a decade and worked with for many years) meant that finding distraction from the shit and depression in my head was pretty easy. Everything will return soon enough, meaning I need to enjoy the day as much as possible prior to falling away. It has occurred. It will occur. Aside from the business, I’ve been considering how best to proceed with storage once the entire project is completed. This is the single largest improvement to the house, save for the old windows being replaced some years ago. I am very pleased and need to maintain this wave as long as possible. The alternative is not good. My head quickly becomes preoccupied with beauty in general, and certain very specific emotions in particular. I don’t want that shit hitting me in the face today. Later. The construction crew has been here since nine and the project is moving along nicely. I am anticipating everything being ready to pour in a few hours. They are having lunch right now – I had a little something, too – and I provided chairs and bottled water so they are comfortable. The job is not easy and I like to help as much as possible. After working for many years in construction, I understand the value of a break. The concrete is indeed scheduled to be poured in two days. Since I was outside interfacing with my friends, I decided to play some music and work on the roof antenna farm. There are now three different antennas up there, two of which will be used for communication and the third for receiving the clock signal from Colorado. The mast looks much better without all of the weather sensors, too. The cable for the clock signal is already inside the garage, as well. I can tap into it whenever the mood strikes. As I suspected (and hoped), the difficulties have been pushed to the rear. I am going to enjoy the lack of heartache and pain for as long as I can today. Monday is behind; Tuesday is here. The purity returned early this morning and broke my fucking heart. The construction crew finished all of the prep work so the slab can be poured tomorrow morning. Everything out there is clean. My two antennas are mounted and one is wired. I can test it later if the mood strikes. I have the entire day to myself. All that I just mentioned... All positives save for one, and that one is killing me more quickly than I had anticipated when I suspected there had been a change two years ago. I am so sad right now that I could burn down the world. The shed project is a major leap for this house, and yet no matter what kinds of wonderful improvements or days come along, the purity or something along the same lines eventually comes along and smashes the quality of everything else. I don’t need to feel this way. There are already plenty of negatives floating inside my head each day. The purity is often the worst of the bunch. This is not fun. Sad. I am just so fucking sad. Yesterday I ran across an article regarding some of the feelings I’ve experienced throughout the past couple of years, and the resulting knowledge was both helpful and disheartening. I’m in a very bad spot here. Powerless, really. Since there is nothing I can do to alleviate some of the sadness, my only option seems to be sitting here typing or lashing out at the world, neither of which have solved anything in the past. What do I do now? Continue going through the motions? If I die on the boat, reality will carry on as if nothing happened. The only result will be yet another resurrection and probably an additional trip into some errant netherworld. The questions and cryptic statements will not stop, ever. Something has to happen, but what? Do you have the fucking answer? Nope... Because there is no detail inherent in these writings. If I expose too much, I’ll be ridiculed, embarrassed and on the receiving end of so much fucking backlash that I’d have to shut down the site, hide myself away and remain away from people for the rest of my life. As much as I need help, I need protection even more. Infinitely more, really. I am out of options save for what has already been suggested. This is a very bad situation. Dangerous, too. Those who care for me are on a slippery slope right now. The morning is horrible thus far. I didn’t ask for this shit. The boat awaits... The faces have faded away. Fallen away? Maybe. One is definitely gone; the rest remain. I remain, as well. I am stuck in the boat and trying to understand what Julia has been displaying. Each face represents a period of time, and the sum of all seems to add up to me being reminded of the problems I’ve caused. The question now is this: What the hell can I do about it? My life is very different now and I am no longer associated with or connected to any of them. I am alone in nearly every sense of the word. So, what is the meaning? Am I meant to feel bad all over again? That shit never completely faded, really. Those eras are always with me. I think about different times here and there and feel like crap all over again, in turn. At least they have disappeared for the time being. I still have to try and understand what Julia meant when she disagreed with my statement about destroying the past (shit situation number one). [As an aside, all of the nonfiction and combined fiction and nonfiction has been removed from the site. I will no longer allow anyone to read those stories. They are far too personal and never should have seen publication in the first place.] Julia came across very differently at the time, and I am speaking of being in the caboose after facing the past head-on. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and yet she does not agree that my solution to that scene helped me at all. I don’t fucking get it. If I am in this boat as payment for the past, I can understand the creation of this world. I really can. If it is something else, perhaps something yet to be encountered, I am at a loss. The sky remains unchanged (as does the light), and the water continues to lap at the sides of the boat. Lost. ‘This morning was a clue, and you cannot remember the catalyst.’ ‘A dream?’ ‘A dream, indeed.’ 'I don't remember anything but some issue with a raven... An actual bird this time.' 'The purity is at issue.' 'Splendid. Leave me alone for a while, please.' 'As you wish.' That’s it. I am definitely being held accountable for my actions and decisions from many years ago. That has to be the reason. How long will this go on? Is the sea all there is left for me? Alone in a boat with terrible memories and an even worse state of mind than ever before? That’s pretty fucking harsh. I’d rather die and lose the ability for thought than float along forever without ever being able to forget anything. This is even more fucked than I had thought a few days ago. Paying the tab. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of all the other shit in my brain. Nothing has changed in days. The water is still dark and fairly calm, the clouds overhead continue to swirl and threaten my little boat, and the horizon remains about as distant as Pluto. I asked Julia to leave me alone for a while and I am pleased with the silence. All I hear is gentle lapping. I can’t help but suspect that this will end at some point and I will shift to another place, just like in the past. In the meantime, I must sit here and try to understand the meaning of her comment about the situation in the passenger car. My suspicion is Julia did not see the killing as a realization or end. Honestly, I can’t argue because of my present condition in reality, but at the time I calculated that such action was expected of me in order to help myself leave the issue behind in life. Now Julia brings the purity into question. Wonderful. I am having a difficult enough time trying to deal with those feelings, and knowing that she is still inside my head all the fucking time does not help. Moreover, I fail to understand why my sleeping time and the purity are becoming a problem. It has little to do with the past, or does it? I could be way off base here. I will say that when I feel the purity, the first emotion is sadness because I can’t control it, nor can I do anything about such situations. Nothing. I am powerless during those moments. The entire topic hurts my heart so much that I begin to reach for unrealistic options in life. That is not good, and pretty much sums up the motivation I felt each time I ran away in the past. Well, I can’t do that now so I am left to live with the feelings. After a horrible disaster (like yesterday), the purity comes to mind – yes, while I am awake and aware of everything – and results in my mood dropping further than before. It is not my fault, either. I can’t help what happens. Not even a little bit. The feelings drive me up the fucking wall and cause my depression to deepen so much that the exit becomes brightly illuminated for a time, typically until I have to force myself to find some type of distraction during the day. I must admit that when I first heard Julia’s words regarding this shit, my initial instinct was that she was instructing me to find a solution, and the only way to do that is to cause even larger problems in life, both for myself and those who know me. No, not the end. I am speaking of yet another search, just one that happens to be very specific. I’ve considered it before, but every time I do something comes along out of the clear, blue sky and reins me back into where I should be. This is going to be tougher than all the other shit she put me through, combined. Bad piled atop other bad equals all of the good being permanently eliminated from my daily life. Bad wins, every time, and this is a big one. I always thought Julia’s lessons were all rooted in how I’ve developed as a result of the two shit situations. Now? She has taken issue with something very personal, and possibly the most difficult aspect of my present condition. I believe more conversation is on tap for yours truly, regardless of where it takes place. And regardless of whether or not Julia agrees, I am going to float along and rehearse some of the most important questions I’ve ever posed. What else can I do right now? The sea is endless, much like the slew of problems brewing inside me like Satan’s own coffee maker. I am percolating. I wish that was funny. In the past, whenever Julia sat with me to speak candidly, I was allowed to relax in an agreeable lounge in Vegas, something I have loved for so long that I can’t even begin to recall the number of occasions. The last one was almost five years ago inside Caesar’s Palace and one of the most beautiful, comfortable spaces into which I have ever sunk. I can only hope to be allowed such an experience again, especially considering the current scene. I’d like to throw questions at her like fastballs, but the past has taught me that violence – be it verbal or otherwise – never advances my situation in a positive direction. I will have to be careful. I’ll tell you one thing, though... I could really use a fucking stiff drink right now. That is not a joke, either. I’ve been stuck in this little boat for days without so much as the slightest alteration in the surrounding sea or sky. I need... Something. Please. Let us travel back to the real world for a little while... Later. How much later? Nothing matters. I finished my housework and have the rest of the day to myself. Dinner will be leftovers. Very simple. I don’t need anything heavy right now because I can’t even begin to recall a worse morning. I hate this shit with a passion unlike any other. One positive is that I interfaced with the shed company and can schedule installation for any day further out than a week or so. This is good because I can plan according to the time required for the concrete to fully set and be safe. Moreover, the shed plan shrunk by two feet on the length, meaning there are no permits or anchoring necessary, a cost reduction of more than two grand. Very nice. I swear to all that is holy, this project is about the only aspect of the present that is keeping me going. In anticipation of everything being finished, I ordered some lumber and other items to be delivered on Friday. As I said... Without the uplifting improvement to the house, I’d have little reason to draw breath. And? Something horrible just came to mind. I made a note that the gardeners are here and after seeing the date I realized today would have been the Raven’s thirty-third birthday. I wonder where She would be in life had that tragedy not occurred. I’ll tell you one thing... I could use Her understanding right fucking now. My sadness just increased ten-fold, as did my feelings about the purity, something She fully understood. Only Ashley felt the same and they are both fucking gone. Wonderful. I have never felt so bad in this life. Bad. I am beginning to believe that my needs shall go unanswered for the duration. There may be no way out of this situation. Not good. I feel terrible right now. I still love that woman more than words can express, and She (or anyone remotely similar) is now far too distant to reach. This is a shitty day all the way around. My life is pretty fucking pathetic if the high point of an average day is sitting here with a cocktail and the keyboard. I had much and threw it all away. And then I had much and again threw it all away. Both situations were byproducts of the two shit situations and circumstances related to a deep-seated need for understanding and comfort. Nope. I just wish I had known back then of even a little bit of the future. Perhaps some of the disasters could have been avoided. I can’t sit here and feel ok in life. I can’t run to the elusive comfort. I can be where I so badly need. I can’t fucking do anything but type. The cherry on top of today’s depression sundae is the use of one of the keywords from some years ago, and one still relevant in almost any social climate. There is nothing wrong with the dialog, however. The use of the term in this episode is absolutely justified, along with its context. The issue is it forces me to look at myself and wonder what the fuck I’ve become after all this time. To this very second, I still cannot reconcile a single keyword with respect to myself. This impossibility may continue until my end. The worst part is I am still deeply affected by those keywords regardless of time or my frame of mind, and the only path to relief in such a situation lies solely on the shoulders of other people. There is nothing I can do about it. Everything is related; everything combines and allies against me; everything pushes me to that elusive peace. The shit situations were unconscionable. What can I do right now to feel more comfortable? What? Do you know? 'Take that off. Now take that one off, and then put the other one back on.' Wednesday, post routine and everything else. The concrete pad is finished. Now I have to wait for it to fully cure – two weeks minimum; likely over a month to be certain – before the shed can be installed. I need to place the order by the end of this month to take advantage of a promotional offer. No problem. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll continue to create a plan for everything that will live in that space. I have my cocktail and several hours to myself today. After all of the work on Monday, and then the concrete pumping early this morning, I am fairly pleased about the peace and quiet right now. For whatever reason, my program is experiencing glitches during playback. I’ll have to switch to something else for a while. Yesterday the show was running just fine for over an hour. I don’t get it, but there are plenty of other options. Anyway, my plan is to sit here until it’s time to eat something, and then roll into whatever seems best. My head is full of yesterday’s pitfalls. I need something to distract me for a little while and ease the bad emotions, whatever that may be. Oh, and I learned something this morning during an episode of a science fiction program. The term ‘corvette’ goes back in history far beyond when the automobile of the same name – capitalized, of course – debuted in 1953. It refers to a class of warship that resides between a ‘frigate’ and a ‘sloop-of-war’. I am pretty old, but I never knew that one. Very cool. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, I will do whatever I can to distance myself from the horrible situation that developed yesterday. The sea pays no mind to my problems. The sea remains the sea. Some time has passed and I finished a few preparations for dinner. That will make the evening much easier and more straightforward. I have come to need the evening time to be very quiet and peaceful over the last few months. Anything I can do to make cooking dinner easier has become important because relaxing during the dark hours is critical to my well-being. Today’s business is completely out of the way, so I am hoping the previous sentence holds its day in court. My neighbor may be outside later with his buddy to perform some work on a truck. If so, I may spend a bit of time in the garage. That will be prior to the time for cooking. Tomorrow will be the first day this week that I have all to myself. I am looking forward to some peace and quiet. The other world cannot help. It is there nonetheless... ‘You dreamed of her again.’ ‘Yes, a bad one.’ ‘You must remain at great distance.’ ‘I know.’ Julia knows everything. I dreamed of the girl again early this morning. Well, in reality. In this place? I only think of her from time to time, nothing more. We were gently kissing and one of my hands was caressing her arm. The situation was nerve-wracking, tentative, and somewhat frightening for reasons I cannot disclose, yet at the same time I felt so wonderful, if only for a few fictional minutes. Everything beautiful is again absent and I am left here in this little boat to ponder the emptiness. Marvelous. From a high that cannot be measured, on to a low that I have known for years, and then further down thanks to my subconscious taking over for mere seconds and showing me a life that cannot be possible, ever. Well, there is a slim possibility of some kind of fulfilling connection. I can’t state that she would be truly impossible, although the actual odds are about the same as acquiring the Passion. They may as well not exist. But holy God, what I wouldn’t give to have those few precious moments back. No way. Dreams are under no one’s control. Apparently, Julia has a problem with the subject of my dream. She needs to take it up with whomever conjures such things, and not my desire to remove anyone’s clothing. My feelings toward that girl came about due to a puerile sticking point in time that came out of a dream two years ago, and then another. When I was young, a single dream for mere seconds was enough to catapult an acquaintance all the way up to a major infatuation that almost entirely took over my consciousness. Apparently, such things still affect me pretty deeply because two years ago my feelings took a major left turn into very bad territory, and the connection implied in the dream this morning only cemented my ill-begotten emotions regarding that girl. If Julia has a problem with the way my mind operates, she needs to consider shit situation number two rather than bitching to me. There it is! I’m sure something bad is going to happen after such statements and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. Whatever the case – regardless of Julia’s actions in this place or decisions about what should happen to me – I am still going to be the same depressed, overly emotional and weakened individual that is sitting in this little boat right now. Nothing is going to change, really. It can’t. My dream came about for whatever reason and from wherever in my brain, and there is nothing anyone can do about it here or anywhere else. The dreams will occur again, too. And I am ready for whatever shit Julia wants to throw my way. Fuck it. As I said, the issue is shit situation number two and the horrible inward turn I took immediately thereafter. Blame the cause of that shit, not me. I am exactly the same because I’ve become incapable of changing due to those periods pressing on my brain. Dreams about the girl are a part of that... Wishful thoughts combined with a dire need for the right person to hold me and make the bad – yes, even that of forty-plus years ago – go away for all time. Not fucking likely is what you should be thinking right now. Whatever happens from here forward, I am not going to bend my perception of what that situation did to me. The dreams of her can be damned for all I care. The sea pays no mind whatsoever. I expect nothing, just the same. Murky water. That is all. I am stuck. There is no tiller; there are no oars. I control nothing. The dream is fresh, too. I can still feel her lips; the soft skin of her arm. I need to cease thinking about her for a while or I’ll drive myself insane. Moreover, Julia will end up in a snit over my feelings for the thousandth time. I don’t need her shit. Being stuck out here in the boat is plenty, as is the mass of crap which continues to swirl inside as the clouds do the same on the outside. I wish I could know where this is leading. I know Julia and the way she operates. Something will eventually change. As I already mentioned, some protracted and peaceful conversation at an agreeable bar would be very nice right now. We’ve spoken at length in several different lounges throughout Las Vegas, and due to the nature of my upbringing and later years spent in Nevada – between the years of seventy and aught-nine I’ve spent at least ten days per year at one resort or another – there are few places on this fucking planet where I am more comfortable (one of which can’t be detailed here). I’d love to sit and talk for a little while without being subjected to an ethereal, resonating voice while languishing on the sea. My latest dream involving the girl has hit me upside the head more than the previous occasions, and I could really use more insight than one-line responses and questions. Naturally, I need time to think to myself, but the truth is I can only float out here for so long before becoming desperate for a pair of ears, and Julia’s are likely the only ones available anymore. In reality, there are none. A meeting in a cozy spot is the type of change I need more than any other. This is making me very sad, to be honest. The sea continues to pay no mind. I hope something changes soon. Flash! Desert. Sand. Heat. Wind. Here we go again... The sea is gone, replaced by a scene I know all too well... Off in the distance I can see a structure and already know what it is. The hotel, but which one? The crazy hotel from the negative material plane? Or could it be that familiar, dreamy clone of the Mandalay Bay, the resort that lives in my heart? I can’t know from this distance, but fully intend to find out after some walking. Wow... Being on my feet feels wonderful right now despite the heat. How long was I in the boat? Fourteen days? That sounds about right. Damn. Here we fucking go again. Julia is brutal with the changes. I had hoped for a nice, air-conditioned lounge. Now I have to trod the desert sand in order to even see if there is one available. Just... Damn. Hot. Damn hot. Whatever. I’ve done this before – alone except for the little scorpions who seem to be absent this time – and made it to the doors and into the air conditioning just fine. I can do it again. Walking slowly and steadily will bear fruit soon enough. I already know that my arrival will be greeted brightly just like every other visit. The staff – whomever they are – know their positions very well and there has never been a lack of comfort. I can’t wait to get inside and try to forget about so many days in that little boat. Wow... The place appears a bit different from the last visit. There is no dragon atop the tower, nor is there a railroad track running behind the property. Is that to the west, as if the hotel resides on Las Vegas Boulevard? The gates are open. I could use a bit of cool air and some water right now. The lack of Julia’s booming voice thus far has helped ease my mind for the time being. Maybe we will sit in a lovely lounge and talk at long last. Eh... I don’t know. On the flip side, maybe I’ll be chased through the property by a man with a gun. I just never fucking know. To the gates with all haste. The massive resort entry is much like the hotel related to dracorum, yet different somehow, as if the old, creepy place has been merged with one of the great loves of my life, the Luxor pyramid. I have so many memories in and around that resort that I would not know where to begin. Passing the lush landscaping shows me that this place is indeed a clone of the holy pyramid. Right on through the marble entry, to the right, and I see the registration desk as it was during my last solo visit to this beautiful place. Time to check in and find out if we are to meet for a bit of conversation. That was the norm of the past. The main thing bothering me right now is a shit ton of memories flooding me from a big lounge to the left... Yes, it is Aurora for the tenth fucking time. Good and bad; bliss and heartache. Everything from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows took place right there in that fucking lounge, all of which is still marked and stored inside my head. I am going to have a hell of a time sitting at one of those tables if Julia wishes it. Maybe I can suggest a different place, such as Flight or whatever. Even the Island bar would be easier on my head and heart right now. Hmm. I need a room. ‘Welcome. Everything is ready for you and your bags have been delivered.’ 'Thank you very much.’ Keys. ‘Enjoy your stay, sir.’ Yeah... My stay is not exactly REAL, now is it? She was kind and pleasant, like always, yet somehow a bit robotic in her mannerisms. A machine? No, of course not. The woman is a clerk in a fictional resort in a fictional world, nothing more. I’ll head to the inclinator and see what’s what when I arrive thirty-one floors up. If memory serves, I’ll have two rooms and a spa. Not bad. I just wish this was a real visit rather than something designed to disassemble and repair my ailing brain. To the room with all haste. As usual, the accommodations are excellent. I’ve stayed here many times before, too, so I know what I’m saying. The closet appears to be stocked with my typical attire, the vanity holds all my stuff, and the view is to the direct south – straight to the fucking Mandalay Bay, of course – and my other home away from home. A bit of time to clean up and I am ready to slide back down the inclinator. ‘The cocktail salon, my love. You know.’ ‘Okay.’ Fuck me, that place is two hotels north from here and a hell of a long walk. Why? I mean... I don’t want to sit in Aurora because I’ll end up all fucked up in the head, but isn’t there something closer? ‘You’ll see.’ As I head for the inclinator and digest Julia’s cryptic shit again, I can’t help but recall so many beautiful moments spent in this resort, and others. Some of the best and most heartwarming times of my entire life have been lived here at the south end of the Strip, otherwise known as Paradise on maps. I guess I’ll follow her lead and see what’s at the base of this angled lift. Oh, boy. The lounge is fucking gorgeous, all dim and alluring. People are literally sunk into plush chairs and sitting in front of mahogany tables lit by candles. There are gas lamps on the paneled walls; chair rails separate deep blues and greens from the lush, polished wood surfaces. If anything can make me feel physically comfortable – aside from the obvious, absent aspects of life over which I agonize daily – this is it. I am definitely not standing in a clone of the pyramid because this lounge, all themed in French decor and overflowing with flowers, used to be just off the main casino in the Monte Carlo, a hotel I miss dearly. Like many of the other loving places I used to visit as often as possible, the resort is gone these days, having made way for yet another MGM. Whatever. I need a drink. The upside is that we are not in Aurora. I really don’t need to be hit in the heart with every beautiful face that accompanied me while sinking into those big chairs, not to mention the gorgeous woman sitting nearby at a slot machine and whom I sent a trio of lemon drops as I relaxed and made goo-goo eyes at a call girl. Don’t even fucking get me started. Anyway, I will sit and await the arrival of the queen of ambiguity and difficulty. Booze, please. The server’s outfit kind of follows suit with those at the Venetian; a very short dress, hair up, and a pair of beautiful three-inch slingback heels. Wow. I’ll have to keep any comments to myself once Julia appears because otherwise she will chastise me like last time. I have a half-track mind, and after all these years it just doesn’t work any other way. The stunning server approaches. Nice. This place is just what the doctor ordered. Drinkie time. Wait a minute... She took my order, left for the bar and then returned with an icy glass of scotch, and took a seat. She is sitting next to me at this very moment. The fuck? I guess I am meant to stare and make nice with her because Julia is not here as of yet. I don’t know what to think. I don’t recognize this woman at all, not even from past visits to the netherworld and its slew of beautiful, inviting cocktail lounges. ‘I know you prefer the perfect cube in your drink. Is it ok?’ ‘Yes, it is delicious. Do I know you?’ ‘Not yet. I am Juliana, and I’m here to ensure you are comfortable.’ ‘Sitting with me?’ ‘As a beginning, yes.’ Huh? Another woman whose name begins with that fateful letter. And she is here for me? Or did Juliana mean that as a customer, her job is clear? I don’t know, but one certainty is that in this world, nothing can be certain. I suppose I’ll sit, relax, and just go with it until something needs my attention. ‘I thought this might be a nice change after the sea.’ ‘You know about that?’ ‘I know quite a bit, mister.’ And... Here we go. Is Juliana going to be the next Julia? Or, perhaps, more like Jaime? God forbid this woman becomes another Justine. She represented every fucking mistake I have ever made, and I need more reminders like I need to be killed again in this world. Maybe the best way to proceed is to simply go with the flow. I am much better off here than in the boat, and the surroundings are infinitely more attractive and comfortable than the sea, meaning hopefully I can deflate for a long while and think about everything. Oh, one idea just popped into my head: I can sit here and lap up all of the scotch and visual information until someone either takes issue with what I am doing or alters the scenery. The point that is stuck in my head is Julia’s reference to the purity. I honestly don’t know how to deal with that sort of thing. I’ve been questioning the appearance of the purity for quite a while and am not ready to discuss it with anyone else in either world. Oh, there are a few souls which come to mind when the need to explore strikes me, but the truth is if confronted with an actual person, I’d probably shut down and disappear. As beautiful as this woman is, the downsides of revealing sensitive information come to mind before anything else. I need to talk about this shit, too. I need it badly. If I take a chance and let slip all of the problems related to the purity, I may find myself either falling away for the last time or relieved for the first. I can’t know, and that is the largest issue in my head right now. Juliana is here for a reason, but only Julia knows what it is. The only avenue is to throw out a line. Damn, she is something to see. Ah... She tossed a line first. ‘Purity.’ ‘Yes ma’am.’ ‘Relax here for a while. We will then head to your room.’ ‘Ok. You’re the boss.’ Again... She is stunning. No sooner do I relent to her request when she tosses a smile the likes of which I have not seen in thirteen years. I may be in trouble. Juliana rises, grabs the serving tray and gallops off to the bar. I am alone again, yet not as deeply as while in the boat. I have a sinking feeling – no pun intended – that I’ve not seen the last of the sea. That place was the very definition of a ‘sea to suffer in’, as it were. I have no doubt I was there for good reason. I don’t feel very well right now. Reality must enter... Thursday is here, and as I mentioned yesterday, this is the first weekday in four that I’ll have to myself. Plans for the next several hours are few. The morning has already been pretty fucked up, so I need to lift myself a bit in order to pave the way to a better day. Well, if lifting myself is even possible anymore. Something came along a little while ago that I fucking hate, so I’ll have to move up quite a bit just to make it through the rest of the morning without flipping out. All I can do is try. Time for housework. Later. The routine is out of the way and I have my typical booze here on the table. I removed the left-hand display for the time being because I may replace the smaller unit in the garage and leave this system with only two. The table is much neater and access to the closet no longer has a ‘pinch point’, to use NASA’s vernacular. I still have to move three components: The RAID unit will move to the table along with my printer, and the tower will move down to the top of the subwoofer. The entire system will be much neater. I also have a USB hub that will be mounted on the underside of the table for ease of access and stability while plugging and unplugging different peripherals. Once all of it is in place, this control center will be much more user friendly than it has been for the last year-plus. In addition, I am already planning to upgrade the tower sometime during the next few months. My last machine suffered from updated software throughout a period of years all running through the same, old hardware. I do not intend to allow this machine to fall behind. That is the main reason I opted for a desktop computer rather than another laptop. On other fronts, the concrete is out there setting and drying, and representing one of the largest improvements to this living space since the new windows were installed. I have to wait a while prior to ordering the shed, so during that period I’ll be planning my storage strategy and the installation of power for lighting and outlets. On yet another front, I am awaiting a quote for installing a gate on the east side of the garage to replace the existing (crappy and ugly) fencing. It’s a small project and will require no more than a few hours for the right contractor. I just wish all this progress and planning had the ability to improve my mental and emotional condition beyond the obvious short-term enjoyment. I successfully reconfigured this table to be more flexible. The tower is below and the hub is mounted for ease of access. My neck is killing me, though. I did something the other day, the pain began to fade soon after, and now it has returned most likely due to laying under the table rewiring and mounting parts. Shit. Whatever. I need to prepare the vegetables for boiling soon. Hopefully, the work will not exacerbate whatever is going on with my neck. Natalie Dormer has got one stunning pair of big doe eyes. Wow. Not only that, but her eyebrows match the ‘cat’ and/or ‘doe’ themes. Unbelievable. I had felt a lot of heat over some comments about the race girl and the Raven several years ago. I’ll refrain from going on about Natalie right now for the sole reason of needing to put the proper words together prior to gushing. Yep. Nothing can stop the flow of information here regardless of the type of content. Anyway, I only have a few items left to hook up and organize here on the table. Perhaps I’ll get to it tomorrow. The vegetables have to boil and then cool and drain for quite a while. I should get started. Regardless of the positives, I am falling away. Friday hath arriveth on the heels of a partially decent Thursday evening. This improved setup looks even better today than it did yesterday. Not bad. There are still some details to work over, but for the most part everything is nice. Thankfully, everything on the home front has been quiet with respect to beauty and the oft-shitty manner in which I view the world and its contents. Quiet is good because any noise injected into my eyes causes everything to return in force and render me unable to move in any direction. As much as I’d like to see everything, the best thing for me is to see nothing at all. That day in the parking lot just outside the door of the market was horrible. And then the other one... The woman who tugged at her yoga pants in front of the counter at the other market. Terrible. And? The last one was just recently and nearly had me doubled over from emotional trauma. While I am home, the only bad things tend to stroll by in the sunshine from time to time, and there can be no predicting any of them. Fortunately, I am further away and everything tends to calm down within a few minutes, the key person notwithstanding. That one is just bad in every sense of the word. She causes pain and it is not her fault. She makes me very sad and it is not her fault. She brings up more desire than I can possibly describe and it is not her fault. Maybe I should ask to see Jaime the next time the netherworld rears its ugly, barren head. Maybe. I could use some understanding ears right about now. More than that, actually, yet as time passes, I see the past becoming more and more distant along with any hope of real comfort. This is not good at all. One day bleeds into the next and they all run together like a long, depressing movie that never seems to end. The lack of beauty outside my window or in the stores is just one smidgen of positivity among a mass of problems. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I am more stuck right now than I have ever been in life. I’m sure I’ll get my stuff done today and roll into the evening ready to cook and whatnot, but all the while those problems will be following along and taking much of the good out of whatever comes along with the ability to make me smile. The concrete pad, for example, is one of those good things for the household. It will fade like everything else. The newness will wear off and I’ll be right back where I started, just with less time left. I might not go to the store today. My head is fairly sideways, so remaining here and taking care of some housework may be best. I’m sure at some point the other world will intrude and leave me full of questions again, mostly the main question with which I’ve been wrestling for many years. So, some hours have passed since I sat here and pondered the nature of the universe and my place within the same. The housework is finished, including two loads of laundry. Dinner will be very simple, so I need not make any revolutions until later this afternoon. I worked in the garage for a little bit, too, and my efforts in organizing have been going quite well. I successfully removed a block of marble from beneath the audio system and installed the large monitor (that used to live on this table) where the smaller unit once lived. The flat panel should enjoy improved viewing over the older, curved screen. I am awaiting the lumber delivery, as well. When it arrives, I’ll have to ensure the garage spaces are still accessible. Organization is one of my strong suits. Well, one of the few left that I actually embrace. Sad. Whatever. I am looking forward to everything hitting the driveway so I can take care of business. Saturday morning is here, along with a shitload of rain that began in the middle of the night, enough to wake me due to the sound. Damn. Yesterday went fine for the most part. All of the stuff I ordered arrived, I replaced the front porch light fixture, and finished the laundry. Not bad. There was ample time for me to consider the circumstances of my present condition and how I may appear to other people. I keep thinking about the questionable behavior in which I have engaged in the past and the way my head tries to push away the bad and rationalize such a deep-seated need. I can sit here and state that I can’t help it, but the truth is that I can actually avoid such things. All I would have to do is put my mind to it and follow through each day, one at a time, as the alcoholics say. I don’t see a problem altering the way I do things for the greater good of my own self-control. The problem is there is no one telling me what I should or should not do because no one knows about any of this shit. Not a fucking soul. So, I need to continue analyzing how I feel about myself and whether or not there is any harm inherent in such behavior. This affects no one but me. The situation was on my mind as I worked around the garage yesterday, too. I replaced the light fixture, set up all of the new lumber so it is out of the way, and took care of cutting up some crap so it will fit in the trash can tomorrow. All the while, her image and what I’ve seen in the past kept creeping in, perhaps trying to derail my thought processes. Some time during the afternoon and just prior to my dinner preparations, I began to equate the aforementioned behavior and the purity, believe it or not. I need to figure this out because Julia took issue with the purity and it’s not my fault. Dreaming of the girl could be a connection between the two problems. I can’t know unless we talk about it, so... There has been a woman (guest star) in this episode that is driving me insane. Yep... All dark and flowing, both hair and eyes, slender build, sharp shoulders... The whole shitaree. Time for some housework. And... Done. I also went to the market to cash a check and pick up a few staples for salad that will accompany dinner tonight and tomorrow. Thankfully, there was nothing of note in the store. I don’t need any more shit in my head these days, but sometimes I need to shop. The trip went very smoothly, including the bank business. Excellent. Upon returning, I felt very comfortable again. Now I have everything finished and a big, fat cocktail. I am currently running an experiment on the right-hand display because the program – thus far just the dragons – seems to be having a playback problem. I switched to the old standard, the vampires, to see if the issue is with the website, player, or just that one series. So far, this show seems to be running just fine. I guess I’ll leave it for a while. Now that a few points of business are out of the way, the plan is to relax for the duration. The weather is precluding anything being done outside. I hope it passes soon, too. We can always use the water, but for fuck’s sake... More than three or four days of dry weather would be really nice right now. On the upside, I can work here in the office and continue where I left off with the control center reconfiguration. I always enjoy working in this room during inclement weather. It keeps me warm for whatever reason. I guess the other show is the only one with a problem. This one is streaming just fine. Crystal clear and smooth. Whatever. I suppose I’ll stick with this program until something else calls me. The story, characters and other references often cause all sorts of problems with regard to my past, but at least I watch alone and know everything in advance. Some time has passed and I am in for a comfortable afternoon. Lunch is out of the way, as well. I may or may not put together a slow-cooker recipe for dinner. If I do decide to put it together, I’ll have to have everything mixed in the cooker by three or so. Tomorrow will entail the typical morning drive and visit to the market, after which I’ll settle into my morning routine with coffee prior to taking care of Sunday business. The day is now Sunday and the drive is behind me. There was no visit to the market this morning. I have my coffee and this machine for the duration, or until such time as I need to begin the usual housework. Last night was a bit of an impromptu meeting in my garage for a while, and today I am pleased that it went smoothly. Difficulty could have ramped up horribly and very quickly had I not remained so balanced throughout the time. One other facet that I can barely mention was in my head for a long while and nearly had me giving up completely and heading to bed for the night. I need to keep certain parts of life and thoughts out of this content. I don’t need any backlash. As for today, I will mostly take it easy except for the necessities. I need to think about everything. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I keep seeing Roxanne on the screen. The best thing is to look away and simply listen, yet my brain has to see her face sometimes. There is no way around it. I have to see her when I can because like so many others, as time passes, my feelings increase in depth. I will love her soon because I am a fucking basket case. Anyway, Sunday and Monday are my favorites. I’ll make the most of today as best I can, and then relax in and around everything. Most likely I will end up right here at this machine more than once. ‘What you are doing is wrong.’ ‘It doesn’t affect anyone else.’ ‘Just you, my dear, and that is not good.’ I can’t disagree with her, but at the same time I was correct with such a response. I was not suggesting that I am an all-around good person, only that I do not allow my shit to bleed over into anyone else’s life. That would be unfair. I believe hurting myself is a given at this point and cannot be stopped. At least I know myself and what I am doing. I also know that either one of these women will have a problem with me no matter how I try to explain myself. At this point, there is little reason to continue along the lines of my questionable behavior. More important is the idea that Julia brought up the purity and the way it has affected me. ‘Your behavior stemmed from the purity.’ ‘No fucking way.’ ‘Yes fucking way.’ How can that be? Two years is two years, and the purity did not strike me until a few months ago. I don’t understand. ‘Think back some years and tell me there were no discussions of such things... No words of purity.’ ‘Shit.’ Ah... Yes. Now I get it. The purity did not appear out of the clear, black sky. It’s been present for much longer and had been a point of contention some time ago between myself and basically the whole of society. Unbelievable. There was one person who discussed the circumstance quite a bit more than any others, mostly because I had been having trouble trying to reconcile my feelings on the subject. She helped, somewhat. All that is gone now. I have no one off whom to bounce thoughts, ideas or anything else even remotely difficult. Floating along on the sea had me considering the idea that the purity may leave me forever, hence the deepened, depressive state that will not let up. I am beginning to believe that some of my more elaborate dreams came about due to fearing the end of something beautiful. The entire affair makes me very sad and somewhat unwilling to discuss my feelings or any details. I may end up without a choice, however. I’ll have to force the issue and suffer the consequences, I guess. ‘Some parts of life that leave us cannot be regained.’ ‘Marvelous.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Flash! The sea. What about my hotel room and that beautiful cocktail server? Shit. I really don’t want to sit in this little boat anymore. I thought this part of her lesson was in the rear-view mirror. Part of me had relaxed a little bit, too. Now I am all tensed up again, damn it. I had a date with Juliana for some peaceful conversation in my room – likely with all of the comforts I’ve come to expect from both the town and past circumstances in this world – and now I’ve been tossed to the sea for the second time. Something I said ran aslant of Julia’s hopes. She keeps railing about the purity and I don’t know what the hell to say. The problem is in my head much of the time, it appears at night once in a while, and most days I become overly sad about it and can barely move around the house. If my desire and recent alterations to the way I think were truly caused by such a problem, Julia had better leave me alone about it. My reaction will only further divide us. The situation is such that I believe I’ve been placed in the boat again to think about everything and try to put some aspects of life in line. Right now my shit is all over the place. This is going to take some time and likely leave me a ball of sadness. Moreover, everything that comes to mind must be gone over with a fine-toothed comb in order to protect myself from harm, ridicule, embarrassment and other types of backlash. I don’t need that shit. Floating. There are no longer faces in the water, thank the maker. More reminders are only going to send me flying again. The main problem here is the way I feel about losing something that is nearly as important as breathing, and the way it may have altered what I see out there in society. Yes, those visions that appear once in a while are two-fold problems. First, they leave me full of needs and desire because I am overly obsessed with such forms and must know why they appear as they do, and second, no sooner does something beautiful appear and then disappear when the purity and all related feelings slam me in the brain. Afterward? I can’t think straight for one fucking minute because I feel too much loss; too many holes inside me. The purity is simply the latest victim. I am not suggesting that what I’ve said here is everything, either. I can’t know anything for sure. I can only suspect. The longer I float along and remain completely alone, the more I analyze. This is far from over. As of this moment, I would seem to have plenty of time for thinking. Maybe it will help. Also, perhaps I can eventually reach a point that will allow me to leave this behind... The sea, boat and foghorn. The entire world. Everything is uncertain. Julia stated that what I’ve been doing is wrong. At first, I was sure she spoke of the recent questionable behavior in which I’ve engaged. Now? I believe it is something else. I don’t feel good about it, either. Not one bit. My life and world are so different than years ago that the gradient often leads my head into very negative territory. Once I fall off that cliff, there is only one way to return. Unfortunately, that one way is not something I enjoy. It would seem that Julia feels the same, but what the fuck can I do about it? Alter my behavior? Nope. That will cause other problems. I don’t have the first damned clue as to how to proceed in my life and live any other way. I can’t stop seeing and feeling the massive gradient between then and now. I just don’t have the power or ability to stop that harmful shit storm from hitting me in the head each day. I don’t know what that woman expects me to do. ‘I removed her and put you here because you need to think.’ ‘No shit. Why can’t she be in the boat with me, at least?’ ‘Desire.’ Yep, I get that one. That word she uttered is the great unstoppable force of the galaxy and there is not a damned thing I can do to cease feeling the way I do at times. I have zero options on that fucking front. And Julia is exactly right. Given enough time, I would have pushed. No fucking doubt. Well, it was a shot and I took it. The truth about the matter is when the passage of time is combined with so many barren years, this mindset is the result. Desperation. Yearning. Pain. The purity and the way it weighs on my head came about for the same reason... Time, good and bad. The good is represented by memories, whereas the bad is pretty much everything else that has transpired throughout the past few decades. I had zero concern about what is now referred to as ‘purity’ because at the time there were options in life; situations that embraced it. I did not need to be concerned about 'why'. At present, all of the options are gone. Every single fucking one of them. I don’t know what to do, so the only way I live is to repeat the last couple of years. They have been a slow, downhill slide into nothingness, much like what I see when gazing from the boat toward the horizon in any direction. All I have left is this little boat, the occasional, resonating foghorn, and dreams of where I so desperately need to be. There are further details, but I can’t lay them out here. Doing so would result in me withdrawing completely and permanently. Others need me and I can’t do that. I can’t even disappear because what would be left behind is horrible to consider. When I say that I am stuck, I mean it, and not just in the boat. I am stuck in life. I can lash out and nothing comes of it. I can consider possibilities and nothing comes of them. The only path is a continuation of the same shit. Every now and again the purity will come along and send me into a hole with all haste. I hate this. I shall float along and wonder. 'You are getting somewhere rather than grating against my wishes. Very good.' 'Does that mean I can get the hell out of this place?' 'Keep going.' Marvelous. Thanks, babe. Where the fuck is Melanie when I need her most? Shit. No one is listening. Well, one person is, but she’s just a pain in my ass. I love her, too. Isn’t that just peachy? This boat ride is yet another clambake in a long line of the same. At least Julia said I am getting there. At least Julia said I am getting there. But, wait... Getting where exactly? Understanding how the purity is related to my feelings for beauty? Or maybe the damaging dreams and the massive shift they initiated? I don’t know. I’ll keep going. A tiny bit of understanding is better than years of heartache and confusion. If Julia believes I am making progress, so be it. I will perform a bit less grating and bitching and a little more thinking. The damaging dreams are just that... Harmful. The reason cannot be revealed, however, even though they relate directly to this problem of overt desire as well as my feelings toward the purity. The passage of time becomes brightly illuminated when I think of the subject in those dreams. From the long past to more recent little memories, everything hits me square in the head when I think of her. There is a line that is far behind me now; a distance great enough to ensure it can never be seen again. She brings that line to mind and causes me to see everything differently for a short time. I end up climbing and climbing the same hills from the past over and over until heartache and pain take over and cloud my vision. Once the great power of the universe comes along, everything is set in motion again, most often from the beginning. This cycle was not caused by her. It is a horrible convergence of circumstances that I am helpless to affect. All I can do is sit here – be it in the goblet, a boat, or some errant desert scene – and send my thoughts to the winds. Nothing changes until there is another vision. Amplification, further (very painful) suppression, and eventually I just give up for a while and try to embrace something which can still bring a measure of joy, even if that is only a few moments. I have nothing else anymore. I was there. Now I am here. This is all related. I know the way I’ve been thinking is not good. I also know that the recent alteration in my daily mindset is equally bad. I cannot help what I feel, though, nor can I be expected to simply flip a switch after decades of being squished, routed and otherwise disregarded. I’d like to disappear and leave the message ‘here you go; look what you caused’ plastered everywhere, but that would be unfair to them as well as myself. I honestly don’t believe anyone thinks about that sort of thing anyway, because I don’t speak about my feelings in reality, ever. And that is another facet of this fucking problem. I only speak to people here in this world and it is not real. The inside of my head could be the topic for one hell of a paper, I’d bet. Well, thinking is one of my strong suits regardless of how distorted my sense of beauty and desire have become. I can actually illustrate them fairly well with a single line: ‘She cannot respect him because he worships her.’ That is out of balance and my understanding is that very few people think along such lines; mostly the opposite. I have to go back to where this began... Desire and its relationship to the purity and my feelings regarding the beauty that I see from time to time. Oh, and memories, too. I can’t leave out the memories because there are very specific aspects of the past that cannot and will not return. Anyone who does not wish to subscribe to my interpretation is precisely correct... There is not enough here for a full analysis. Lots of words, not much substance. Perhaps floating on the sea is not the best place for me to think about all this shit. But then again... What would be a good location? Someplace helpful? I don’t know. That little lounge was lovely and staffed in a very classy manner, but it was taken away like all the others. I seem to do some of my most effective thinking while sunk into the plush luxury that only Vegas can provide, and then when I find it after days on the sea, Julia changes her mind and sends me back here. Why? Because I was a micron away from feeling a mass of desire for that gorgeous cocktail server? Isn’t that why she is there? To retain customers through alluring glances and carrying a beautiful body? Vegas is driven by two powers, one of them being obvious. The server was the other, and I don’t see anything wrong with wanting her physically, especially after years of trying to understand how the obsession ran out of control and sent me into a desire-laden gulag. ‘I took all that away because you can’t focus while in the presence of such loveliness. Believe me... I know because you’ve done it with me. Remember?’ ‘Yes, I know, but for fuck’s sake... Can’t I have a bit of good as a pause from all the bad?’ ‘Not right now. That was my mistake. Keep going.’ Ugh. I suppose her words are better than nothing. I can honestly only go so far with this crap because the details have to remain shrouded. Too bad. There is so much information in my brain that I’m losing grip, yet any of it flying off the keyboard will cause more harm than good. I can’t have that. I need real ears in the real world. Julia is in my head. Not helpful. The sea just goes on and on and beyond my control. No oars; no tiller; no propulsion. This is like my line of thinking each day. I step into a topic, railroad it to death, string along a few connections from a to b to c, and then go over all of it again with different words. I keep coming to the same conclusions. The boat keeps moving along and everything appears exactly the same. I do not see an end to the sea; nor can I imagine an end to this analysis – not that I’ve traveled from a lack of understanding to any other place, either – because the answers rest solely on the shoulders of other people; some fictional and others that are no longer alive. My dreams create desire. The visions I see from time to time cause desire. When both situations pass completely unrequited, I end up trying to answer the question of ‘why’. That question never leads anywhere good. It leads me in circles, some already mentioned and others I cannot detail here. The sea pays no mind to all this heartache. On and on it goes, like the horizon. I am going somewhere, yet I am also going nowhere. Circles. I don’t know what else to do. Part of me believes that I must eventually push the girl and those dreams away, but I don’t know how. I can’t help feeling this way and wanting so much. For the tenth time, I am a product of the past; time and circumstance. I don’t know of any other way to live. Everything hurts all the time, most notably when I recall the past and the beautiful places I was able to visit. No more of that, I guess. All has been ripped and torn away, leaving me to yearn and hurt. Again... The sea remains unchanged, unflapped, and uncaring. I couldn’t find any caring if it was glued to my fucking forehead. I believe the damaging dreams have been the most powerful catalysts in recent years, propelling my feelings of desire from mild to overwhelming. They were born of squishing and desperation; disregard and pain. The two shit situations are in both worlds for the duration. I can’t do anything about them. More shit will come along and remind me of those horrible years, and then I’ll try to find answers again. A circle. And then at some point, another dream. My desire will peak and drive me out of my mind, and then it will fade until the next dream or vision. A circle. I may languish in this little boat forever. Somehow, it seems appropriate. I am beginning to hope that Julia gives up this quest for understanding and education. Every fucking adventure has left me either worse off or exactly the same, so why would she believe that another trip through the netherworld will make any difference? Is this driven by hope, or something else? What was the genesis of her motivation? Eh... I am asking too many questions. I know all of the details. I just can’t always put them together or into a context that relates to why I turned out this way. I’ve been placed right smack in front of some of the worst imagery as driven by memories and feelings of loss, and after each occasion I ended up in the same bowl of soup. The sea is simply the latest incarnation of my mind’s eye reaching for understanding. Well, if something doesn’t exist, searching is for naught. There is a statement for the ages. The truth is that I just don’t fucking know. The real world is no different, yet I’ve been searching for so long that the process is ingrained; second nature; automatic. And speaking of the real world, let us return... I don’t know if I’ll accomplish much outside the typical scope of my Sundays, but I will try. There are things I need to toss in the trash – one of those situations in which I reduce the footprint of large items and get rid of them a little at a time – so I’d like to be able to finish everything I have in mind at a decent hour and then return to my office work. I am experiencing mental distractions (forms) this morning and will probably have to push pretty fucking hard to move away from the control center and take care of some housework. Sometimes this is just not easy. I do not have excuses. I have reasons. One of them is the purity and the way I felt in recent days about certain people, from both the past and present. I don’t want to lose any more of my life. A bit of time has passed and my usual morning work is complete. I also had a little snack. I still have dry cleaning and garbage business, although the clock is on my side right now. We are just shy of noon. There is a capture which grabbed hold of my attention because it drove my mind all the way back to the first damaging dream; manicured fingers tugging gently at a bra strap. I can’t stop thinking about her this morning. That was around two years ago and still I am captivated by the imagery. There is probably nothing I can do about these feelings. They continue to deepen and I am often at their mercy. Ugh. The motion those fingers caused is nearly too much for me to reconcile. The housework has not helped, but it needs to be finished regardless of the mass of difficulty inside me. I always manage to get through the day. I don’t know how, but I always make it. Perhaps there is a smidgen of hope that comfort and understanding could be out there, somewhere. I am desperate. Such a fact is very dangerous. Anyway, from here forward I will slowly chip away at my chores and relax here and there. The most powerful force in the universe has taken its toll. I can only rise from here. The morning has not been entirely disastrous. There were good points. Nothing insane, but better than disaster. The Raven’s near-twin sister is on the display right now. That’s a bad thing. Perhaps I need to reach for more good today. And I did, believe it or not. Everything is finished. The only tidbit is the second round of dishes that I will put away later when I begin dinner preparations. The garbage is at the curb and the dry cleaning is finished and put away. This is very nice. If I could just get the beautiful vision of her breasts out of my head, the rest of the day would go just fine. Oh, yes... And the Asian girl that appeared for a few seconds of this episode. Super cute. Ugh. I’m tired of wrestling with these feelings every time I run across beauty. I should be pleased with my accomplishments thus far today. Instead, I am trying to climb out of the same fucking hole. Maybe I am better off on the sea. Maybe. Monday morning. Good fucking God is Oona ever beautiful. Right out of the gate, too. Damn. Nearly the Raven’s twin sister, Oona has some of the darkest eyes I have ever seen. Every time her stint on this series comes around, I am floored by her appearance and my feelings for her deepen. Not good. Well, what is good anymore? Monday is ok, I guess. Everything is reset for another week, the garbage is picked up, my silly little game begins with another week-long challenge that always calms me on stormy seas, and I have hours of peaceful, quiet time at home. Monday is ok. Not good, just ok. The other things I need are beautiful, although they will most likely never exist. Another clambake. Anyway, I have to take care of the usual stuff today and visit the hardware store and market. I should probably clean the bathroom and work in the office, too. I don’t want the house getting out of hand. Dinner will be pretty simple, much like last night, so the late afternoon will have me preparing a few items in that direction. My projects remain on hold due to the temperature being so low each day. Oh, I took care of some details yesterday so that more crap could be tossed in the organics cart, but the real work of improving the garage and such will have to wait. Once the shed is installed, all of that will change. The house is going to benefit to a great extent. Perhaps while everything feels so hurtful and negative, the shed can lift me for a little while. Perhaps. I can’t know as of yet. I just have to wait. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... I could not utter a single word. Not even a damned syllable, only a smile. I smiled. She smiled back. And then she disappeared for a little while. I had thought she was the same gorgeous Latino girl I had seen that morning some weeks ago, but I couldn’t be certain, nor could I read whether or not she was working at the market like the other one. They could be one and the same, however my head was so fucking sideways that I barely had the operative force to run through my grocery list and grab the items I needed. Shit. I continued to shop, and then lo and behold she was RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME AT THE SELF CHECKOUT. Again my head turned to fucking clay. I can’t even begin to recall a time when I gazed at a more beautiful woman, ever. There was the server, although as time passed, I began to believe I was seeing what I WANTED to see as opposed to her actual appearance. My mind operates in strange ways sometimes, so the server will forever remain a mystery. At the market? Nope... No mystery. She was right there looking so stunning that I barely had the brainpower to scan the items. Again... SHIT. I had to say something. The compulsion and desperation were overwhelming, yet I just continued to process my purchase. My obsession was absolutely screaming for me to tell her something – anything that would clearly transmit just exactly what she was. I needed so badly to inform her that I noticed, and my attention does not hit a high point like that very often. The biggest problem was not her form-fitting yoga pants – black, of course, and the prime color for showing off everything that cannot be hidden by such material – it was her huge, super-sweet, dark doe eyes. Yep. The very windows that melt me into a puddle of goo. That diminutive girl caused more torment, torture and damage than ANYONE I have ever seen in that fucking store. I had to say something, but what? Look at me... Read all of the words. You can glean what I’ve become as a result of all of the years of pain and desperation, not to mention the skewed nature of my reality due to the two shit situations. What the fuck could I say? Some off-the-cuff remark telling her that she’s beautiful? Nope. A compliment is always nice, but honestly, I don’t believe there can be a positive outcome anymore because of my debilitated mental and emotional condition. She looked squarely at me with those eyes at first. Right, straight into me just like the race girl. Do you know what that means? It means absolutely nothing. My perception of a woman looking into my eyes is nearly as skewed and distorted as my sense of beauty. Nothing was there. She is a person and was walking toward the same display case in the produce department. That’s all. Walking. She saw me, excused herself for nearly walking into my basket, and then went on about her business. EVERYTHING ELSE took place inside my head. That is God's honest truth. And the compulsion to say something stems from the same place. She had nothing to do with it. She was a person. Just a person. Not a god or anything else. She was either shopping or taking care of some operation for work. I can’t remember if she was the same girl that caught me off-guard some weeks ago. Whatever the case, she is a person in a market. I am the one that ran around the universe in milliseconds and then walked out in acute pain. Holy shit. Never before have I gazed upon a sweeter pair of doe eyes, and believe me... I have been searching desperately for a very long time. The eyes are key. Always... The eyes. As you can see, I am back home after visiting both stores. I picked up everything that was needed, took care of the daily routine, and then poured a massive glass of depressing liquid to allow me to sit here and wallow in pain. I have never needed to say something more than when she stood next to me. This is a clear indication that my life – sordid, good or bad as it has been – is already over. I can’t speak to anyone. I cannot ever be good for anyone. And? I’ll never find ‘her’ because I’ve become far too fucked in the head. This ranks up there with a handful of the worst days of my life. Good God was she ever something to see. Those eyes are going to kill me, bury me in the soil, and haunt me no matter what comes next. She was unreal and my words have barely even scratched the surface in this worthless, wandering paragraph. I am ruined. The only smidgen of good is that I did not say anything. None of this is her fault. Just a person shopping in a market. Nothing more. To me? She was the beginning and end of the fucking universe. Go back and read this shit again. Perhaps you’ll see what I mean by ‘basket case’. The largest and most beautiful pair of dark, doe eyes that I have EVER seen has taken its toll. Let us see where it leads. Think of how many words I have devoted to gushing about Jamie's eyes. They are now second in my world. Yep... I am THAT fucked up over what took place just a little while ago. 'Poor nose.' 'Don't feel sorry for him. He'll be halfway up your ass before the night's through.' This program just kills me sometimes. I see the girl on the screen with a pair of breasts that should be classified as human art, yet the other one from the market has altered my stance for the time being. She will either fade or kill me. I don't care which, to be honest. If I end up dead, the torment and pain may disappear. I can't be certain, but the possibility is there nonetheless. There is just no way to know unless one travels across the last threshold of life. The girl at the market has effectively removed any wonder regarding what I see on the display. Not her fault. Those at fault are gone. I need to die on the sea. Maybe that will cause a change. I feel like lashing out thanks to the numbing effect of the alcohol. Nope. That is not going to happen because I know that I’ll come out the other side no better, and possibly worse. I suppose that is growth. Lashing out really seems enticing, too. I need it sometimes. At least I’ve learned something. No matter how I behave now or in the future, my feelings will not change or improve. Hmm. That is growth, actually. Too bad other facets of my life can’t follow suit. My ambition is being reduced by a measure with each passing day; Satan’s ‘red wine reduction’. I wish that was funny. There will be no lashing today. I am going to keep my little empire quiet so as to avoid attracting unwanted (and unwarranted, to be sure) attention. Quiet. I’ll have lunch soon and finish off the kitchen. Afterward, I have no fucking idea. Maybe I can tool around here in the office or in the garage for a little while. Nothing is appealing right now, though. Not even lunch. Her face is still smiling at me and I feel like dying. Tuesday morning with zero fanfare for anything I enjoy. Zero. The girl from yesterday is forcing me to look at myself, where I have gone throughout the last four years, and the bleak, empty future (alone). Not good. Maybe I’ll sit here all fucking day and wallow. I never lashed or swung the hammer yesterday because I knew it would not get me anywhere. The girl at the store killed me inside a little bit. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything. Even after lunch when I drove north to the cleaners, her eyes were still penetrating my psyche and calling to me from afar. Nothing happened. The afternoon faded like most days and I found myself relaxing with part of a movie. Dinner preparations came and went. That is that. Nothing of note took place in my little world... In reality. The other place? The inside of my head where dreams are manufactured in seconds? Oh, that was different. We ran away together. I cared for her and she cared for me. Everything was peaceful. No briefcase, though. Only the two of us were present. I loved her and could barely deal with not being in constant physical contact. None of that happened. There is nothing for me. This is a perfect example of why I always say that I can’t be good for anyone. The main reason is that reality cannot compare to dreams and wishes. No girl can come along and align to what I have grown to need. There will be no car arriving in front of the house. There will be no briefcase. All I did was look at her for seconds and everything ended up turned on its ear. Now I can barely function. My life was already truncated all to shit, and since yesterday I will say that the process has continued and forced me into an even smaller space. Sitting here this morning with coffee is really nice, yet I already know that at some point later I will fall on my face. Not good. The feelings never stop; the need never goes away; the pain is chronic. I will do my best to go through the motions of housework and some laundry and then see how I feel by late morning. I should probably focus upon little things and planning for the shed completion rather than pushing too hard. The fence company is going to be here in less than an hour for an estimate, too. I don’t want to appear like a basket case to other people. That shit has to remain private. As an aside, the woman with Peter throughout part of the first and most of the second seasons is irritating as hell. She is a perfect example of a complete waste of space; selfish; self-important; asshat. She is almost constantly condescending, as well, which makes matters even worse. When she speaks, I feel this deep need to push her face through a brick wall with the front bumper of my car. Well, whatever. The character is just not pleasant. No big deal. Now, where was I? Ah... I have to be careful in avoiding the pit of despair today. Her eyes will not let up and I don’t know how to deal with so many reminders of everything that is either gone or both gone and never to come along again in life. I need reasons to avoid the soil, yet they continue to fade away, completely beyond my control. I don’t like this shit at all. As you can see, my current emotional state is precluding any ability to follow a narrative or topic sentence within these paragraphs. In short, I am much worse off right now than yesterday at this time. The eyes have it. Her eyes were far too sweet for me to forget. I need to hold her. More importantly, I need her to hold me. Nope. My horizon in reality is beginning to resemble that of the netherworld... Nothingness. I wish I could know what lies beyond that fucking line. The morning routine is out of the way and I met with the estimator for my upcoming gate installation. I’d like that to be complete prior to the shed arriving. I’ll have to trim our plum tree, as well. That’s an easy one. I must say that the house is improving quite a bit since the shed plan began to take shape. Every space will benefit. Goddamn does Osha ever have huge eyes. Wow. She’s pretty scary, yet the eyes are amazing. Rarely have I seen their equal. I will refrain from yesterday’s eyes... The girl. I believe I’ve already gone around the world with my feelings for her. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, I may or may not run some laundry, and aside from that, not much will be accomplished today. I don’t feel very well and need to sit here and ponder my entire fucking life. Roxanne’s character is about to disappear from the series. Ooh-fa. I’ll miss her (just like all the others). Who cares? Do my feelings even fucking MATTER? Her name in the series is Doreah and I need to kiss her labia for six months. Shut up. And now I have to see Natalie’s big, beautiful eyes? Thanks. Just fuck me in the ass with Satan’s scalding-hot, thorned tail. Splendid. Blah, blah, blah... Killmecakes. From here forward, I suppose the best plan is to run the aforementioned laundry and then take care of some garage work. The fence estimator indicated that the crew will need access behind the chest freezer to anchor one post to the wall. I already moved a few items off the shelf, so I guess I’ll continue with that process just in case the scheduled installation arrives soon. I’d also like to take some measurements along the south wall for the future, as in post-shed construction. There will be lots of wall space and I am planning another mural, one far larger and more dramatic than the others. I already have the lumber and lighting, so I can make revolutions toward the goal of seeing it lit at night. People already question the appearance of the garage at night – some don’t feel comfortable standing among all of my symbols – and my intention is to cause more questions and concern. I am not a happy person, so anything with the ability to lift my stance is welcomed. The look of the garage at night is one of those aspects of living here with such power. I need it, and I need people to be unable to understand me. Small steps are all that are required for the time being. Maybe I’ll head out there after lunch. The sea awaits... ‘She was another example of that which you must overcome.’ ‘No fucking way. Really? I was just looking.’ ‘Weakness allowed her to enter your heart at second glance.’ Well, there it is. I guess no matter what I do or where I look or turn, something will always be wrong with my behavior. Julia is right on the money, though. The girl did enter my heart, and the reason was her fucking eyes. There was so much sweetness that I could barely understand how a creature with such power could have been created in the first place. I am so weak that the slightest hint of attention – not even actual affection – sends me into a tailspin. That is desperation, pure and simple. All it takes is a fucking glance and I go insane. Such feelings are indicative of several problems, as well. Not only do I feel completely fucking tormented when a situation like yesterday develops out of thin air, but afterward I have trouble going through the simplest motions or chores because my head ends up filled with ‘what-ifs’ and other questions. I also go back in time and recall those two damned situations that have ruined me for all time, and all that accomplishes is the creation of a mass of anger. I realize I am all fucked up. I know it all too well, and at the same time I can’t help but believe that there can be someone out there with the ability to take it all away. Whatever that is, one aspect is certain... I am losing my fucking mind. Julia said ‘weakness’ allowed that girl to enter my heart and I cannot disagree. She was just another example of how weak and desperate I’ve become. Moreover, each occasion sends me further down the rabbit hole and inflicts deeper pain. I don’t see how this place is supposed to help, either. I am made to sit and float along with nary a clue as to a destination, all the while I’m left to think that my behavior is dead wrong. What the fuck am I supposed to do after all this time? Put a huge smile on my face and act like life can improve? Tell me how, damn it, and maybe I’ll try. Otherwise, I don’t believe any of this shit can help me live any better. Period. Oy... The water seems unsettled now. The peaks are growing and rocking my little boat more and more. This just fucking happened, too. No sooner did I mention that I can’t see anything improving, when the waves rose and removed my line of thinking. I may be stubborn about things, but I am rarely incorrect. Rocking. Rolling. No music. Nothing is funny. Maybe Julia will finally put me in the water and kill me at long last. Days of this shit is just too much. Bigger wake is not helping me remain comfortable in this fucking boat. Something is happening. ‘Are you becoming uncomfortable?’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘As you wish.’ Marvelous. Now I am probably fucked. The waves continue to rise and my little boat is rocking nearly enough to send me overboard. Is that Julia’s intention? Her vague words are not fucking helping, to be honest. I am supposed to be learning, yet she will not make anything clear. What am I to think? Was that beautiful girl yesterday some kind of lesson in reality? I don’t get it. Julia might kill me, but after all these different worlds and journeys, I already know that something else will be created to test me. The plain truth is no matter what she does or where I end up, the two shit situations cannot be denied, removed from memory, or otherwise minimized enough for me to be comfortable in life. There is no denying such a fact. I don’t understand. And now the big one: When she asks me if I know what I have to do, is the correct answer the idea of putting those situations behind me and moving forward? How in the blue fuck am I supposed to let go of all that pain, all those years lost to heartache and yearning, and the torture I feel when I see something beautiful? Is that a fair question? Are any of my questions fair? I love Julia tremendously. I really do. She was created by my own mind. We have embraced and enjoyed the deepest comfort imaginable. Have I been wrong all this time? Years have passed since I died on the railroad tracks – the worst, most disheartening scene through which I have ever lived – and I still can’t comprehend what Julia wants me to do. She is the one who created that journey and was responsible for the damaging scenes through which I had to stroll, the end being the worst. I died right there within feet of finally learning the purpose of all those railroad cars, and nothing ever came of it. Being reminded of shit situation number one was very unpleasant and I really don’t need any more of that stuff in my life. I already have reminders each day that do not fail to appear no matter what I may be doing. That is the part that really grates against my willingness to continue trying to learn from all this. The shit is in the past, set for all time in stone, and there is nothing I can do about it, yet she carries on questioning and throwing me into these fucking situations thinking that I can overcome the past and find a more peaceful, fulfilling life. I don’t fucking think so, rolyaT. Look it up. Anyway, the sea seems to be calming now after my little mental tirade. Very good. I must sit here and consider what I was thinking and then try to answer the big question; I need to know what it is Julia wants me to do. She never says anything clearly unless I’ve fucked up. Now that the water is letting up its influence on my little boat, I can only assume that Julia has calmed, as well. Maybe I’ve driven the point home enough by now. The sea is calmer than prior to that little upheaval. Hmm. I guess I did ok this time. Usually when I bring Julia to the point of causing train wrecks, explosions, storms or any other type of disaster, I end up flashed to somewhere else and left to wonder what I did wrong. Oh, I've been wrong on plenty of occasions, yet at the same time I've also been quite correct, such as when I referenced those two situations from the past. There is simply no way around that shit anymore, and regardless of her actions, questions, or my words, no power exists that can remove those two traumas, nor can I come to terms with either of them for the purpose of increasing my own self-esteem or improving daily life. Forty years is a very long time to carry anything. So is the sheer number of occasions that found me in one type of therapy or another. If Julia could let up on those situations and their crippling, years-long effects upon every fucking aspect of my life, perhaps I can get the hell out of here. After all this time, I am actually unwilling to entertain the idea of ‘acceptance’, even if it extends my lifespan. I can’t do it. No way. That period created the person sitting here right now – good and bad as I may be to others – and if they fade away over time, I may not be the same person. That means the good will leave with the bad. I can’t have that. The ideal path for me to follow would be to take that period into consideration each time I have trouble living through a single day without becoming preoccupied with suicide, and then backing off. Other people may not appreciate such a thought, but the truth is that I must care for myself before anyone else. That is a process I have yet to achieve. In short, I will not apologize for who and what I have become. If the two shit situations disappear from my life, I will not be the same person. And forgive me, but such a stance would mean that something special could be lost. That statement is not a conceit. I’ve been good for other people... Helpful; knowledgeable; generous. They should thank their lucky fucking stars, but I digress. The sea is fully calmed. The sky remains unchanged. This world is now silent. All I can hear is my own breathing. Very interesting. Julia will most likely take issue yet again with my feelings for that beautiful pair of eyes at the market. I can’t blame her, either, because my heart is pretty weak and seeing a person like her should not have such a dramatic effect upon my psyche. That girl represents the deepest need inside me. I fucking NEED her to hold me and state in no uncertain terms that everything will be alright. This place makes me yearn for her touch even more than reality, yet the latter must intrude. The sea is calm. My mind is not. I need her. The next day... But does the day matter? Nope. I did work in the garage yesterday and upended my entire system of organization. The huge mural that will live on the south wall is partly built. Sometime later today I’ll have to move a few more things around so the car will fit inside. Right now I have too much shit swirling inside my head to really make any decent plans, so for the time being I’ll just wait. I have coffee and Natalie’s big eyes to keep me company. My feelings for the latter are dead-on matches to everything which has already been going on inside me. I can’t help it. Beauty does that, especially when there is a touch of sweetness to the look; bearing my mind toward the possibility that the owner of the eyes might understand. Or, at least, try to help. The girl in the store created the highest order of that wish. The scene has switched from Natalie to Nathalie. I wish that was funny. The dreams and wishes do not leave me, ever, meaning every single fucking moment of each day – no matter what I am doing, not doing, or thinking – is occupied by feelings of emptiness, loss, and assuredness of a bleak future filled with the same and nothing more. Those eyes catalyze my heart every fucking time. ‘She’ or ‘her’; whatever the case, my need has never been more acute than it is at this very moment. All the good I did yesterday no longer matters because I can only feel pleased for a split second before everything comes back and I fall away. I don’t know what I’ll be doing later today. No idea. Maybe nothing. I have to go to the market again for two items and I sincerely hope the visit comes and goes without problems. I don’t need to see her again, but I need her to wrap her arms around me and put an end to this shit once and for all. Nope. Nothing. My head is really going through it this morning. The difficulty will not fucking let up. I am tempted to go back to the other essay, but that always conjures beautiful memories and never ends well. The compulsion knows no bounds, though. If I return there, the morning will turn into a disaster, for sure. I have never needed ‘her’ so badly. This shit will come to a head at some point, mark my words. I have to go to the market so I can feel a little good upon returning. Done. My usual morning housework is finished, too. I have a load of laundry running, and gaining access to the area as well as being able to lower the swinging clothing rack required moving some things around. My garage is in disarray right now, but it’s no big deal. I have to make a bit of a mess in order to create improvements. I should be able to accomplish more after lunch if I can find the motivation to do anything but sit here. I’ll finish the laundry in good time and then the afternoon will be wide-open, yet my brain is so sogged with damaging information that I doubt I can lift a fucking finger in any productive direction. There was nothing to see at the store. The only issues are already at work inside me. The program on my right-hand display is glitching again. Damn. I may have to switch to something else. Pause. The streaming media is no longer glitching. This is good because the writing, acting and direction are fucking outstanding. It is one of the highest-rated television series in the history of the medium, and for very good reason. The entire production is fucking unbelievable and I love it. Too bad my dreams never went anywhere because I was afraid of everything. I’ll never know if the path would have led anywhere better than where I am right fucking now. I’ll never know. I did nothing. I was scared. Marvelous. Anyway, this program is so fucking amazing that each time I run through the episodes, I often can’t believe what I am seeing and hearing. Once the viewer becomes emotionally invested in the characters, the love for some nearly offsets the loathing of others. The gradient is vast. None of this matters. Ugh. ‘Progress peaked at frozen pizza.’ – John McClane. I can’t disagree. Lunch is in the oven and the laundry is almost finished. My garage is closed – typically due to clothing that must air-dry on the rack – but will be opened after I eat a little something. I still need to finalize the plan for the latest mural, meaning the garage will probably be a bit messy until I get things in order. I have to attach two pieces of plywood to the first half of the wall panel, place it in position, and then install mounts to the second half. Once those are complete, I can organize everything and clear the center of the garage. Something just came to mind as related to my desire to be home most of the time. I have to bring the car over the hill tomorrow for service (I have an appointment in the morning) and will need to kill some time during the process. The plan is to take a stroll to a nearby department store and shop for a few clothing needs and then likely return to the dealership to wait. Thursday means I need to go on a little adventure later this morning. I have the other car and will be dropping it off at the dealer for service, during which I may or may not have time to go shopping across the street. I am a bit concerned about being exposed out there sans the benefit of my car, although every occasion of such feelings typically eases once I arrive at my destination. I am not overly worried, just a bit nervous it will pass. Returning home will feel a thousand times better, too. I’ll have to keep that in mind. My usual daily business will commence after the car is serviced. I am having trouble doing anything else right now because going over the hill and dealing with people is not exactly my favorite activity. Depending upon the time required for them to finish and oil change and tire rotation, I may simply relax in their waiting area rather than taking a walk. Moreover, I forgot to grab my sunglasses from the other car before it left. Damn. I do have a backup pair, but I never liked them very much. Ugh. I guess I’d better get ready. And... My business is now finished at just after twelve. Not bad. The service went very well and I indeed walked to the big department store and did some shopping. Upon returning to the dealership, I relaxed in their comfortable lounge with some water and read the book I have on my phone. The show is glitching again. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, since everything is out of the way and my head feels better due to being home again, I may not plan much for after lunch. Then again, a second wind is not out of the question. Sometimes being busy in the garage as I work toward the goal of the new mural helps push the beautiful, stirring (read: impossible) eyes and other shit out of me for a little while. The work is tedious compared to my typical chores around the house because I have to keep moving certain items out of the way in order to focus upon the wall, and then everything goes back into place when I am finished for the day. Those items are a small portion of what will eventually live in the shed, meaning I rather jumped the gun with the beginning of the new mural. Had I waited another month, the process would be much more straightforward. I guess I became excited about the prospect of creating something new and dramatic. No big deal. Maybe I will go out there in a little bit. Hmm. I did just that. A few hours in the garage and the entire back panel (two full sheets of plywood) is in place and leveled. I also put the other two large decorations to the left of the big square. They are nice and level, as well. As I mentioned earlier, I had to move everything again, but I will say that each time I do, the process gets a bit easier. There is also the opportunity to toss some things in the trash; mostly crap I haven’t seen for a long while. Friday morning is here regardless of my needs or concern for the passage of time. The morning has been peaceful and I will continue to relax and gather my thoughts quite a bit longer than usual due to so much having taken place this week, all of which commanded my attention and time and even took me out of the house on three occasions. Today shall be all for me. As of yet, all I've done is a bit of preliminary work on the daily chores and sipped coffee. Soon I'll have to take care of the rest so that I can decide whether or not to go any further. As I said, the work is eased each time I step into the garage. One more time; the bad place must be visited... The sea pays no mind. Nothing has changed for quite a while, either. No voices; no sounds; no nothing. I am just sitting here on very calm water and left to my thoughts. All of the good and bad has been flowing through me like two dedicated rivers; neither is more powerful than the other. The eyes pull me, and then I become sad, eventually that sadness turns to anger because I am left with nothing (like always, and for a very long time). The process soon repeats. I have no avenues to explore; no options to weigh. I am on a straight line in life. I don’t even know if the fucking boat is moving anymore. Earlier, I thought I could spy a bit of a ‘V’ emanation from the bow when the water was still a bit rougher. Perhaps I was mistaken the entire time. In any case, I am definitely not moving right now. Either something will change sooner rather than later, or I am meant to sit here and further analyze. Splendid. I thought I already went over as much as possible; the two situations having taken over my entire existence and disallowed true happiness, connections or fulfillment. Career paths? One of those situations destroyed the possibilities before any presented themselves, thus rendering me too fearful to move in any direction. Hence? I sat still in life and did my best to seek as much comfort and security as possible, from lavish trips allowing me to blend in and become a ‘number’, on to the smallest details of my personality, such as creating a ‘barrier’ between myself and others while in restaurants. I sought atmosphere and beautiful locales within which to sink and blend. Very few people understood my way of thinking, most likely believing that I enjoyed the exotic appearance of some rare places. The truth was I needed to hide and keep myself out of anyone’s line of sight as often as was feasible, hence the ‘barriers’. Darkness was paramount. All of that would have been completely upended had I followed one of the dreams in life. Nope. Too scared. Situation number two fucked me good. All the while, the first situation took its toll on my mind and body, often one much more than the other. The process usually led to an even stronger need to hide myself away. The major problem with that idea was a deep-seated need for there to be someone on my arm to tell me I’d be ok. There it is, plain and simple. None of this shit, be it trains or resorts, doors or seas, is going to change the way I live my life. I just don’t see how it could. Julia may have other ideas, too. I need to be ready just in case there is another flash and I end up elsewhere with even more fucking questions. Thanks, doll. For the time being – because I already know full well that there will be a change at some point – I am going to try to understand why I felt so much fucking torment and pain when I saw that girl at the market the other day. Julia even mentioned that my weakness and desperation seem to be not only at an all-time high, but increasing exponentially with no end in sight. The only factor seems to be the appearance of whatever woman stirs me. The latest was injected into my head and heart so quickly that I thought I’d fucking pass out. After all these years, I still don’t get it. A while ago – perhaps a few years – I calculated that the numbers were enough of an obsession to drive me into the ground whenever I felt the need to ‘know’ why a certain form appeared so attractive. I really needed to measure and understand just when the numbers became pushed far enough (exaggerated) before the subject began to become unattractive. Not long after that? I began to feel deep physical desire upon noticing a shape aligned with my obsession, and that was the worst turn of the card imaginable. It basically represented the end to any hopes of measurement or drawing, or anything else, really. I wallowed. Now? The desire is out of control on two different fronts: One is obvious, and the other is my desperate need to BE held rather than to hold. I don’t ever see it changing, nor do I believe anything will come along or be discovered in the future which can alleviate the pain. This would seem to be an impossible conundrum and I don’t even know why I have to go over it so much. I’m fucking sick and tired of this condition. ‘Leave the other information alone.’ ‘Why? It is compelling and beautiful.’ ‘It is destroying you. That particular part of your life is over.’ ‘Fuck off, woman.’ Great. Julia is telling me to leave the essay with all of the trauma and memories out of my life. How the hell can I do that when it represents the only positive aspect of living in a very long time? I can’t just let go of all that shit because sometimes I need to read it, or possibly add a few lines because the mood strikes. While it is true that wherever I revisit the essay I end up in a dark mood, at the same time I truly NEED to recall such beautiful moments due to them now being completely absent. I don’t see the possibility of anything on the horizon, so going back in time is all I fucking have. ‘Destruction, my love.’ ‘Yes, I know. But how?’ ‘You are already aware of the process. I need not detail it for you.’ ‘I fucking hate this shit.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Here we go again... Julia feels sympathy for me, but at the same time she tries to force me into behavior that I really don’t want to embrace. Shit. What do I do now? Jump out of the boat to illustrate the depth of my despair? The essay describes some of the best times of my life, and then heads into the present reality with deep descriptions of how I’ve been affected by everything having disappeared – ripped and torn away in a violent manner and leaving me more broken than ever before – possibly forever. My emotions run the gamut when I read or add to it. All of that information came about due to reality and the way I lived for a while, and the truth of the matter is that NONE of it would have taken place had it not been for the effects of the two shit situations. Julia needs to understand that, once and for all. I am tired of sitting in this fucking boat and having to pare every thought down to the number two. And yes, those fucking periods more than forty years ago. They explain everything except why I can’t seem to live without them. This had better be the end of Julia issuing suggestions that I disregard memories that are beautiful. Yes, they cause pain, but only because I do not envision ever being that comfortable again. Period. That information represents the end of me. And if this is all there is to be, I will not know how to live my life any differently. That much is certain. I am barely hanging on at all, let alone truly enjoying everything because there is always a cloud of shit just above my head waiting to pounce and ruin whatever is happening. There is another small road trip next month that entails a nice hotel stay and dinner in one of my favorite restaurants. It will be an opportunity to bring the camera and capture trains, plus I’ll be able to dress nice and wear one or more of my watches. That all seems wonderful, yet I already know there will be bad things in my vision, difficulty in spending time with two other people and holding back my torment, and upon returning home – whatever amount of comfort that may entail – means I’ll be right back here with a head full of hell. There is just nothing I can do about it. The sea is all around and will follow me wherever I go. Julia’s words will ring over and over inside my brain. And as I have pointed out on too many occasions to recall, each day is a little bit worse than the last, and that means next month I’ll be in worse shape than I am right now, and this is pretty fucking bad. I just don’t know what the fuck to do anymore except continue to think about everything. I end up sad, angry, or a combination of the two, both leading nowhere except deep depression. There is no relief; there are no outlets; there is nothing on the horizon aside from more of the same. I don’t see myself living much longer regardless of what Julia tries to teach me. This is completely fucked up. I have never felt so bad, and that’s not the first time I pointed out the truth. The water is becoming rough again, yet there is no wind. Very rough. As I think about the motion, it increases. What the fuck? There are no faces in the water so I should be thankful, but I don’t understand what has... Ah, shit... I can barely hang on to the... Splash! Some sort of weight or restriction will not allow me to right myself or swim... My legs barely work and I can see the light above fading quickly. Fuck... Gulp! ::: choke ::: Dim. Everything is dimming now. I am half full of... Blackness. Dead. I knew it."
April 19th, 2024 10:43am pdt
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The Sea
read ( words)
"Now what do we do? Continue sitting here, floating along an undetermined and uncertain path? Where are we going? Anywhere? Nowhere? Ah... Shit. Two must turn back to one because something just happened that we could not have expected. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ The question is now posed in the singular? Why? No more 'we' or 'us'? Fuck. Just... Fuck. I don’t want to hear Julia’s voice, but at the same time it is welcomed. I’ve been floating here for days without any external sounds or anything of the like. I miss it sometimes. The scene has changed. I am alone; ‘we’ are no longer the same. I am fucking alone, depressed, lonely and scarred too deeply to deal with her question right now. I’ve heard it on so many occasions that I could not even begin to count them all. Years have passed, and many journeys later I still can’t answer that woman. I expect that something will change soon, perhaps a way out of this boat. Every time Julia appears (even just in voice), I end up jumping through hoops and running around trying to find clues as to the reasons she places me in different, very confusing situations. They are often painful, as well. I don’t want any of that shit right now because I am having a hard enough time trying to understand this world. ‘Do you remember?' Ah, fuck me in a muddy ditch. Remember what, exactly? All of the other scenes through which I’ve already lived? The trains? Mountains? I don’t need this right now, damn it. Thanks to Julia’s voice, keywords are once again orbiting my fucking brain. Again... Damn it. What am I supposed to remember? Something from the roundhouse when her lesson ended up turned on its ear? Or maybe my loving relationship with Miramannee (Julie)? We were so happy and content to be there next to the river and surrounded by a plethora of natural beauty. Maybe I’m going to be punished for ignoring lessons as the two of us lived from day to day. I left everything behind because the trouble was causing heartache and pain and I needed to let go. Could that be the answer to Julia’s question? Or is it something else? So much has transpired throughout the years and several worlds that I can’t begin to answer her. Something must change, or at least I should be provided with a clue of some flavor. Maybe? No answer. There are never answers, only more questions and cryptic dialog, the extent of which has turned me against possibility. I am no longer open to what may take place in the future. Too bad for me. I do have an inkling of a thought that Julia may be referring to the doors and their differing interpretations. Hmm. Instead of ‘inkling’, perhaps I should have said ‘sinking’, as in a feeling. I don’t want to see any doors because after all was said and done – probably only a pause and not an end after those difficult times – I learned nearly nothing and came out the other side worse off than at the beginning. I really don’t feel like driving or working on the antennas. The latter will not require more than an hour, yet it still seems insurmountable. I have my morning stuff done and a drink (of course), but zero interest in doing anything else at the moment. Maybe the mood will change; maybe not. Now the day is Thursday. I did not drive over the hill yesterday, but I did fix both of the antenna problems; the radio signals are much stronger now and my link to the WWVB is repaired. I can’t mount it on the mast yet because of the weather. Once those issues were alleviated, I took the rest of my time relaxing. Since driving has been pushed to today, I no longer have a choice. Once my coffee is gone, I’ll head over there and get the job out of the way. Everything else is up in the air right now because the rain has returned and the concrete project has been tentatively pushed to late next week. Working inside the house may be my only option for the time being, although I can move a few things around in the garage, too. A little while later and I am sitting at the control center gazing at the lovely Roxanne and her unbelievably beautiful facial structure. The sight is very depressing (plus I am not happy that she decided to perform a scene with torso nudity). For whatever reason, I feel a bit more positive than I did earlier. The feeling of remaining home took over for a moment and I realized that the best time to leave the house and run errands is when I desire it the least. Now that I’ve driven, fueled the car and picked up the booze order, everything seems a little bit more comfortable. My routine is out of the way, too, meaning the free time window is now wide-open for the taking. Well, if I decide to do anything, that is. There are so many little improvements which I walk past each day that sometimes I believe I am far less capable of furthering myself than I had thought a few years ago. I am speaking of ‘little things’, such as the hub that still waits to be mounted to the underside of this table, or the fact that I need to relocate the tower from the table to the subwoofer. There are others, too. Many. Eventually, I will either give up on those projects or attack them while half in the bag. Which will prevail? There is no way to know. The pain is haphazard and very difficult to predict, meaning I never know what mood to expect each day. For the moment, I am comfortable sitting at the control center with the time and space to consider every option. That is not everything, however. I have found myself pondering the idea that perhaps if Roxanne were to appear and darken my doorstep, all of the bad would disappear. What do you think? Is such a dream wholly out of balance? Or am I simply reaching for anything with the power to help these painful days pass more comfortably? Maybe I should embrace the ill-advised second cocktail and see what develops. The house is quiet right now. It may not remain as such if my mood does not improve. Earlier, I mentioned that upon arriving home after fueling the car and driving over the hill, the positives were illuminated. Two hours later they are fading fast. This is an everyday occurrence because memories and emotional turmoil are far more compelling than anything else. They command me; dictate my actions more often than anything I see as uplifting. Most days there is literally nothing I can do about their deep effects upon my psyche. It is the rare occasion that finds me rising above after painfully forcing the issue by getting into some errant chore when I do not even remotely feel like moving around the house at all. Talk about fucking difficult; the entire idea is pathetic and I hate it, but sometimes there is just no way out of that little, depressing box. I am hoping to rise above this shit today. Time will tell, as will my strength. Ugh. Another day has disappeared and left me here to wonder if the time was worthwhile at all. Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting here feeling almost the same as I do right now, neither of which is a positive state. I indeed rose above for a little while yesterday afternoon. Today may be a different story because I need not leave the house. That means there may be no ‘up’ as opposed to the rewarding feeling of returning here after doing something I’d rather avoid. I need not leave the house. That means lots of time to work on whatever... But I cannot predict the mood at the close of business hours today. Good or bad. I just don’t know. Right now everything is fine because I have the editor, my program over there on the right, and coffee. Morning is thinking time. Once the morning disappears, the issues can grow beyond my ability to minimize them so they don’t affect the day too much. The more I think about this, the more I feel I should have a plan in place for such a contingency. Maybe that’s the best idea. The other two essays need to be put on a shelf for a while. One is difficult due to availability. Well, both of them continue to deal with impossibilities, so both are very trying on my mind. One is worse than the other, too. I can’t detail it here, but suffice to say that the Passion is second to the toughest shit with which I’ve ever had to deal in life. The Passion is impossible and very depressing because I am completely in love with it – yes, an inanimate object has that much power over yours truly – yet the other essay has been driven for almost two years (on and off) and weighs more heavily on my head than anything in my life. I think about it every single fucking day of the year. Every fucking day regardless of whether I am in a positive mood or not, those past images and situations call to me because I need them like I need oxygen. Writing about the Passion has become a double entendre from hell. I don’t even want to think about any of that shit. There is no choice in the matter, though, because I am too far gone. ‘You go, and you stay gone. Or you BE gone.’ Grammar aside, he hit the nail on the head. Spoken language is often allowed more leeway than the written word for the simple fact that inflection and emotion must power whatever is being said. ‘Gone’. Indeed. The point is well-taken. I already know what is on the other side of that statement. What was I saying? Ah... The very difficult, ongoing saga that I can’t seem to release. I have added lines here and there on occasion and often go back to recall certain scenes. The process damages me more than I can express, but I do it anyway. Even after a pause of months, I returned and wrote more of the past because I could not get the difficulty and pain out of my head and body. I had to write. Before I become angry and start to hate everything in the world, I must leave this alone once again. The wristwatch is one topic; the other entirely different and is going to kill me, sure as hell. One of these days... Wait for it. I’ve been speaking of the exit for a very long time. Make no mistake... Time is the only issue. This will happen when I can literally take no more. I guess this is one of those mornings that finds me unable to remove certain information from my brain to allow forward motion. I am hurting inside. Badly. The essays are going to be left alone for an undetermined period of time. I don’t want to end up in the ground today. Everything hurts. Call me what you will. Past circumstances continue to take their toll and very few individuals seem to give a fuck. I am not well. There is a strong possibility that I was reminded of that painful essay due to the program I have been watching during evenings. I could not begin to describe the vast amount of very picturesque forms that flow across the screen during certain scenes. The imagery is mind-boggling, but at the same time I realize what drives sales and entertainment in this nation, especially the prevalence it had twenty years ago when the series was new. When I made the decision to watch, it was because of aspects that I really enjoy, one actor I love, and the scenery of the city and state, not necessarily a billion female forms all over the place. They are a massive downside, and likely send me off a cliff more often than I realize at the time. Whatever. Everything fucking hurts me anymore. I may as well enjoy the show if I’m going to be in pain anyway. The essay relates – slightly – to some of the program material. I believe the more I watch, the more I’ll need to either read or add to that most damaging of entries. This is what I’ve become. Time and circumstance. Fuck off. A little time has passed and my usual stuff is done. I have a load of laundry running for posterity, as well. Other than that crap, I don’t know what to do because the memories have been pervading my every fucking step today. My head is having so much trouble that I don’t know if I can do anything else before late afternoon. This is completely fucked. I can’t get that shit out of my head. I am telling you that if I can’t find other options in the near future, my emotional condition will drive me over the final edge. I am not kidding. The current period has almost become too much for me to offset. My saving throws versus reality are nearly gone. I wish I could understand why things must be as they are. I am tempted to say that everything is unfair, but that term still causes trouble. I just don’t know the truth of the matter, so employing the word may not be appropriate. Well, no one will give half a blue fuck either way. In any case, I am not doing well this morning, housework aside. I am scheduled to attend an event for the brotherhood tomorrow morning – the largest and likely most important gathering – and as I sit here right now I have no idea if I’ll even be able to step out the fucking front door. Shit. I hate everything right now. I need ‘her’ so much right now that the knife is close. It is ‘out’. I do not feel well and only ‘she’ can fix it. Do I need to illustrate the ridiculous nature of such a statement? Should I describe it? I didn’t think so. Any reading here during the past four years would have already sent anyone the message that I am completely fucked in the head. Four years. Think about that for a minute. Is ‘she’ out there? Of course not. That woman does not exist, never did, and cannot in the future. ‘Her’ nature and feelings have become skewed and unrealistic beyond belief as my decline has progressed. They are even. One created the other, and then one distorted the other. This will continue until my death. ‘Roadies?!’ ‘Oh... You don’t wanna know.’ Believe me on that one. Just believe it. There is more here than anyone knows. And I mean ANYONE. Throughout the last nine years, precisely two individuals have been exposed to what I have become, and even they did not receive the full image. Trust me. I am far worse off than what you may believe. Well, if anyone gives half a shit, that is. I fucking doubt it. Why would anyone cast a glance in my direction? Why? I can’t find a reason. You probably can’t, either. Whatever. I am in a very bad state right now. Some of the situations I described in the other essay are fucking haunting me right now. This has been happening all morning and I can’t seem to get any of that information out of my head. I can’t relax and clear myself of enough trouble to do anything else. My program is running on the right-hand display, I have the typical glass of whiskey sitting on the left, yet inside my head is a cyclone of pain and trauma. The past – both near and far – is killing me inside and holding me back from making any progress on the house. The laundry is languishing in the machine because I need to fold a few sheets that have been in the dryer for two days. Lifting a hand toward anything productive feels nearly impossible. I can’t stop the carousel of images that is rotating in my brain. Motion pictures are playing out, too. This is all so very damaging that the knife will not leave my head. Today is Friday, April the fifth. I am going to lose my mind very soon. This is no way to live. I can’t fucking believe how much things have changed in the space of six months. I just can’t believe it. Is this the shape of things to come? Those who love me had better hope not. I am not kidding. For years I’ve stated that the end is near. I may be on a road with no exits. Or turns. Let us see what the afternoon brings. Yep. Nothing. I don’t understand. Am I paying the tab? The idea needs to be made abundantly clear before I will fully accept it. I mean... Yes, I can see such a fact, but the truth is that if it is true, I may as well stop trying because the die is cast and cooled. So is the tool with its galleries, connections and passages. Look it up. The point is I can see how my current condition could be viewed as payment for so much having gone aslant due to my past actions and decisions. I just need solid evidence. I already know that the shift from two years ago which caused my brain to alter the way it operates is plenty. My beliefs are but one small part of the situation, though. Just a segment. Maybe I should create a pie chart. Hmm. This is no way to live. Sunday morning is here, thank the maker. I went to the gathering yesterday and enjoyed it quite a bit before making a stealthy exit just prior to two o’clock. Being away from home early in the morning did fuck up my normal schedule, but today I should be back on track and exactly where I need to be. The drive this morning was uneventful aside from one of the market employees smiling at me... Twice. Perhaps I was smiling at her in the first place. I don’t know. People rarely look at me, although my eyes are almost constantly scanning the area for anything interesting. I will say that the market and drive this morning helped me return to my usual mindset, meaning I have the day to myself without any hiccups in the schedule. I fully intend to embrace everything I can today, from housework to whatever else. The woman at the market will be in mind, sometimes. I believe the reason for the exchange is that I know her from some other place or time here in town. I can’t be certain. She is not ‘her’, obviously. Moreover, I am so pleased to have the entire day to myself that her smile is already nearly gone. Had it been the other one... The Hispanic beauty with the kind eyes... My reaction would be quite the reverse. Anyway, all lovely, exotic, market produce workers aside, today is mine. That includes a shitload of time sitting right here to make up for yesterday. The last of the coffee is next to me. Afterward, I will begin the Sunday business and try to get the other essay out of my brain (again). That stuff just never stops. It only pauses from time to time and I can’t predict the feelings. I need to be able to relax because I can already sense a bunch of trouble brewing in the background, none of it being related to the smile from earlier. That was not a big deal. I am referring to the past, the memories that haunt me all the time, and the loss of very fulfilling and joyous times, most notably the glowing years. There was another reminder of that period while driving back from the City. At least when my housework begins I’ll be following along with the fourth series which began at the trailing end of that beautiful era. The second and third series were right in the middle of the best time of my life. As for the memories, they illuminate everything that is now missing from inside me. I see plenty while out among the masses. The rest remains in my brain and is very clear. I will refrain from citing examples. The Sunday business should help. Garbage, laundry, straightening up, the rest. I am hoping that once I put the show on the televisions and get busy with my stuff, all this difficulty will fade and help me to remain productive into the afternoon. There is always plenty to do, especially considering I was out of the house yesterday for six hours. I felt disconnected. At least ‘she’ left my head for a while. Better than nothing. ‘Do you know what you have to do?’ ‘Stop asking me that question, damn it.’ ‘You created this journey. Do you know why?’ ‘No. Tell me.’ ‘You shall see forsooth.’ Splendid. I’ve been floating out here in the middle of nowhere and Julia will not stop questioning me or my actions. Is the past responsible? ‘You are responsible.’ ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
I really don’t need any more of these crazy adventures. Maybe I really should head over the side and see what develops. Maybe Julia will allow me to die for real. Eh... This is not real. Bad idea. I’ll probably end up on a fucking train somewhere in the desert. I wish that was funny. Wait a minute... What is in the water? Shit. Faces. I see them all murky, just below the surface. That reminds me of the third (second?) installment of the Rings trilogy when Frodo saw those people beneath the water. I know the faces; I can identify all of them. Women. Girls. They are all from my past, much like while I was stuck in that beautiful roundhouse and each person was at the controls of their own locomotives. During that insane scene, the only thought was that the locomotives each represented their individual lives, and for whatever reason they were all pointed at me as I stood on the turntable. Pointed? I don’t know. Real roundhouses do not contain turntables; they are always located outside, beyond the doors to the shop. This is different because I only see faces and they are stable; in place. They are also looking at me as if I need to say or do something from the boat. The sea continues to pay no mind as it remains unchanged, the sky swirling above without regard for whatever is beginning to develop down here. I know all of them. Each face is from a different period of my past and held its fair share of difficulties and other problems inherent in my ability to adapt or otherwise locate the ‘good’ in each relationship. I am beginning to believe that the idea of paying the tab is not so far-fetched. I always needed more; sometimes much more. I never felt that my needs were balanced or ‘fair’, either. The two shit situations heavily influenced my desires almost constantly. There were occasions in which I felt happy, though. I mean that. Those two situations caused me to be fairly selfish, so perhaps I am meant to face the music while held captive on the sea. I can’t know for sure because Julia will not give me a straight answer to anything. I hear questions and still do not know what to do about them, even after five years of this shit. All those places; all those names beginning with the letter ‘J’, and so many miles traveled across deserts and whatever the fuck else have hardly taught me anything. I know I was selfish. I know that I did not communicate much due to feeling like half a ‘man’, and that statement can only hold water if I ever was one in the first place. The two shit situations were inflicted upon me; not my doing. The way I’ve carried myself and viewed other people became skewed as a result. Such facts continue to this very moment and I hope Julia does not expect me to alter the way I think or live just because I have caused problems in the past. The faces may also be nothing more than reminders of how I arrived in this place. No, not the sea. I am talking about where I am in life right now and the fact that the way I think will not stop distorting itself as the days fly by. I have stated many times that I know what I am, and I’ve also made it very clear that I am not proud of what I’ve become. But... What about those two situations from forty-plus years ago? My formative years were completely derailed and nearly destroyed as a result, so I still don’t believe I can be held responsible for so much, most notably the issues attached to a bunch of faces staring back at me. I am already miserable enough. Reminders will only hurt me further. Do I have a choice in the matter? Nope. I am stuck in this little boat for Christ-knows how long, and the worst part of this situation is the fact that I have apparently not learned a fucking thing from either Julia’s intended lessons or the appearance of anything from the past. The faces are going to cause their fair share of problems. I wish I could steel myself against whatever may be coming in the future. Again... Nope. I am powerless here, just like every other netherworld that has come down the pike in the last four years. I love and hate that woman at the same time. She knows me entirely too well. Maybe such a fact serves me right. If I must pay, I may as well take care of everything all at once. This place is horrible. ‘Take them away, please.’ ‘Oh, you’re pleading with me now? Did I hit a nerve?’ ‘I already faced one of those situations and thought I destroyed it.’ ‘You did no such thing, mister.’ What the fuck does she mean by that? The passenger car... The gun... All those people and the gunman were supporting me. Was I wrong? I killed him in a very painful, violent manner. I faced down the man that was that boy. Maybe Julia is upset with me because I learned a mental lesson and then continued to write about all of the same problems despite the scene in the railroad car. Is that it? Why can’t I get a simple straight answer? Anything? Hello? Silence. The faces are still there. And as far as I am aware, all of them are still alive in reality, save for one. I can’t be certain, though. The only clear fact is that the Raven is gone. She left this world almost nine years ago at the tender age of twenty-four and I still feel the loss every single fucking day. God damn did I ever love that woman. She knew a portion of what I am. Given enough time, that stunning creature would have learned the rest. Of that I have zero doubt. The Raven was the only woman who truly aligned with my views of the world. I wish I could know if She may have aligned with Ashley’s beliefs. Well, had such a circumstance developed all those years ago, I probably would have joined Her. The world turned its back on one of the most unique examples of a person imaginable. As I sit in this little boat, I swear that if Julia takes issue with the Raven or my feelings for Her, I will end everything in a cold second. I am not kidding, either. I can't take that shit from anyone. The mind can conjure much in this world or any other, and such a fact lends to the idea of control. If I die in reality, none of the other worlds will exist. That is the only power I truly have. The faces will not let up on me, nor will my mind let up on the idea that the reason they are here is to destroy me once and for all. I cannot abide such a circumstance, Julia’s wishes or otherwise. I’ve had quite enough of this shit. If the faces do not fade or turn to something else, I will force the end. I will not be destroyed by others, only myself. The equation that is unbalanced right now is the idea that I am seeing faces which are significant due to BOTH shit situations, yet the driving force always seems to be the shit that took place in the passenger car nearly five years ago. One step at a time? Maybe? I don’t fucking know. She said I am responsible. For what? The two situations from more than forty years ago? I don’t think so, woman. Or a slough of bad and/or selfish decisions? Yes, that was all me, but she has to keep in mind that comfort, understanding and self-protection pretty well ruled the roost for many years and often flared when I became frightened or suicidal. The underlying issues were already there and would have ruined me for all time had I not made some very uncomfortable choices. They kept me going, for lack of a better description. The Raven was a part of that, as was the problem in the passenger car as well as everything that was related to the goblet. As I said in the beginning, everyone seemed to support my decision to shoot that asshole, so I did. There was no way for me to know the outcome, either. No fucking way. Scared? What did you say? Yes, I was scared out of my fucking mind; nearly as much as when I saw that little boy in the hopper. Nothing good came out of that crap, anyway. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I need the faces to fade away, however. That much is certain. I have to think about all this shit. Julia could really help me by informing me if there is a way to live without all this difficulty and pain following me every fucking day. I haven’t found shit. Maybe she knows. All of the convoluted imagery and crazy trips all over the place are only deepening my feelings of being lost and alone. Back to reality... The time is now a few hours later. I am partially finished with the Sunday business. The routine is finished, laundry is underway, and I have a head start on the garbage, including cleaning out the refrigerator. This is very good because now I can relax with my morning whiskey and gather some thoughts. The difficulty and heartache has been following at each step regardless of any good feelings of accomplishment. At least I have some hours to myself. Roxanne is on the right-hand display again, too. She is so uniquely fucking gorgeous that I can’t even begin to understand the massive gradient that has developed over many years. Not even a bit. I need her to hold me for years and make all of the bad go away. Nope. Her character is not real even if the actor is. I don’t know anything about the actor; the real person. The character is the one with whom I am enamored, just like the others. Jamie? Yep. Nora? Yep. Jolene? Oh, fuck yes. I have much less interest in reality right now than ever before, and such a stance is due to far too many factors to spell out here. Anyway, I was talking about business today. I will probably go a bit further prior to close of business hours because I need tomorrow to arrive with little to no responsibilities. Mondays are very important. As of yet, I’ve found partial success in suppressing the dire feelings which follow me each day. I am on the edge at this very moment. Monday, post-routine. The guys are here preparing the area for the new concrete pad. Excellent. I’ve been in and out of the house all morning, but still managed to finish my usual housework. Now I can relax at the control center with my cocktail. So far, the rectangle has been voided of soil and everything that was removed has been relocated to the opposite side of the yard. I didn’t want them to have to haul the soil and grass away. Now, nearly the entire yard is covered with grass. Very nice. By close of business hours, the entire area will be ready for concrete, which is scheduled to be poured in two days. That means a month from now I can order the shed. This is very good. I was contacted last night with the news that the project could begin this morning, so first thing I had to clear the area and create a smooth pathway through my garage. All of the work this morning combined with interfacing with the contractors (two friends whom I’ve known for a decade and worked with for many years) meant that finding distraction from the shit and depression in my head was pretty easy. Everything will return soon enough, meaning I need to enjoy the day as much as possible prior to falling away. It has occurred. It will occur. Aside from the business, I’ve been considering how best to proceed with storage once the entire project is completed. This is the single largest improvement to the house, save for the old windows being replaced some years ago. I am very pleased and need to maintain this wave as long as possible. The alternative is not good. My head quickly becomes preoccupied with beauty in general, and certain very specific emotions in particular. I don’t want that shit hitting me in the face today. Later. The construction crew has been here since nine and the project is moving along nicely. I am anticipating everything being ready to pour in a few hours. They are having lunch right now – I had a little something, too – and I provided chairs and bottled water so they are comfortable. The job is not easy and I like to help as much as possible. After working for many years in construction, I understand the value of a break. The concrete is indeed scheduled to be poured in two days. Since I was outside interfacing with my friends, I decided to play some music and work on the roof antenna farm. There are now three different antennas up there, two of which will be used for communication and the third for receiving the clock signal from Colorado. The mast looks much better without all of the weather sensors, too. The cable for the clock signal is already inside the garage, as well. I can tap into it whenever the mood strikes. As I suspected (and hoped), the difficulties have been pushed to the rear. I am going to enjoy the lack of heartache and pain for as long as I can today. Monday is behind; Tuesday is here. The purity returned early this morning and broke my fucking heart. The construction crew finished all of the prep work so the slab can be poured tomorrow morning. Everything out there is clean. My two antennas are mounted and one is wired. I can test it later if the mood strikes. I have the entire day to myself. All that I just mentioned... All positives save for one, and that one is killing me more quickly than I had anticipated when I suspected there had been a change two years ago. I am so sad right now that I could burn down the world. The shed project is a major leap for this house, and yet no matter what kinds of wonderful improvements or days come along, the purity or something along the same lines eventually comes along and smashes the quality of everything else. I don’t need to feel this way. There are already plenty of negatives floating inside my head each day. The purity is often the worst of the bunch. This is not fun. Sad. I am just so fucking sad. Yesterday I ran across an article regarding some of the feelings I’ve experienced throughout the past couple of years, and the resulting knowledge was both helpful and disheartening. I’m in a very bad spot here. Powerless, really. Since there is nothing I can do to alleviate some of the sadness, my only option seems to be sitting here typing or lashing out at the world, neither of which have solved anything in the past. What do I do now? Continue going through the motions? If I die on the boat, reality will carry on as if nothing happened. The only result will be yet another resurrection and probably an additional trip into some errant netherworld. The questions and cryptic statements will not stop, ever. Something has to happen, but what? Do you have the fucking answer? Nope... Because there is no detail inherent in these writings. If I expose too much, I’ll be ridiculed, embarrassed and on the receiving end of so much fucking backlash that I’d have to shut down the site, hide myself away and remain away from people for the rest of my life. As much as I need help, I need protection even more. Infinitely more, really. I am out of options save for what has already been suggested. This is a very bad situation. Dangerous, too. Those who care for me are on a slippery slope right now. The morning is horrible thus far. I didn’t ask for this shit. The boat awaits... The faces have faded away. Fallen away? Maybe. One is definitely gone; the rest remain. I remain, as well. I am stuck in the boat and trying to understand what Julia has been displaying. Each face represents a period of time, and the sum of all seems to add up to me being reminded of the problems I’ve caused. The question now is this: What the hell can I do about it? My life is very different now and I am no longer associated with or connected to any of them. I am alone in nearly every sense of the word. So, what is the meaning? Am I meant to feel bad all over again? That shit never completely faded, really. Those eras are always with me. I think about different times here and there and feel like crap all over again, in turn. At least they have disappeared for the time being. I still have to try and understand what Julia meant when she disagreed with my statement about destroying the past (shit situation number one). [As an aside, all of the nonfiction and combined fiction and nonfiction has been removed from the site. I will no longer allow anyone to read those stories. They are far too personal and never should have seen publication in the first place.] Julia came across very differently at the time, and I am speaking of being in the caboose after facing the past head-on. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and yet she does not agree that my solution to that scene helped me at all. I don’t fucking get it. If I am in this boat as payment for the past, I can understand the creation of this world. I really can. If it is something else, perhaps something yet to be encountered, I am at a loss. The sky remains unchanged (as does the light), and the water continues to lap at the sides of the boat. Lost. ‘This morning was a clue, and you cannot remember the catalyst.’ ‘A dream?’ ‘A dream, indeed.’ 'I don't remember anything but some issue with a raven... An actual bird this time.' 'The purity is at issue.' 'Splendid. Leave me alone for a while, please.' 'As you wish.' That’s it. I am definitely being held accountable for my actions and decisions from many years ago. That has to be the reason. How long will this go on? Is the sea all there is left for me? Alone in a boat with terrible memories and an even worse state of mind than ever before? That’s pretty fucking harsh. I’d rather die and lose the ability for thought than float along forever without ever being able to forget anything. This is even more fucked than I had thought a few days ago. Paying the tab. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of all the other shit in my brain. Nothing has changed in days. The water is still dark and fairly calm, the clouds overhead continue to swirl and threaten my little boat, and the horizon remains about as distant as Pluto. I asked Julia to leave me alone for a while and I am pleased with the silence. All I hear is gentle lapping. I can’t help but suspect that this will end at some point and I will shift to another place, just like in the past. In the meantime, I must sit here and try to understand the meaning of her comment about the situation in the passenger car. My suspicion is Julia did not see the killing as a realization or end. Honestly, I can’t argue because of my present condition in reality, but at the time I calculated that such action was expected of me in order to help myself leave the issue behind in life. Now Julia brings the purity into question. Wonderful. I am having a difficult enough time trying to deal with those feelings, and knowing that she is still inside my head all the fucking time does not help. Moreover, I fail to understand why my sleeping time and the purity are becoming a problem. It has little to do with the past, or does it? I could be way off base here. I will say that when I feel the purity, the first emotion is sadness because I can’t control it, nor can I do anything about such situations. Nothing. I am powerless during those moments. The entire topic hurts my heart so much that I begin to reach for unrealistic options in life. That is not good, and pretty much sums up the motivation I felt each time I ran away in the past. Well, I can’t do that now so I am left to live with the feelings. After a horrible disaster (like yesterday), the purity comes to mind – yes, while I am awake and aware of everything – and results in my mood dropping further than before. It is not my fault, either. I can’t help what happens. Not even a little bit. The feelings drive me up the fucking wall and cause my depression to deepen so much that the exit becomes brightly illuminated for a time, typically until I have to force myself to find some type of distraction during the day. I must admit that when I first heard Julia’s words regarding this shit, my initial instinct was that she was instructing me to find a solution, and the only way to do that is to cause even larger problems in life, both for myself and those who know me. No, not the end. I am speaking of yet another search, just one that happens to be very specific. I’ve considered it before, but every time I do something comes along out of the clear, blue sky and reins me back into where I should be. This is going to be tougher than all the other shit she put me through, combined. Bad piled atop other bad equals all of the good being permanently eliminated from my daily life. Bad wins, every time, and this is a big one. I always thought Julia’s lessons were all rooted in how I’ve developed as a result of the two shit situations. Now? She has taken issue with something very personal, and possibly the most difficult aspect of my present condition. I believe more conversation is on tap for yours truly, regardless of where it takes place. And regardless of whether or not Julia agrees, I am going to float along and rehearse some of the most important questions I’ve ever posed. What else can I do right now? The sea is endless, much like the slew of problems brewing inside me like Satan’s own coffee maker. I am percolating. I wish that was funny. In the past, whenever Julia sat with me to speak candidly, I was allowed to relax in an agreeable lounge in Vegas, something I have loved for so long that I can’t even begin to recall the number of occasions. The last one was almost five years ago inside Caesar’s Palace and one of the most beautiful, comfortable spaces into which I have ever sunk. I can only hope to be allowed such an experience again, especially considering the current scene. I’d like to throw questions at her like fastballs, but the past has taught me that violence – be it verbal or otherwise – never advances my situation in a positive direction. I will have to be careful. I’ll tell you one thing, though... I could really use a fucking stiff drink right now. That is not a joke, either. I’ve been stuck in this little boat for days without so much as the slightest alteration in the surrounding sea or sky. I need... Something. Please. Let us travel back to the real world for a little while...
