Anno 2015

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[01/07/2015 07:02 pst]

Goodbye fourteen. Now we plod through fifteen. As usual we remain unchanged other than scripting. The Clodmaster section has been in mind of late and admin will soon return to that front to move things along a bit. Other than that nonsense, just this...

We have secured a third top-level domain in which to expand the electronics of our minds. This new space will be inhabited by the great years-long experimentation which has yet to be realized. As the research pushes forward, the web space must follow. Our reach will have to be expanded in the extreme, but the effort should provide some return. This also means that the forum which has gone by the wayside for many moons will also find its way into use (hopefully). The idea was mentioned a few entries back. The space will be huge, to say the least. Stay tuned.

And now... On to admin's usual drivel.


"Here we go again.

The uphill which marks the only downside to the wonderful Master Winter: The fucking clock which has chased us since the carnage of '03. Time is the downside, in the extreme. Time is the steep uphill upon which we now tread. The path which kills us every year in every small way possible. That death is happening now. And this is not something helpful, as we are already in the midst of shifting from inactive to active dimensional research. Said shift will cause enough trouble for a lifetime and the addition of the fucking seasonal horseshit change is simply going to make every step in life much more difficult. We do not need this at all. We are pushing nothing in the correct direction. Nothing. We are still stagnant as to which direction to turn... And time is running out. Do we throw in the towel? Drive our heads into the concrete as the beauty commands? Do we make another attempt at a capture? Drive ourselves out the door as in so many years passed? Well...

These are the only choices. The fucking truth is there are no options to the positive. The capture draws us like nothing else in this world but the resulting life which would likely remain is ugly.

Photo, example, damage, fucking difficulty:


Above we see another example of numbers which closely match the original, and symmetry equal. We have difficulty in the extreme in considering said example and what it means to the entire project. If -- in coming weeks -- the project advances into the active stage, numbers may become clear and the subsequent research may be illuminated as never before. Such a situation would ease the arduous nature of the images upon which we ram our heads, as well as ease the research which has piled up in the computer for years.

The difficulty related to this lifestyle cannot be overstated. We have driven ourselves (drunken) into the ground on too many occasions and agonized through far too many public issues for the entire situation to be considered trivial. That is just not a possibility. The whole of the project is worth everything we've gone through but things will not become easier by any stretch. We shall continue unto death. Might as well go off the fucking deep end now, and at long last...

Another example of radii beyond description:


Understanding is for naught, as always. Why do we continue to make attempts? Is there some higher meaning to be found? Some sort of illusion to be revealed as hoax? Fuck no. The whole of the difficulty is a realization that explanation is now and for all time absent. The search is fruitless, the effort is futile, and the words will forever fail. What is the push to move forward? From where does the inspiration stem? Are we already insane? Bind us to a tree in the forest... The result will be the same no matter where we reside."

[01/13/2015 17:02 pst]

Admin has finally updated the Clodmaster section (up to 28 pages now) and the staff has completed more backend work to keep everything streamlined. Thank goodness for Master Page... It makes the changing of the year easy.


"The numbers are flying through our heads like some sort of fleeting scraps of paper in a strong wind. They will not stop and we are powerless anyway. Do not try. The visions have overtaken our frail frames and there is no saving throw whatsoever. The visions will not stop, nor will they allow us clarity of thought. The visions are all of us... All over us... All within us... All there is now. Visions. Images. Radii. Curvatures. Tapers. Disparity. There is to be no end until our own end. Just a glance caused all of this... Precisely at a time when our place in the world was already defensive; at a time when we were on the cusp of letting go and pushing it all aside for other interests. Now that is not possible. The visions are inside and will not let go. They will not allow us comfort or respite. They are in total control of every second, every thought, every want, and every need. The power is too great to ignore and too heavy to move aside. The power is now everything.

We are doomed.

And it is over. The opportunity to look beyond the Goddamned numbers and images... All of the studying and conjecture... Gone. This is the single largest disappointment in years. The project is once again at a standstill and we are floored; absolutely fucking floored beyond belief. What a fucking left hook. Despite the statements above regarding such a deeply-held need, we are back at the beginning. No prospects, no hopes, no nothing. God damn the whole thing anyway.

How did it come to this? When did the interest spiral out into an obsession? Was it the girl at the car wash? Fuck us. Perhaps. Or maybe the goddess at the fucking brewery? Fuck.

Depressive behavior arriveth.

Another essay is in the wings but the inspiration has left us like leaves in the wind. Gone. We may yet find the drive to put it together, but right now that drive has driven; driven out of our heads and right into the frozen ground. Back to the damaging days of old we go. Back then the essays flew off the fucking pencil and straight into the book. They flew as during no other time. True, the damage was always at the forefront, but the words were worth it. They carried importance. They carried meaning. They carried us.


A ten-plus year dream down the fucking shitter. Unbelievable.

Or is it? Let us explore...

In the beginning there was the girl at the car wash, and the Esquire/Mojo girl on INHD. Back then, the idea of exploring the dimensions was in its infancy and something which we viewed as unrealistic. The reasons are painfully obvious, and were stated clearly during the MySpace days:

'I am also realizing my interest in the female form has not only grown into something much more important than the appreciation of physical attractiveness, but has also spidered my mind into the realm of the still-picture voyeur. I fear this obsession will eventually strengthen and further my need beyond the simple image and into the fiery world of people's private lives.'

So... there we were right dead center in the realization that the obsession would eventually go much further. We knew it. Even years ago, when the project was in its infancy, the thought of future difficulty (and even impossibility) was already rooted within our psyche. It was fucking there, and now years later that moment has taken place and caused infinitely more heartache than originally thought possible. Again... How in the blue fuck did we get here? Did we subconsciously want this? Was it already another path to our grave? Was it an avenue for more destruction? Or perhaps simply too great a need to live without? Jesus Fucking Harold Christ. Honestly, it is too great a need. Far too great. This will either come to fruition or place us neatly in the ground. And at least the latter would yield us much less in the disturbing thought department. Like... None. The idea feels like bliss at this moment. Exactly the opposite of the fucking heart-wrenching feelings we now endure.

Where the fuck is the Promised Land when we need it?

To be fucking continued."

[01/19/2015 13:59 pst]

The next essay is being written, scrutinized, polished, and admin has antagonized the staff over it for days now. He will not admit to the existence of it but we know better. Everything he writes goes through our hands before the production environment, and the resulting realization escapes him. Denial, of a sort. Hee.

The newest domain procurement was to become space for admin to explore and expand his already month-long change in content here. The direction of the blog focus has taken a severe left turn from the usual banter about life and society, and into the study of the rarity of her image as the fascinating female form. This turn may well have been his plan from the outset of the new year, but that is nothing more than speculation. He will not discuss these things (even with his own staff) so we are at a loss as to the reasoning. On the upside, it means content and expansion. On the downside, we would like everything included here.

The next few weeks should prove interesting, to say the least.


"Alessandra Ambrosio was a part of the beginning of this...


Since her first contract with Victoria's Secret, Alessandra's dimensions have been splayed across the Internet, but the detailed numbers remain unknown. Of course they will change slightly from one week to the next, but the basis has been there all along. Her height dramatically challenges the fitness of those whom share her profession through low body fat and very low body weight. The image above is one of the few which has propelled her to current status. She is incredible, to say the least, and her recent appearance and subsequent gallop down the runway in London has her cemented in the minds of all related to fashion.

Along with Alessandra, we do recall an image of Mercedes Terrell from several years ago when she modeled for trade shows. She was perched on the