Later. How much later? Nothing matters. I finished my housework and have the rest of the day to myself. Dinner will be leftovers. Very simple. I don’t need anything heavy right now because I can’t even begin to recall a worse morning. I hate this shit with a passion unlike any other. One positive is that I interfaced with the shed company and can schedule installation for any day further out than a week or so. This is good because I can plan according to the time required for the concrete to fully set and be safe. Moreover, the shed plan shrunk by two feet on the length, meaning there are no permits or anchoring necessary, a cost reduction of more than two grand. Very nice. I swear to all that is holy, this project is about the only aspect of the present that is keeping me going. In anticipation of everything being finished, I ordered some lumber and other items to be delivered on Friday. As I said... Without the uplifting improvement to the house, I’d have little reason to draw breath. And? Something horrible just came to mind. I made a note that the gardeners are here and after seeing the date I realized today would have been the Raven’s thirty-third birthday. I wonder where She would be in life had that tragedy not occurred. I’ll tell you one thing... I could use Her understanding right fucking now. My sadness just increased ten-fold, as did my feelings about the purity, something She fully understood. Only Ashley felt the same and they are both fucking gone. Wonderful. I have never felt so bad in this life. Bad. I am beginning to believe that my needs shall go unanswered for the duration. There may be no way out of this situation. Not good. I feel terrible right now. I still love that woman more than words can express, and She (or anyone remotely similar) is now far too distant to reach. This is a shitty day all the way around. My life is pretty fucking pathetic if the high point of an average day is sitting here with a cocktail and the keyboard. I had much and threw it all away. And then I had much and again threw it all away. Both situations were byproducts of the two shit situations and circumstances related to a deep-seated need for understanding and comfort. Nope. I just wish I had known back then of even a little bit of the future. Perhaps some of the disasters could have been avoided. I can’t sit here and feel ok in life. I can’t run to the elusive comfort. I can be where I so badly need. I can’t fucking do anything but type. The cherry on top of today’s depression sundae is the use of one of the keywords from some years ago, and one still relevant in almost any social climate. There is nothing wrong with the dialog, however. The use of the term in this episode is absolutely justified, along with its context. The issue is it forces me to look at myself and wonder what the fuck I’ve become after all this time. To this very second, I still cannot reconcile a single keyword with respect to myself. This impossibility may continue until my end. The worst part is I am still deeply affected by those keywords regardless of time or my frame of mind, and the only path to relief in such a situation lies solely on the shoulders of other people. There is nothing I can do about it. Everything is related; everything combines and allies against me; everything pushes me to that elusive peace. The shit situations were unconscionable. What can I do right now to feel more comfortable? What? Do you know? 'Take that off. Now take that one off, and then put the other one back on.' Wednesday, post routine and everything else. The concrete pad is finished. Now I have to wait for it to fully cure – two weeks minimum; likely over a month to be certain – before the shed can be installed. I need to place the order by the end of this month to take advantage of a promotional offer. No problem. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll continue to create a plan for everything that will live in that space. I have my cocktail and several hours to myself today. After all of the work on Monday, and then the concrete pumping early this morning, I am fairly pleased about the peace and quiet right now. For whatever reason, my program is experiencing glitches during playback. I’ll have to switch to something else for a while. Yesterday the show was running just fine for over an hour. I don’t get it, but there are plenty of other options. Anyway, my plan is to sit here until it’s time to eat something, and then roll into whatever seems best. My head is full of yesterday’s pitfalls. I need something to distract me for a little while and ease the bad emotions, whatever that may be. Oh, and I learned something this morning during an episode of a science fiction program. The term ‘corvette’ goes back in history far beyond when the automobile of the same name – capitalized, of course – debuted in 1953. It refers to a class of warship that resides between a ‘frigate’ and a ‘sloop-of-war’. I am pretty old, but I never knew that one. Very cool. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, I will do whatever I can to distance myself from the horrible situation that developed yesterday. The sea pays no mind to my problems. The sea remains the sea. Some time has passed and I finished a few preparations for dinner. That will make the evening much easier and more straightforward. I have come to need the evening time to be very quiet and peaceful over the last few months. Anything I can do to make cooking dinner easier has become important because relaxing during the dark hours is critical to my well-being. Today’s business is completely out of the way, so I am hoping the previous sentence holds its day in court. My neighbor may be outside later with his buddy to perform some work on a truck. If so, I may spend a bit of time in the garage. That will be prior to the time for cooking. Tomorrow will be the first day this week that I have all to myself. I am looking forward to some peace and quiet. The other world cannot help. It is there nonetheless... ‘You dreamed of her again.’ ‘Yes, a bad one.’ ‘You must remain at great distance.’ ‘I know.’ Julia knows everything. I dreamed of the girl again early this morning. Well, in reality. In this place? I only think of her from time to time, nothing more. We were gently kissing and one of my hands was caressing her arm. The situation was nerve-wracking, tentative, and somewhat frightening for reasons I cannot disclose, yet at the same time I felt so wonderful, if only for a few fictional minutes. Everything beautiful is again absent and I am left here in this little boat to ponder the emptiness. Marvelous. From a high that cannot be measured, on to a low that I have known for years, and then further down thanks to my subconscious taking over for mere seconds and showing me a life that cannot be possible, ever. Well, there is a slim possibility of some kind of fulfilling connection. I can’t state that she would be truly impossible, although the actual odds are about the same as acquiring the Passion. They may as well not exist. But holy God, what I wouldn’t give to have those few precious moments back. No way. Dreams are under no one’s control. Apparently, Julia has a problem with the subject of my dream. She needs to take it up with whomever conjures such things, and not my desire to remove anyone’s clothing. My feelings toward that girl came about due to a puerile sticking point in time that came out of a dream two years ago, and then another. When I was young, a single dream for mere seconds was enough to catapult an acquaintance all the way up to a major infatuation that almost entirely took over my consciousness. Apparently, such things still affect me pretty deeply because two years ago my feelings took a major left turn into very bad territory, and the connection implied in the dream this morning only cemented my ill-begotten emotions regarding that girl. If Julia has a problem with the way my mind operates, she needs to consider shit situation number two rather than bitching to me. There it is! I’m sure something bad is going to happen after such statements and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. Whatever the case – regardless of Julia’s actions in this place or decisions about what should happen to me – I am still going to be the same depressed, overly emotional and weakened individual that is sitting in this little boat right now. Nothing is going to change, really. It can’t. My dream came about for whatever reason and from wherever in my brain, and there is nothing anyone can do about it here or anywhere else. The dreams will occur again, too. And I am ready for whatever shit Julia wants to throw my way. Fuck it. As I said, the issue is shit situation number two and the horrible inward turn I took immediately thereafter. Blame the cause of that shit, not me. I am exactly the same because I’ve become incapable of changing due to those periods pressing on my brain. Dreams about the girl are a part of that... Wishful thoughts combined with a dire need for the right person to hold me and make the bad – yes, even that of forty-plus years ago – go away for all time. Not fucking likely is what you should be thinking right now. Whatever happens from here forward, I am not going to bend my perception of what that situation did to me. The dreams of her can be damned for all I care. The sea pays no mind whatsoever. I expect nothing, just the same. Murky water. That is all. I am stuck. There is no tiller; there are no oars. I control nothing. The dream is fresh, too. I can still feel her lips; the soft skin of her arm. I need to cease thinking about her for a while or I’ll drive myself insane. Moreover, Julia will end up in a snit over my feelings for the thousandth time. I don’t need her shit. Being stuck out here in the boat is plenty, as is the mass of crap which continues to swirl inside as the clouds do the same on the outside. I wish I could know where this is leading. I know Julia and the way she operates. Something will eventually change. As I already mentioned, some protracted and peaceful conversation at an agreeable bar would be very nice right now. We’ve spoken at length in several different lounges throughout Las Vegas, and due to the nature of my upbringing and later years spent in Nevada – between the years of seventy and aught-nine I’ve spent at least ten days per year at one resort or another – there are few places on this fucking planet where I am more comfortable (one of which can’t be detailed here). I’d love to sit and talk for a little while without being subjected to an ethereal, resonating voice while languishing on the sea. My latest dream involving the girl has hit me upside the head more than the previous occasions, and I could really use more insight than one-line responses and questions. Naturally, I need time to think to myself, but the truth is I can only float out here for so long before becoming desperate for a pair of ears, and Julia’s are likely the only ones available anymore. In reality, there are none. A meeting in a cozy spot is the type of change I need more than any other. This is making me very sad, to be honest. The sea continues to pay no mind. I hope something changes soon. Flash! Desert. Sand. Heat. Wind. Here we go again... The sea is gone, replaced by a scene I know all too well... Off in the distance I can see a structure and already know what it is. The hotel, but which one? The crazy hotel from the negative material plane? Or could it be that familiar, dreamy clone of the Mandalay Bay, the resort that lives in my heart? I can’t know from this distance, but fully intend to find out after some walking. Wow... Being on my feet feels wonderful right now despite the heat. How long was I in the boat? Fourteen days? That sounds about right. Damn. Here we fucking go again. Julia is brutal with the changes. I had hoped for a nice, air-conditioned lounge. Now I have to trod the desert sand in order to even see if there is one available. Just... Damn. Hot. Damn hot. Whatever. I’ve done this before – alone except for the little scorpions who seem to be absent this time – and made it to the doors and into the air conditioning just fine. I can do it again. Walking slowly and steadily will bear fruit soon enough. I already know that my arrival will be greeted brightly just like every other visit. The staff – whomever they are – know their positions very well and there has never been a lack of comfort. I can’t wait to get inside and try to forget about so many days in that little boat. Wow... The place appears a bit different from the last visit. There is no dragon atop the tower, nor is there a railroad track running behind the property. Is that to the west, as if the hotel resides on Las Vegas Boulevard? The gates are open. I could use a bit of cool air and some water right now. The lack of Julia’s booming voice thus far has helped ease my mind for the time being. Maybe we will sit in a lovely lounge and talk at long last. Eh... I don’t know. On the flip side, maybe I’ll be chased through the property by a man with a gun. I just never fucking know. To the gates with all haste. The massive resort entry is much like the hotel related to dracorum, yet different somehow, as if the old, creepy place has been merged with one of the great loves of my life, the Luxor pyramid. I have so many memories in and around that resort that I would not know where to begin. Passing the lush landscaping shows me that this place is indeed a clone of the holy pyramid. Right on through the marble entry, to the right, and I see the registration desk as it was during my last solo visit to this beautiful place. Time to check in and find out if we are to meet for a bit of conversation. That was the norm of the past. The main thing bothering me right now is a shit ton of memories flooding me from a big lounge to the left... Yes, it is Aurora for the tenth fucking time. Good and bad; bliss and heartache. Everything from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows took place right there in that fucking lounge, all of which is still marked and stored inside my head. I am going to have a hell of a time sitting at one of those tables if Julia wishes it. Maybe I can suggest a different place, such as Flight or whatever. Even the Island bar would be easier on my head and heart right now. Hmm. I need a room. ‘Welcome. Everything is ready for you and your bags have been delivered.’ 'Thank you very much.’ Keys. ‘Enjoy your stay, sir.’ Yeah... My stay is not exactly REAL, now is it? She was kind and pleasant, like always, yet somehow a bit robotic in her mannerisms. A machine? No, of course not. The woman is a clerk in a fictional resort in a fictional world, nothing more. I’ll head to the inclinator and see what’s what when I arrive thirty-one floors up. If memory serves, I’ll have two rooms and a spa. Not bad. I just wish this was a real visit rather than something designed to disassemble and repair my ailing brain. To the room with all haste.
As usual, the accommodations are excellent. I’ve stayed here many times before, too, so I know what I’m saying. The closet appears to be stocked with my typical attire, the vanity holds all my stuff, and the view is to the direct south – straight to the fucking Mandalay Bay, of course – and my other home away from home. A bit of time to clean up and I am ready to slide back down the inclinator. ‘The cocktail salon, my love. You know.’ ‘Okay.’ Fuck me, that place is two hotels north from here and a hell of a long walk. Why? I mean... I don’t want to sit in Aurora because I’ll end up all fucked up in the head, but isn’t there something closer? ‘You’ll see.’ As I head for the inclinator and digest Julia’s cryptic shit again, I can’t help but recall so many beautiful moments spent in this resort, and others. Some of the best and most heartwarming times of my entire life have been lived here at the south end of the Strip, otherwise known as Paradise on maps. I guess I’ll follow her lead and see what’s at the base of this angled lift. Oh, boy. The lounge is fucking gorgeous, all dim and alluring. People are literally sunk into plush chairs and sitting in front of mahogany tables lit by candles. There are gas lamps on the paneled walls; chair rails separate deep blues and greens from the lush, polished wood surfaces. If anything can make me feel physically comfortable – aside from the obvious, absent aspects of life over which I agonize daily – this is it. I am definitely not standing in a clone of the pyramid because this lounge, all themed in French decor and overflowing with flowers, used to be just off the main casino in the Monte Carlo, a hotel I miss dearly. Like many of the other loving places I used to visit as often as possible, the resort is gone these days, having made way for yet another MGM. Whatever. I need a drink. The upside is that we are not in Aurora. I really don’t need to be hit in the heart with every beautiful face that accompanied me while sinking into those big chairs, not to mention the gorgeous woman sitting nearby at a slot machine and whom I sent a trio of lemon drops as I relaxed and made goo-goo eyes at a call girl. Don’t even fucking get me started. Anyway, I will sit and await the arrival of the queen of ambiguity and difficulty. Booze, please. The server’s outfit kind of follows suit with those at the Venetian; a very short dress, hair up, and a pair of beautiful three-inch slingback heels. Wow. I’ll have to keep any comments to myself once Julia appears because otherwise she will chastise me like last time. I have a half-track mind, and after all these years it just doesn’t work any other way. The stunning server approaches. Nice. This place is just what the doctor ordered. Drinkie time. Wait a minute... She took my order, left for the bar and then returned with an icy glass of scotch, and took a seat. She is sitting next to me at this very moment. The fuck? I guess I am meant to stare and make nice with her because Julia is not here as of yet. I don’t know what to think. I don’t recognize this woman at all, not even from past visits to the netherworld and its slew of beautiful, inviting cocktail lounges. ‘I know you prefer the perfect cube in your drink. Is it ok?’ ‘Yes, it is delicious. Do I know you?’ ‘Not yet. I am Juliana, and I’m here to ensure you are comfortable.’ ‘Sitting with me?’ ‘As a beginning, yes.’ Huh? Another woman whose name begins with that fateful letter. And she is here for me? Or did Juliana mean that as a customer, her job is clear? I don’t know, but one certainty is that in this world, nothing can be certain. I suppose I’ll sit, relax, and just go with it until something needs my attention. ‘I thought this might be a nice change after the sea.’ ‘You know about that?’ ‘I know quite a bit, mister.’ And... Here we go. Is Juliana going to be the next Julia? Or, perhaps, more like Jaime? God forbid this woman becomes another Justine. She represented every fucking mistake I have ever made, and I need more reminders like I need to be killed again in this world. Maybe the best way to proceed is to simply go with the flow. I am much better off here than in the boat, and the surroundings are infinitely more attractive and comfortable than the sea, meaning hopefully I can deflate for a long while and think about everything. Oh, one idea just popped into my head: I can sit here and lap up all of the scotch and visual information until someone either takes issue with what I am doing or alters the scenery. The point that is stuck in my head is Julia’s reference to the purity. I honestly don’t know how to deal with that sort of thing. I’ve been questioning the appearance of the purity for quite a while and am not ready to discuss it with anyone else in either world. Oh, there are a few souls which come to mind when the need to explore strikes me, but the truth is if confronted with an actual person, I’d probably shut down and disappear. As beautiful as this woman is, the downsides of revealing sensitive information come to mind before anything else. I need to talk about this shit, too. I need it badly. If I take a chance and let slip all of the problems related to the purity, I may find myself either falling away for the last time or relieved for the first. I can’t know, and that is the largest issue in my head right now. Juliana is here for a reason, but only Julia knows what it is. The only avenue is to throw out a line. Damn, she is something to see. Ah... She tossed a line first. ‘Purity.’ ‘Yes ma’am.’ ‘Relax here for a while. We will then head to your room.’ ‘Ok. You’re the boss.’ Again... She is stunning. No sooner do I relent to her request when she tosses a smile the likes of which I have not seen in thirteen years. I may be in trouble. Juliana rises, grabs the serving tray and gallops off to the bar. I am alone again, yet not as deeply as while in the boat. I have a sinking feeling – no pun intended – that I’ve not seen the last of the sea. That place was the very definition of a ‘sea to suffer in’, as it were. I have no doubt I was there for good reason. I don’t feel very well right now. Reality must enter... Thursday is here, and as I mentioned yesterday, this is the first weekday in four that I’ll have to myself. Plans for the next several hours are few. The morning has already been pretty fucked up, so I need to lift myself a bit in order to pave the way to a better day. Well, if lifting myself is even possible anymore. Something came along a little while ago that I fucking hate, so I’ll have to move up quite a bit just to make it through the rest of the morning without flipping out. All I can do is try. Time for housework. Later. The routine is out of the way and I have my typical booze here on the table. I removed the left-hand display for the time being because I may replace the smaller unit in the garage and leave this system with only two. The table is much neater and access to the closet no longer has a ‘pinch point’, to use NASA’s vernacular. I still have to move three components: The RAID unit will move to the table along with my printer, and the tower will move down to the top of the subwoofer. The entire system will be much neater. I also have a USB hub that will be mounted on the underside of the table for ease of access and stability while plugging and unplugging different peripherals. Once all of it is in place, this control center will be much more user friendly than it has been for the last year-plus. In addition, I am already planning to upgrade the tower sometime during the next few months. My last machine suffered from updated software throughout a period of years all running through the same, old hardware. I do not intend to allow this machine to fall behind. That is the main reason I opted for a desktop computer rather than another laptop. On other fronts, the concrete is out there setting and drying, and representing one of the largest improvements to this living space since the new windows were installed. I have to wait a while prior to ordering the shed, so during that period I’ll be planning my storage strategy and the installation of power for lighting and outlets. On yet another front, I am awaiting a quote for installing a gate on the east side of the garage to replace the existing (crappy and ugly) fencing. It’s a small project and will require no more than a few hours for the right contractor. I just wish all this progress and planning had the ability to improve my mental and emotional condition beyond the obvious short-term enjoyment. I successfully reconfigured this table to be more flexible. The tower is below and the hub is mounted for ease of access. My neck is killing me, though. I did something the other day, the pain began to fade soon after, and now it has returned most likely due to laying under the table rewiring and mounting parts. Shit. Whatever. I need to prepare the vegetables for boiling soon. Hopefully, the work will not exacerbate whatever is going on with my neck. Natalie Dormer has got one stunning pair of big doe eyes. Wow. Not only that, but her eyebrows match the ‘cat’ and/or ‘doe’ themes. Unbelievable. I had felt a lot of heat over some comments about the race girl and the Raven several years ago. I’ll refrain from going on about Natalie right now for the sole reason of needing to put the proper words together prior to gushing. Yep. Nothing can stop the flow of information here regardless of the type of content. Anyway, I only have a few items left to hook up and organize here on the table. Perhaps I’ll get to it tomorrow. The vegetables have to boil and then cool and drain for quite a while. I should get started. Regardless of the positives, I am falling away. Friday hath arriveth on the heels of a partially decent Thursday evening. This improved setup looks even better today than it did yesterday. Not bad. There are still some details to work over, but for the most part everything is nice. Thankfully, everything on the home front has been quiet with respect to beauty and the oft-shitty manner in which I view the world and its contents. Quiet is good because any noise injected into my eyes causes everything to return in force and render me unable to move in any direction. As much as I’d like to see everything, the best thing for me is to see nothing at all. That day in the parking lot just outside the door of the market was horrible. And then the other one... The woman who tugged at her yoga pants in front of the counter at the other market. Terrible. And? The last one was just recently and nearly had me doubled over from emotional trauma. While I am home, the only bad things tend to stroll by in the sunshine from time to time, and there can be no predicting any of them. Fortunately, I am further away and everything tends to calm down within a few minutes, the key person notwithstanding. That one is just bad in every sense of the word. She causes pain and it is not her fault. She makes me very sad and it is not her fault. She brings up more desire than I can possibly describe and it is not her fault. Maybe I should ask to see Jaime the next time the netherworld rears its ugly, barren head. Maybe. I could use some understanding ears right about now. More than that, actually, yet as time passes, I see the past becoming more and more distant along with any hope of real comfort. This is not good at all. One day bleeds into the next and they all run together like a long, depressing movie that never seems to end. The lack of beauty outside my window or in the stores is just one smidgen of positivity among a mass of problems. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I am more stuck right now than I have ever been in life. I’m sure I’ll get my stuff done today and roll into the evening ready to cook and whatnot, but all the while those problems will be following along and taking much of the good out of whatever comes along with the ability to make me smile. The concrete pad, for example, is one of those good things for the household. It will fade like everything else. The newness will wear off and I’ll be right back where I started, just with less time left. I might not go to the store today. My head is fairly sideways, so remaining here and taking care of some housework may be best. I’m sure at some point the other world will intrude and leave me full of questions again, mostly the main question with which I’ve been wrestling for many years. So, some hours have passed since I sat here and pondered the nature of the universe and my place within the same. The housework is finished, including two loads of laundry. Dinner will be very simple, so I need not make any revolutions until later this afternoon. I worked in the garage for a little bit, too, and my efforts in organizing have been going quite well. I successfully removed a block of marble from beneath the audio system and installed the large monitor (that used to live on this table) where the smaller unit once lived. The flat panel should enjoy improved viewing over the older, curved screen. I am awaiting the lumber delivery, as well. When it arrives, I’ll have to ensure the garage spaces are still accessible. Organization is one of my strong suits. Well, one of the few left that I actually embrace. Sad. Whatever. I am looking forward to everything hitting the driveway so I can take care of business. Saturday morning is here, along with a shitload of rain that began in the middle of the night, enough to wake me due to the sound. Damn. Yesterday went fine for the most part. All of the stuff I ordered arrived, I replaced the front porch light fixture, and finished the laundry. Not bad. There was ample time for me to consider the circumstances of my present condition and how I may appear to other people. I keep thinking about the questionable behavior in which I have engaged in the past and the way my head tries to push away the bad and rationalize such a deep-seated need. I can sit here and state that I can’t help it, but the truth is that I can actually avoid such things. All I would have to do is put my mind to it and follow through each day, one at a time, as the alcoholics say. I don’t see a problem altering the way I do things for the greater good of my own self-control. The problem is there is no one telling me what I should or should not do because no one knows about any of this shit. Not a fucking soul. So, I need to continue analyzing how I feel about myself and whether or not there is any harm inherent in such behavior. This affects no one but me. The situation was on my mind as I worked around the garage yesterday, too. I replaced the light fixture, set up all of the new lumber so it is out of the way, and took care of cutting up some crap so it will fit in the trash can tomorrow. All the while, her image and what I’ve seen in the past kept creeping in, perhaps trying to derail my thought processes. Some time during the afternoon and just prior to my dinner preparations, I began to equate the aforementioned behavior and the purity, believe it or not. I need to figure this out because Julia took issue with the purity and it’s not my fault. Dreaming of the girl could be a connection between the two problems. I can’t know unless we talk about it, so... There has been a woman (guest star) in this episode that is driving me insane. Yep... All dark and flowing, both hair and eyes, slender build, sharp shoulders... The whole shitaree. Time for some housework. And... Done. I also went to the market to cash a check and pick up a few staples for salad that will accompany dinner tonight and tomorrow. Thankfully, there was nothing of note in the store. I don’t need any more shit in my head these days, but sometimes I need to shop. The trip went very smoothly, including the bank business. Excellent. Upon returning, I felt very comfortable again. Now I have everything finished and a big, fat cocktail. I am currently running an experiment on the right-hand display because the program – thus far just the dragons – seems to be having a playback problem. I switched to the old standard, the vampires, to see if the issue is with the website, player, or just that one series. So far, this show seems to be running just fine. I guess I’ll leave it for a while. Now that a few points of business are out of the way, the plan is to relax for the duration. The weather is precluding anything being done outside. I hope it passes soon, too. We can always use the water, but for fuck’s sake... More than three or four days of dry weather would be really nice right now. On the upside, I can work here in the office and continue where I left off with the control center reconfiguration. I always enjoy working in this room during inclement weather. It keeps me warm for whatever reason. I guess the other show is the only one with a problem. This one is streaming just fine. Crystal clear and smooth. Whatever. I suppose I’ll stick with this program until something else calls me. The story, characters and other references often cause all sorts of problems with regard to my past, but at least I watch alone and know everything in advance. Some time has passed and I am in for a comfortable afternoon. Lunch is out of the way, as well. I may or may not put together a slow-cooker recipe for dinner. If I do decide to put it together, I’ll have to have everything mixed in the cooker by three or so. Tomorrow will entail the typical morning drive and visit to the market, after which I’ll settle into my morning routine with coffee prior to taking care of Sunday business. The day is now Sunday and the drive is behind me. There was no visit to the market this morning. I have my coffee and this machine for the duration, or until such time as I need to begin the usual housework. Last night was a bit of an impromptu meeting in my garage for a while, and today I am pleased that it went smoothly. Difficulty could have ramped up horribly and very quickly had I not remained so balanced throughout the time. One other facet that I can barely mention was in my head for a long while and nearly had me giving up completely and heading to bed for the night. I need to keep certain parts of life and thoughts out of this content. I don’t need any backlash. As for today, I will mostly take it easy except for the necessities. I need to think about everything. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I keep seeing Roxanne on the screen. The best thing is to look away and simply listen, yet my brain has to see her face sometimes. There is no way around it. I have to see her when I can because like so many others, as time passes, my feelings increase in depth. I will love her soon because I am a fucking basket case. Anyway, Sunday and Monday are my favorites. I’ll make the most of today as best I can, and then relax in and around everything. Most likely I will end up right here at this machine more than once.
‘What you are doing is wrong.’ ‘It doesn’t affect anyone else.’ ‘Just you, my dear, and that is not good.’ I can’t disagree with her, but at the same time I was correct with such a response. I was not suggesting that I am an all-around good person, only that I do not allow my shit to bleed over into anyone else’s life. That would be unfair. I believe hurting myself is a given at this point and cannot be stopped. At least I know myself and what I am doing. I also know that either one of these women will have a problem with me no matter how I try to explain myself. At this point, there is little reason to continue along the lines of my questionable behavior. More important is the idea that Julia brought up the purity and the way it has affected me. ‘Your behavior stemmed from the purity.’ ‘No fucking way.’ ‘Yes fucking way.’ How can that be? Two years is two years, and the purity did not strike me until a few months ago. I don’t understand. ‘Think back some years and tell me there were no discussions of such things... No words of purity.’ ‘Shit.’ Ah... Yes. Now I get it. The purity did not appear out of the clear, black sky. It’s been present for much longer and had been a point of contention some time ago between myself and basically the whole of society. Unbelievable. There was one person who discussed the circumstance quite a bit more than any others, mostly because I had been having trouble trying to reconcile my feelings on the subject. She helped, somewhat. All that is gone now. I have no one off whom to bounce thoughts, ideas or anything else even remotely difficult. Floating along on the sea had me considering the idea that the purity may leave me forever, hence the deepened, depressive state that will not let up. I am beginning to believe that some of my more elaborate dreams came about due to fearing the end of something beautiful. The entire affair makes me very sad and somewhat unwilling to discuss my feelings or any details. I may end up without a choice, however. I’ll have to force the issue and suffer the consequences, I guess. ‘Some parts of life that leave us cannot be regained.’ ‘Marvelous.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Flash! The sea. What about my hotel room and that beautiful cocktail server? Shit. I really don’t want to sit in this little boat anymore. I thought this part of her lesson was in the rear-view mirror. Part of me had relaxed a little bit, too. Now I am all tensed up again, damn it. I had a date with Juliana for some peaceful conversation in my room – likely with all of the comforts I’ve come to expect from both the town and past circumstances in this world – and now I’ve been tossed to the sea for the second time. Something I said ran aslant of Julia’s hopes. She keeps railing about the purity and I don’t know what the hell to say. The problem is in my head much of the time, it appears at night once in a while, and most days I become overly sad about it and can barely move around the house. If my desire and recent alterations to the way I think were truly caused by such a problem, Julia had better leave me alone about it. My reaction will only further divide us. The situation is such that I believe I’ve been placed in the boat again to think about everything and try to put some aspects of life in line. Right now my shit is all over the place. This is going to take some time and likely leave me a ball of sadness. Moreover, everything that comes to mind must be gone over with a fine-toothed comb in order to protect myself from harm, ridicule, embarrassment and other types of backlash. I don’t need that shit. Floating. There are no longer faces in the water, thank the maker. More reminders are only going to send me flying again. The main problem here is the way I feel about losing something that is nearly as important as breathing, and the way it may have altered what I see out there in society. Yes, those visions that appear once in a while are two-fold problems. First, they leave me full of needs and desire because I am overly obsessed with such forms and must know why they appear as they do, and second, no sooner does something beautiful appear and then disappear when the purity and all related feelings slam me in the brain. Afterward? I can’t think straight for one fucking minute because I feel too much loss; too many holes inside me. The purity is simply the latest victim. I am not suggesting that what I’ve said here is everything, either. I can’t know anything for sure. I can only suspect. The longer I float along and remain completely alone, the more I analyze. This is far from over. As of this moment, I would seem to have plenty of time for thinking. Maybe it will help. Also, perhaps I can eventually reach a point that will allow me to leave this behind... The sea, boat and foghorn. The entire world. Everything is uncertain. Julia stated that what I’ve been doing is wrong. At first, I was sure she spoke of the recent questionable behavior in which I’ve engaged. Now? I believe it is something else. I don’t feel good about it, either. Not one bit. My life and world are so different than years ago that the gradient often leads my head into very negative territory. Once I fall off that cliff, there is only one way to return. Unfortunately, that one way is not something I enjoy. It would seem that Julia feels the same, but what the fuck can I do about it? Alter my behavior? Nope. That will cause other problems. I don’t have the first damned clue as to how to proceed in my life and live any other way. I can’t stop seeing and feeling the massive gradient between then and now. I just don’t have the power or ability to stop that harmful shit storm from hitting me in the head each day. I don’t know what that woman expects me to do. ‘I removed her and put you here because you need to think.’ ‘No shit. Why can’t she be in the boat with me, at least?’ ‘Desire.’ Yep, I get that one. That word she uttered is the great unstoppable force of the galaxy and there is not a damned thing I can do to cease feeling the way I do at times. I have zero options on that fucking front. And Julia is exactly right. Given enough time, I would have pushed. No fucking doubt. Well, it was a shot and I took it. The truth about the matter is when the passage of time is combined with so many barren years, this mindset is the result. Desperation. Yearning. Pain. The purity and the way it weighs on my head came about for the same reason... Time, good and bad. The good is represented by memories, whereas the bad is pretty much everything else that has transpired throughout the past few decades. I had zero concern about what is now referred to as ‘purity’ because at the time there were options in life; situations that embraced it. I did not need to be concerned about 'why'. At present, all of the options are gone. Every single fucking one of them. I don’t know what to do, so the only way I live is to repeat the last couple of years. They have been a slow, downhill slide into nothingness, much like what I see when gazing from the boat toward the horizon in any direction. All I have left is this little boat, the occasional, resonating foghorn, and dreams of where I so desperately need to be. There are further details, but I can’t lay them out here. Doing so would result in me withdrawing completely and permanently. Others need me and I can’t do that. I can’t even disappear because what would be left behind is horrible to consider. When I say that I am stuck, I mean it, and not just in the boat. I am stuck in life. I can lash out and nothing comes of it. I can consider possibilities and nothing comes of them. The only path is a continuation of the same shit. Every now and again the purity will come along and send me into a hole with all haste. I hate this. I shall float along and wonder. 'You are getting somewhere rather than grating against my wishes. Very good.' 'Does that mean I can get the hell out of this place?' 'Keep going.' Marvelous. Thanks, babe. Where the fuck is Melanie when I need her most? Shit. No one is listening. Well, one person is, but she’s just a pain in my ass. I love her, too. Isn’t that just peachy? This boat ride is yet another clambake in a long line of the same. At least Julia said I am getting there. At least Julia said I am getting there. But, wait... Getting where exactly? Understanding how the purity is related to my feelings for beauty? Or maybe the damaging dreams and the massive shift they initiated? I don’t know. I’ll keep going. A tiny bit of understanding is better than years of heartache and confusion. If Julia believes I am making progress, so be it. I will perform a bit less grating and bitching and a little more thinking. The damaging dreams are just that... Harmful. The reason cannot be revealed, however, even though they relate directly to this problem of overt desire as well as my feelings toward the purity. The passage of time becomes brightly illuminated when I think of the subject in those dreams. From the long past to more recent little memories, everything hits me square in the head when I think of her. There is a line that is far behind me now; a distance great enough to ensure it can never be seen again. She brings that line to mind and causes me to see everything differently for a short time. I end up climbing and climbing the same hills from the past over and over until heartache and pain take over and cloud my vision. Once the great power of the universe comes along, everything is set in motion again, most often from the beginning. This cycle was not caused by her. It is a horrible convergence of circumstances that I am helpless to affect. All I can do is sit here – be it in the goblet, a boat, or some errant desert scene – and send my thoughts to the winds. Nothing changes until there is another vision. Amplification, further (very painful) suppression, and eventually I just give up for a while and try to embrace something which can still bring a measure of joy, even if that is only a few moments. I have nothing else anymore. I was there. Now I am here. This is all related. I know the way I’ve been thinking is not good. I also know that the recent alteration in my daily mindset is equally bad. I cannot help what I feel, though, nor can I be expected to simply flip a switch after decades of being squished, routed and otherwise disregarded. I’d like to disappear and leave the message ‘here you go; look what you caused’ plastered everywhere, but that would be unfair to them as well as myself. I honestly don’t believe anyone thinks about that sort of thing anyway, because I don’t speak about my feelings in reality, ever. And that is another facet of this fucking problem. I only speak to people here in this world and it is not real. The inside of my head could be the topic for one hell of a paper, I’d bet. Well, thinking is one of my strong suits regardless of how distorted my sense of beauty and desire have become. I can actually illustrate them fairly well with a single line: ‘She cannot respect him because he worships her.’ That is out of balance and my understanding is that very few people think along such lines; mostly the opposite. I have to go back to where this began... Desire and its relationship to the purity and my feelings regarding the beauty that I see from time to time. Oh, and memories, too. I can’t leave out the memories because there are very specific aspects of the past that cannot and will not return. Anyone who does not wish to subscribe to my interpretation is precisely correct... There is not enough here for a full analysis. Lots of words, not much substance. Perhaps floating on the sea is not the best place for me to think about all this shit. But then again... What would be a good location? Someplace helpful? I don’t know. That little lounge was lovely and staffed in a very classy manner, but it was taken away like all the others. I seem to do some of my most effective thinking while sunk into the plush luxury that only Vegas can provide, and then when I find it after days on the sea, Julia changes her mind and sends me back here. Why? Because I was a micron away from feeling a mass of desire for that gorgeous cocktail server? Isn’t that why she is there? To retain customers through alluring glances and carrying a beautiful body? Vegas is driven by two powers, one of them being obvious. The server was the other, and I don’t see anything wrong with wanting her physically, especially after years of trying to understand how the obsession ran out of control and sent me into a desire-laden gulag. ‘I took all that away because you can’t focus while in the presence of such loveliness. Believe me... I know because you’ve done it with me. Remember?’ ‘Yes, I know, but for fuck’s sake... Can’t I have a bit of good as a pause from all the bad?’ ‘Not right now. That was my mistake. Keep going.’ Ugh. I suppose her words are better than nothing. I can honestly only go so far with this crap because the details have to remain shrouded. Too bad. There is so much information in my brain that I’m losing grip, yet any of it flying off the keyboard will cause more harm than good. I can’t have that. I need real ears in the real world. Julia is in my head. Not helpful. The sea just goes on and on and beyond my control. No oars; no tiller; no propulsion. This is like my line of thinking each day. I step into a topic, railroad it to death, string along a few connections from a to b to c, and then go over all of it again with different words. I keep coming to the same conclusions. The boat keeps moving along and everything appears exactly the same. I do not see an end to the sea; nor can I imagine an end to this analysis – not that I’ve traveled from a lack of understanding to any other place, either – because the answers rest solely on the shoulders of other people; some fictional and others that are no longer alive. My dreams create desire. The visions I see from time to time cause desire. When both situations pass completely unrequited, I end up trying to answer the question of ‘why’. That question never leads anywhere good. It leads me in circles, some already mentioned and others I cannot detail here. The sea pays no mind to all this heartache. On and on it goes, like the horizon. I am going somewhere, yet I am also going nowhere. Circles. I don’t know what else to do. Part of me believes that I must eventually push the girl and those dreams away, but I don’t know how. I can’t help feeling this way and wanting so much. For the tenth time, I am a product of the past; time and circumstance. I don’t know of any other way to live. Everything hurts all the time, most notably when I recall the past and the beautiful places I was able to visit. No more of that, I guess. All has been ripped and torn away, leaving me to yearn and hurt. Again... The sea remains unchanged, unflapped, and uncaring. I couldn’t find any caring if it was glued to my fucking forehead. I believe the damaging dreams have been the most powerful catalysts in recent years, propelling my feelings of desire from mild to overwhelming. They were born of squishing and desperation; disregard and pain. The two shit situations are in both worlds for the duration. I can’t do anything about them. More shit will come along and remind me of those horrible years, and then I’ll try to find answers again. A circle. And then at some point, another dream. My desire will peak and drive me out of my mind, and then it will fade until the next dream or vision. A circle. I may languish in this little boat forever. Somehow, it seems appropriate. I am beginning to hope that Julia gives up this quest for understanding and education. Every fucking adventure has left me either worse off or exactly the same, so why would she believe that another trip through the netherworld will make any difference? Is this driven by hope, or something else? What was the genesis of her motivation? Eh... I am asking too many questions. I know all of the details. I just can’t always put them together or into a context that relates to why I turned out this way. I’ve been placed right smack in front of some of the worst imagery as driven by memories and feelings of loss, and after each occasion I ended up in the same bowl of soup. The sea is simply the latest incarnation of my mind’s eye reaching for understanding. Well, if something doesn’t exist, searching is for naught. There is a statement for the ages. The truth is that I just don’t fucking know. The real world is no different, yet I’ve been searching for so long that the process is ingrained; second nature; automatic. And speaking of the real world, let us return...
I don’t know if I’ll accomplish much outside the typical scope of my Sundays, but I will try. There are things I need to toss in the trash – one of those situations in which I reduce the footprint of large items and get rid of them a little at a time – so I’d like to be able to finish everything I have in mind at a decent hour and then return to my office work. I am experiencing mental distractions (forms) this morning and will probably have to push pretty fucking hard to move away from the control center and take care of some housework. Sometimes this is just not easy. I do not have excuses. I have reasons. One of them is the purity and the way I felt in recent days about certain people, from both the past and present. I don’t want to lose any more of my life. A bit of time has passed and my usual morning work is complete. I also had a little snack. I still have dry cleaning and garbage business, although the clock is on my side right now. We are just shy of noon. There is a capture which grabbed hold of my attention because it drove my mind all the way back to the first damaging dream; manicured fingers tugging gently at a bra strap. I can’t stop thinking about her this morning. That was around two years ago and still I am captivated by the imagery. There is probably nothing I can do about these feelings. They continue to deepen and I am often at their mercy. Ugh. The motion those fingers caused is nearly too much for me to reconcile. The housework has not helped, but it needs to be finished regardless of the mass of difficulty inside me. I always manage to get through the day. I don’t know how, but I always make it. Perhaps there is a smidgen of hope that comfort and understanding could be out there, somewhere. I am desperate. Such a fact is very dangerous. Anyway, from here forward I will slowly chip away at my chores and relax here and there. The most powerful force in the universe has taken its toll. I can only rise from here. The morning has not been entirely disastrous. There were good points. Nothing insane, but better than disaster. The Raven’s near-twin sister is on the display right now. That’s a bad thing. Perhaps I need to reach for more good today. And I did, believe it or not. Everything is finished. The only tidbit is the second round of dishes that I will put away later when I begin dinner preparations. The garbage is at the curb and the dry cleaning is finished and put away. This is very nice. If I could just get the beautiful vision of her breasts out of my head, the rest of the day would go just fine. Oh, yes... And the Asian girl that appeared for a few seconds of this episode. Super cute. Ugh. I’m tired of wrestling with these feelings every time I run across beauty. I should be pleased with my accomplishments thus far today. Instead, I am trying to climb out of the same fucking hole. Maybe I am better off on the sea. Maybe. Monday morning. Good fucking God is Oona ever beautiful. Right out of the gate, too. Damn. Nearly the Raven’s twin sister, Oona has some of the darkest eyes I have ever seen. Every time her stint on this series comes around, I am floored by her appearance and my feelings for her deepen. Not good. Well, what is good anymore? Monday is ok, I guess. Everything is reset for another week, the garbage is picked up, my silly little game begins with another week-long challenge that always calms me on stormy seas, and I have hours of peaceful, quiet time at home. Monday is ok. Not good, just ok. The other things I need are beautiful, although they will most likely never exist. Another clambake. Anyway, I have to take care of the usual stuff today and visit the hardware store and market. I should probably clean the bathroom and work in the office, too. I don’t want the house getting out of hand. Dinner will be pretty simple, much like last night, so the late afternoon will have me preparing a few items in that direction. My projects remain on hold due to the temperature being so low each day. Oh, I took care of some details yesterday so that more crap could be tossed in the organics cart, but the real work of improving the garage and such will have to wait. Once the shed is installed, all of that will change. The house is going to benefit to a great extent. Perhaps while everything feels so hurtful and negative, the shed can lift me for a little while. Perhaps. I can’t know as of yet. I just have to wait. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... I could not utter a single word. Not even a damned syllable, only a smile. I smiled. She smiled back. And then she disappeared for a little while. I had thought she was the same gorgeous Latino girl I had seen that morning some weeks ago, but I couldn’t be certain, nor could I read whether or not she was working at the market like the other one. They could be one and the same, however my head was so fucking sideways that I barely had the operative force to run through my grocery list and grab the items I needed. Shit. I continued to shop, and then lo and behold she was RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME AT THE SELF CHECKOUT. Again my head turned to fucking clay. I can’t even begin to recall a time when I gazed at a more beautiful woman, ever. There was the server, although as time passed, I began to believe I was seeing what I WANTED to see as opposed to her actual appearance. My mind operates in strange ways sometimes, so the server will forever remain a mystery. At the market? Nope... No mystery. She was right there looking so stunning that I barely had the brainpower to scan the items. Again... SHIT. I had to say something. The compulsion and desperation were overwhelming, yet I just continued to process my purchase. My obsession was absolutely screaming for me to tell her something – anything that would clearly transmit just exactly what she was. I needed so badly to inform her that I noticed, and my attention does not hit a high point like that very often. The biggest problem was not her form-fitting yoga pants – black, of course, and the prime color for showing off everything that cannot be hidden by such material – it was her huge, super-sweet, dark doe eyes. Yep. The very windows that melt me into a puddle of goo. That diminutive girl caused more torment, torture and damage than ANYONE I have ever seen in that fucking store. I had to say something, but what? Look at me... Read all of the words. You can glean what I’ve become as a result of all of the years of pain and desperation, not to mention the skewed nature of my reality due to the two shit situations. What the fuck could I say? Some off-the-cuff remark telling her that she’s beautiful? Nope. A compliment is always nice, but honestly, I don’t believe there can be a positive outcome anymore because of my debilitated mental and emotional condition. She looked squarely at me with those eyes at first. Right, straight into me just like the race girl. Do you know what that means? It means absolutely nothing. My perception of a woman looking into my eyes is nearly as skewed and distorted as my sense of beauty. Nothing was there. She is a person and was walking toward the same display case in the produce department. That’s all. Walking. She saw me, excused herself for nearly walking into my basket, and then went on about her business. EVERYTHING ELSE took place inside my head. That is God's honest truth. And the compulsion to say something stems from the same place. She had nothing to do with it. She was a person. Just a person. Not a god or anything else. She was either shopping or taking care of some operation for work. I can’t remember if she was the same girl that caught me off-guard some weeks ago. Whatever the case, she is a person in a market. I am the one that ran around the universe in milliseconds and then walked out in acute pain. Holy shit. Never before have I gazed upon a sweeter pair of doe eyes, and believe me... I have been searching desperately for a very long time. The eyes are key. Always... The eyes. As you can see, I am back home after visiting both stores. I picked up everything that was needed, took care of the daily routine, and then poured a massive glass of depressing liquid to allow me to sit here and wallow in pain. I have never needed to say something more than when she stood next to me. This is a clear indication that my life – sordid, good or bad as it has been – is already over. I can’t speak to anyone. I cannot ever be good for anyone. And? I’ll never find ‘her’ because I’ve become far too fucked in the head. This ranks up there with a handful of the worst days of my life. Good God was she ever something to see. Those eyes are going to kill me, bury me in the soil, and haunt me no matter what comes next. She was unreal and my words have barely even scratched the surface in this worthless, wandering paragraph. I am ruined. The only smidgen of good is that I did not say anything. None of this is her fault. Just a person shopping in a market. Nothing more. To me? She was the beginning and end of the fucking universe. Go back and read this shit again. Perhaps you’ll see what I mean by ‘basket case’. The largest and most beautiful pair of dark, doe eyes that I have EVER seen has taken its toll. Let us see where it leads. Think of how many words I have devoted to gushing about Jamie's eyes. They are now second in my world. Yep... I am THAT fucked up over what took place just a little while ago. 'Poor nose.' 'Don't feel sorry for him. He'll be halfway up your ass before the night's through.' This program just kills me sometimes. I see the girl on the screen with a pair of breasts that should be classified as human art, yet the other one from the market has altered my stance for the time being. She will either fade or kill me. I don't care which, to be honest. If I end up dead, the torment and pain may disappear. I can't be certain, but the possibility is there nonetheless. There is just no way to know unless one travels across the last threshold of life. The girl at the market has effectively removed any wonder regarding what I see on the display. Not her fault. Those at fault are gone. I need to die on the sea. Maybe that will cause a change. I feel like lashing out thanks to the numbing effect of the alcohol. Nope. That is not going to happen because I know that I’ll come out the other side no better, and possibly worse. I suppose that is growth. Lashing out really seems enticing, too. I need it sometimes. At least I’ve learned something. No matter how I behave now or in the future, my feelings will not change or improve. Hmm. That is growth, actually. Too bad other facets of my life can’t follow suit. My ambition is being reduced by a measure with each passing day; Satan’s ‘red wine reduction’. I wish that was funny. There will be no lashing today. I am going to keep my little empire quiet so as to avoid attracting unwanted (and unwarranted, to be sure) attention. Quiet. I’ll have lunch soon and finish off the kitchen. Afterward, I have no fucking idea. Maybe I can tool around here in the office or in the garage for a little while. Nothing is appealing right now, though. Not even lunch. Her face is still smiling at me and I feel like dying. Tuesday morning with zero fanfare for anything I enjoy. Zero. The girl from yesterday is forcing me to look at myself, where I have gone throughout the last four years, and the bleak, empty future (alone). Not good. Maybe I’ll sit here all fucking day and wallow. I never lashed or swung the hammer yesterday because I knew it would not get me anywhere. The girl at the store killed me inside a little bit. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything. Even after lunch when I drove north to the cleaners, her eyes were still penetrating my psyche and calling to me from afar. Nothing happened. The afternoon faded like most days and I found myself relaxing with part of a movie. Dinner preparations came and went. That is that. Nothing of note took place in my little world... In reality. The other place? The inside of my head where dreams are manufactured in seconds? Oh, that was different. We ran away together. I cared for her and she cared for me. Everything was peaceful. No briefcase, though. Only the two of us were present. I loved her and could barely deal with not being in constant physical contact. None of that happened. There is nothing for me. This is a perfect example of why I always say that I can’t be good for anyone. The main reason is that reality cannot compare to dreams and wishes. No girl can come along and align to what I have grown to need. There will be no car arriving in front of the house. There will be no briefcase. All I did was look at her for seconds and everything ended up turned on its ear. Now I can barely function. My life was already truncated all to shit, and since yesterday I will say that the process has continued and forced me into an even smaller space. Sitting here this morning with coffee is really nice, yet I already know that at some point later I will fall on my face. Not good. The feelings never stop; the need never goes away; the pain is chronic. I will do my best to go through the motions of housework and some laundry and then see how I feel by late morning. I should probably focus upon little things and planning for the shed completion rather than pushing too hard. The fence company is going to be here in less than an hour for an estimate, too. I don’t want to appear like a basket case to other people. That shit has to remain private. As an aside, the woman with Peter throughout part of the first and most of the second seasons is irritating as hell. She is a perfect example of a complete waste of space; selfish; self-important; asshat. She is almost constantly condescending, as well, which makes matters even worse. When she speaks, I feel this deep need to push her face through a brick wall with the front bumper of my car. Well, whatever. The character is just not pleasant. No big deal. Now, where was I? Ah... I have to be careful in avoiding the pit of despair today. Her eyes will not let up and I don’t know how to deal with so many reminders of everything that is either gone or both gone and never to come along again in life. I need reasons to avoid the soil, yet they continue to fade away, completely beyond my control. I don’t like this shit at all. As you can see, my current emotional state is precluding any ability to follow a narrative or topic sentence within these paragraphs. In short, I am much worse off right now than yesterday at this time. The eyes have it. Her eyes were far too sweet for me to forget. I need to hold her. More importantly, I need her to hold me. Nope. My horizon in reality is beginning to resemble that of the netherworld... Nothingness. I wish I could know what lies beyond that fucking line. The morning routine is out of the way and I met with the estimator for my upcoming gate installation. I’d like that to be complete prior to the shed arriving. I’ll have to trim our plum tree, as well. That’s an easy one. I must say that the house is improving quite a bit since the shed plan began to take shape. Every space will benefit. Goddamn does Osha ever have huge eyes. Wow. She’s pretty scary, yet the eyes are amazing. Rarely have I seen their equal. I will refrain from yesterday’s eyes... The girl. I believe I’ve already gone around the world with my feelings for her. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, I may or may not run some laundry, and aside from that, not much will be accomplished today. I don’t feel very well and need to sit here and ponder my entire fucking life. Roxanne’s character is about to disappear from the series. Ooh-fa. I’ll miss her (just like all the others). Who cares? Do my feelings even fucking MATTER? Her name in the series is Doreah and I need to kiss her labia for six months. Shut up. And now I have to see Natalie’s big, beautiful eyes? Thanks. Just fuck me in the ass with Satan’s scalding-hot, thorned tail. Splendid. Blah, blah, blah... Killmecakes. From here forward, I suppose the best plan is to run the aforementioned laundry and then take care of some garage work. The fence estimator indicated that the crew will need access behind the chest freezer to anchor one post to the wall. I already moved a few items off the shelf, so I guess I’ll continue with that process just in case the scheduled installation arrives soon. I’d also like to take some measurements along the south wall for the future, as in post-shed construction. There will be lots of wall space and I am planning another mural, one far larger and more dramatic than the others. I already have the lumber and lighting, so I can make revolutions toward the goal of seeing it lit at night. People already question the appearance of the garage at night – some don’t feel comfortable standing among all of my symbols – and my intention is to cause more questions and concern. I am not a happy person, so anything with the ability to lift my stance is welcomed. The look of the garage at night is one of those aspects of living here with such power. I need it, and I need people to be unable to understand me. Small steps are all that are required for the time being. Maybe I’ll head out there after lunch. The sea awaits...
‘She was another example of that which you must overcome.’ ‘No fucking way. Really? I was just looking.’ ‘Weakness allowed her to enter your heart at second glance.’ Well, there it is. I guess no matter what I do or where I look or turn, something will always be wrong with my behavior. Julia is right on the money, though. The girl did enter my heart, and the reason was her fucking eyes. There was so much sweetness that I could barely understand how a creature with such power could have been created in the first place. I am so weak that the slightest hint of attention – not even actual affection – sends me into a tailspin. That is desperation, pure and simple. All it takes is a fucking glance and I go insane. Such feelings are indicative of several problems, as well. Not only do I feel completely fucking tormented when a situation like yesterday develops out of thin air, but afterward I have trouble going through the simplest motions or chores because my head ends up filled with ‘what-ifs’ and other questions. I also go back in time and recall those two damned situations that have ruined me for all time, and all that accomplishes is the creation of a mass of anger. I realize I am all fucked up. I know it all too well, and at the same time I can’t help but believe that there can be someone out there with the ability to take it all away. Whatever that is, one aspect is certain... I am losing my fucking mind. Julia said ‘weakness’ allowed that girl to enter my heart and I cannot disagree. She was just another example of how weak and desperate I’ve become. Moreover, each occasion sends me further down the rabbit hole and inflicts deeper pain. I don’t see how this place is supposed to help, either. I am made to sit and float along with nary a clue as to a destination, all the while I’m left to think that my behavior is dead wrong. What the fuck am I supposed to do after all this time? Put a huge smile on my face and act like life can improve? Tell me how, damn it, and maybe I’ll try. Otherwise, I don’t believe any of this shit can help me live any better. Period. Oy... The water seems unsettled now. The peaks are growing and rocking my little boat more and more. This just fucking happened, too. No sooner did I mention that I can’t see anything improving, when the waves rose and removed my line of thinking. I may be stubborn about things, but I am rarely incorrect. Rocking. Rolling. No music. Nothing is funny. Maybe Julia will finally put me in the water and kill me at long last. Days of this shit is just too much. Bigger wake is not helping me remain comfortable in this fucking boat. Something is happening. ‘Are you becoming uncomfortable?’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘As you wish.’ Marvelous. Now I am probably fucked. The waves continue to rise and my little boat is rocking nearly enough to send me overboard. Is that Julia’s intention? Her vague words are not fucking helping, to be honest. I am supposed to be learning, yet she will not make anything clear. What am I to think? Was that beautiful girl yesterday some kind of lesson in reality? I don’t get it. Julia might kill me, but after all these different worlds and journeys, I already know that something else will be created to test me. The plain truth is no matter what she does or where I end up, the two shit situations cannot be denied, removed from memory, or otherwise minimized enough for me to be comfortable in life. There is no denying such a fact. I don’t understand. And now the big one: When she asks me if I know what I have to do, is the correct answer the idea of putting those situations behind me and moving forward? How in the blue fuck am I supposed to let go of all that pain, all those years lost to heartache and yearning, and the torture I feel when I see something beautiful? Is that a fair question? Are any of my questions fair? I love Julia tremendously. I really do. She was created by my own mind. We have embraced and enjoyed the deepest comfort imaginable. Have I been wrong all this time? Years have passed since I died on the railroad tracks – the worst, most disheartening scene through which I have ever lived – and I still can’t comprehend what Julia wants me to do. She is the one who created that journey and was responsible for the damaging scenes through which I had to stroll, the end being the worst. I died right there within feet of finally learning the purpose of all those railroad cars, and nothing ever came of it. Being reminded of shit situation number one was very unpleasant and I really don’t need any more of that stuff in my life. I already have reminders each day that do not fail to appear no matter what I may be doing. That is the part that really grates against my willingness to continue trying to learn from all this. The shit is in the past, set for all time in stone, and there is nothing I can do about it, yet she carries on questioning and throwing me into these fucking situations thinking that I can overcome the past and find a more peaceful, fulfilling life. I don’t fucking think so, rolyaT. Look it up. Anyway, the sea seems to be calming now after my little mental tirade. Very good. I must sit here and consider what I was thinking and then try to answer the big question; I need to know what it is Julia wants me to do. She never says anything clearly unless I’ve fucked up. Now that the water is letting up its influence on my little boat, I can only assume that Julia has calmed, as well. Maybe I’ve driven the point home enough by now. The sea is calmer than prior to that little upheaval. Hmm. I guess I did ok this time. Usually when I bring Julia to the point of causing train wrecks, explosions, storms or any other type of disaster, I end up flashed to somewhere else and left to wonder what I did wrong. Oh, I've been wrong on plenty of occasions, yet at the same time I've also been quite correct, such as when I referenced those two situations from the past. There is simply no way around that shit anymore, and regardless of her actions, questions, or my words, no power exists that can remove those two traumas, nor can I come to terms with either of them for the purpose of increasing my own self-esteem or improving daily life. Forty years is a very long time to carry anything. So is the sheer number of occasions that found me in one type of therapy or another. If Julia could let up on those situations and their crippling, years-long effects upon every fucking aspect of my life, perhaps I can get the hell out of here. After all this time, I am actually unwilling to entertain the idea of ‘acceptance’, even if it extends my lifespan. I can’t do it. No way. That period created the person sitting here right now – good and bad as I may be to others – and if they fade away over time, I may not be the same person. That means the good will leave with the bad. I can’t have that. The ideal path for me to follow would be to take that period into consideration each time I have trouble living through a single day without becoming preoccupied with suicide, and then backing off. Other people may not appreciate such a thought, but the truth is that I must care for myself before anyone else. That is a process I have yet to achieve. In short, I will not apologize for who and what I have become. If the two shit situations disappear from my life, I will not be the same person. And forgive me, but such a stance would mean that something special could be lost. That statement is not a conceit. I’ve been good for other people... Helpful; knowledgeable; generous. They should thank their lucky fucking stars, but I digress. The sea is fully calmed. The sky remains unchanged. This world is now silent. All I can hear is my own breathing. Very interesting. Julia will most likely take issue yet again with my feelings for that beautiful pair of eyes at the market. I can’t blame her, either, because my heart is pretty weak and seeing a person like her should not have such a dramatic effect upon my psyche. That girl represents the deepest need inside me. I fucking NEED her to hold me and state in no uncertain terms that everything will be alright. This place makes me yearn for her touch even more than reality, yet the latter must intrude. The sea is calm. My mind is not. I need her. The next day... But does the day matter? Nope. I did work in the garage yesterday and upended my entire system of organization. The huge mural that will live on the south wall is partly built. Sometime later today I’ll have to move a few more things around so the car will fit inside. Right now I have too much shit swirling inside my head to really make any decent plans, so for the time being I’ll just wait. I have coffee and Natalie’s big eyes to keep me company. My feelings for the latter are dead-on matches to everything which has already been going on inside me. I can’t help it. Beauty does that, especially when there is a touch of sweetness to the look; bearing my mind toward the possibility that the owner of the eyes might understand. Or, at least, try to help. The girl in the store created the highest order of that wish. The scene has switched from Natalie to Nathalie. I wish that was funny. The dreams and wishes do not leave me, ever, meaning every single fucking moment of each day – no matter what I am doing, not doing, or thinking – is occupied by feelings of emptiness, loss, and assuredness of a bleak future filled with the same and nothing more. Those eyes catalyze my heart every fucking time. ‘She’ or ‘her’; whatever the case, my need has never been more acute than it is at this very moment. All the good I did yesterday no longer matters because I can only feel pleased for a split second before everything comes back and I fall away. I don’t know what I’ll be doing later today. No idea. Maybe nothing. I have to go to the market again for two items and I sincerely hope the visit comes and goes without problems. I don’t need to see her again, but I need her to wrap her arms around me and put an end to this shit once and for all. Nope. Nothing. My head is really going through it this morning. The difficulty will not fucking let up. I am tempted to go back to the other essay, but that always conjures beautiful memories and never ends well. The compulsion knows no bounds, though. If I return there, the morning will turn into a disaster, for sure. I have never needed ‘her’ so badly. This shit will come to a head at some point, mark my words. I have to go to the market so I can feel a little good upon returning. Done. My usual morning housework is finished, too. I have a load of laundry running, and gaining access to the area as well as being able to lower the swinging clothing rack required moving some things around. My garage is in disarray right now, but it’s no big deal. I have to make a bit of a mess in order to create improvements. I should be able to accomplish more after lunch if I can find the motivation to do anything but sit here. I’ll finish the laundry in good time and then the afternoon will be wide-open, yet my brain is so sogged with damaging information that I doubt I can lift a fucking finger in any productive direction. There was nothing to see at the store. The only issues are already at work inside me. The program on my right-hand display is glitching again. Damn. I may have to switch to something else. Pause. The streaming media is no longer glitching. This is good because the writing, acting and direction are fucking outstanding. It is one of the highest-rated television series in the history of the medium, and for very good reason. The entire production is fucking unbelievable and I love it. Too bad my dreams never went anywhere because I was afraid of everything. I’ll never know if the path would have led anywhere better than where I am right fucking now. I’ll never know. I did nothing. I was scared. Marvelous. Anyway, this program is so fucking amazing that each time I run through the episodes, I often can’t believe what I am seeing and hearing. Once the viewer becomes emotionally invested in the characters, the love for some nearly offsets the loathing of others. The gradient is vast. None of this matters. Ugh. ‘Progress peaked at frozen pizza.’ – John McClane. I can’t disagree. Lunch is in the oven and the laundry is almost finished. My garage is closed – typically due to clothing that must air-dry on the rack – but will be opened after I eat a little something. I still need to finalize the plan for the latest mural, meaning the garage will probably be a bit messy until I get things in order. I have to attach two pieces of plywood to the first half of the wall panel, place it in position, and then install mounts to the second half. Once those are complete, I can organize everything and clear the center of the garage. Something just came to mind as related to my desire to be home most of the time. I have to bring the car over the hill tomorrow for service (I have an appointment in the morning) and will need to kill some time during the process. The plan is to take a stroll to a nearby department store and shop for a few clothing needs and then likely return to the dealership to wait. Thursday means I need to go on a little adventure later this morning. I have the other car and will be dropping it off at the dealer for service, during which I may or may not have time to go shopping across the street. I am a bit concerned about being exposed out there sans the benefit of my car, although every occasion of such feelings typically eases once I arrive at my destination. I am not overly worried, just a bit nervous it will pass. Returning home will feel a thousand times better, too. I’ll have to keep that in mind. My usual daily business will commence after the car is serviced. I am having trouble doing anything else right now because going over the hill and dealing with people is not exactly my favorite activity. Depending upon the time required for them to finish and oil change and tire rotation, I may simply relax in their waiting area rather than taking a walk. Moreover, I forgot to grab my sunglasses from the other car before it left. Damn. I do have a backup pair, but I never liked them very much. Ugh. I guess I’d better get ready. And... My business is now finished at just after twelve. Not bad. The service went very well and I indeed walked to the big department store and did some shopping. Upon returning to the dealership, I relaxed in their comfortable lounge with some water and read the book I have on my phone. The show is glitching again. Shit. Whatever. Anyway, since everything is out of the way and my head feels better due to being home again, I may not plan much for after lunch. Then again, a second wind is not out of the question. Sometimes being busy in the garage as I work toward the goal of the new mural helps push the beautiful, stirring (read: impossible) eyes and other shit out of me for a little while. The work is tedious compared to my typical chores around the house because I have to keep moving certain items out of the way in order to focus upon the wall, and then everything goes back into place when I am finished for the day. Those items are a small portion of what will eventually live in the shed, meaning I rather jumped the gun with the beginning of the new mural. Had I waited another month, the process would be much more straightforward. I guess I became excited about the prospect of creating something new and dramatic. No big deal. Maybe I will go out there in a little bit. Hmm. I did just that. A few hours in the garage and the entire back panel (two full sheets of plywood) is in place and leveled. I also put the other two large decorations to the left of the big square. They are nice and level, as well. As I mentioned earlier, I had to move everything again, but I will say that each time I do, the process gets a bit easier. There is also the opportunity to toss some things in the trash; mostly crap I haven’t seen for a long while. Friday morning is here regardless of my needs or concern for the passage of time. The morning has been peaceful and I will continue to relax and gather my thoughts quite a bit longer than usual due to so much having taken place this week, all of which commanded my attention and time and even took me out of the house on three occasions. Today shall be all for me. As of yet, all I've done is a bit of preliminary work on the daily chores and sipped coffee. Soon I'll have to take care of the rest so that I can decide whether or not to go any further. As I said, the work is eased each time I step into the garage. One more time; the bad place must be visited...
The sea pays no mind. Nothing has changed for quite a while, either. No voices; no sounds; no nothing. I am just sitting here on very calm water and left to my thoughts. All of the good and bad has been flowing through me like two dedicated rivers; neither is more powerful than the other. The eyes pull me, and then I become sad, eventually that sadness turns to anger because I am left with nothing (like always, and for a very long time). The process soon repeats. I have no avenues to explore; no options to weigh. I am on a straight line in life. I don’t even know if the fucking boat is moving anymore. Earlier, I thought I could spy a bit of a ‘V’ emanation from the bow when the water was still a bit rougher. Perhaps I was mistaken the entire time. In any case, I am definitely not moving right now. Either something will change sooner rather than later, or I am meant to sit here and further analyze. Splendid. I thought I already went over as much as possible; the two situations having taken over my entire existence and disallowed true happiness, connections or fulfillment. Career paths? One of those situations destroyed the possibilities before any presented themselves, thus rendering me too fearful to move in any direction. Hence? I sat still in life and did my best to seek as much comfort and security as possible, from lavish trips allowing me to blend in and become a ‘number’, on to the smallest details of my personality, such as creating a ‘barrier’ between myself and others while in restaurants. I sought atmosphere and beautiful locales within which to sink and blend. Very few people understood my way of thinking, most likely believing that I enjoyed the exotic appearance of some rare places. The truth was I needed to hide and keep myself out of anyone’s line of sight as often as was feasible, hence the ‘barriers’. Darkness was paramount. All of that would have been completely upended had I followed one of the dreams in life. Nope. Too scared. Situation number two fucked me good. All the while, the first situation took its toll on my mind and body, often one much more than the other. The process usually led to an even stronger need to hide myself away. The major problem with that idea was a deep-seated need for there to be someone on my arm to tell me I’d be ok. There it is, plain and simple. None of this shit, be it trains or resorts, doors or seas, is going to change the way I live my life. I just don’t see how it could. Julia may have other ideas, too. I need to be ready just in case there is another flash and I end up elsewhere with even more fucking questions. Thanks, doll. For the time being – because I already know full well that there will be a change at some point – I am going to try to understand why I felt so much fucking torment and pain when I saw that girl at the market the other day. Julia even mentioned that my weakness and desperation seem to be not only at an all-time high, but increasing exponentially with no end in sight. The only factor seems to be the appearance of whatever woman stirs me. The latest was injected into my head and heart so quickly that I thought I’d fucking pass out. After all these years, I still don’t get it. A while ago – perhaps a few years – I calculated that the numbers were enough of an obsession to drive me into the ground whenever I felt the need to ‘know’ why a certain form appeared so attractive. I really needed to measure and understand just when the numbers became pushed far enough (exaggerated) before the subject began to become unattractive. Not long after that? I began to feel deep physical desire upon noticing a shape aligned with my obsession, and that was the worst turn of the card imaginable. It basically represented the end to any hopes of measurement or drawing, or anything else, really. I wallowed. Now? The desire is out of control on two different fronts: One is obvious, and the other is my desperate need to BE held rather than to hold. I don’t ever see it changing, nor do I believe anything will come along or be discovered in the future which can alleviate the pain. This would seem to be an impossible conundrum and I don’t even know why I have to go over it so much. I’m fucking sick and tired of this condition. ‘Leave the other information alone.’ ‘Why? It is compelling and beautiful.’ ‘It is destroying you. That particular part of your life is over.’ ‘Fuck off, woman.’ Great. Julia is telling me to leave the essay with all of the trauma and memories out of my life. How the hell can I do that when it represents the only positive aspect of living in a very long time? I can’t just let go of all that shit because sometimes I need to read it, or possibly add a few lines because the mood strikes. While it is true that wherever I revisit the essay I end up in a dark mood, at the same time I truly NEED to recall such beautiful moments due to them now being completely absent. I don’t see the possibility of anything on the horizon, so going back in time is all I fucking have. ‘Destruction, my love.’ ‘Yes, I know. But how?’ ‘You are already aware of the process. I need not detail it for you.’ ‘I fucking hate this shit.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Here we go again... Julia feels sympathy for me, but at the same time she tries to force me into behavior that I really don’t want to embrace. Shit. What do I do now? Jump out of the boat to illustrate the depth of my despair? The essay describes some of the best times of my life, and then heads into the present reality with deep descriptions of how I’ve been affected by everything having disappeared – ripped and torn away in a violent manner and leaving me more broken than ever before – possibly forever. My emotions run the gamut when I read or add to it. All of that information came about due to reality and the way I lived for a while, and the truth of the matter is that NONE of it would have taken place had it not been for the effects of the two shit situations. Julia needs to understand that, once and for all. I am tired of sitting in this fucking boat and having to pare every thought down to the number two. And yes, those fucking periods more than forty years ago. They explain everything except why I can’t seem to live without them. This had better be the end of Julia issuing suggestions that I disregard memories that are beautiful. Yes, they cause pain, but only because I do not envision ever being that comfortable again. Period. That information represents the end of me. And if this is all there is to be, I will not know how to live my life any differently. That much is certain. I am barely hanging on at all, let alone truly enjoying everything because there is always a cloud of shit just above my head waiting to pounce and ruin whatever is happening. There is another small road trip next month that entails a nice hotel stay and dinner in one of my favorite restaurants. It will be an opportunity to bring the camera and capture trains, plus I’ll be able to dress nice and wear one or more of my watches. That all seems wonderful, yet I already know there will be bad things in my vision, difficulty in spending time with two other people and holding back my torment, and upon returning home – whatever amount of comfort that may entail – means I’ll be right back here with a head full of hell. There is just nothing I can do about it. The sea is all around and will follow me wherever I go. Julia’s words will ring over and over inside my brain. And as I have pointed out on too many occasions to recall, each day is a little bit worse than the last, and that means next month I’ll be in worse shape than I am right now, and this is pretty fucking bad. I just don’t know what the fuck to do anymore except continue to think about everything. I end up sad, angry, or a combination of the two, both leading nowhere except deep depression. There is no relief; there are no outlets; there is nothing on the horizon aside from more of the same. I don’t see myself living much longer regardless of what Julia tries to teach me. This is completely fucked up. I have never felt so bad, and that’s not the first time I pointed out the truth. The water is becoming rough again, yet there is no wind. Very rough. As I think about the motion, it increases. What the fuck? There are no faces in the water so I should be thankful, but I don’t understand what has... Ah, shit... I can barely hang on to the... Splash! Some sort of weight or restriction will not allow me to right myself or swim... My legs barely work and I can see the light above fading quickly. Fuck... Gulp! ::: choke ::: Dim. Everything is dimming now. I am half full of... Blackness. Dead. I knew it."
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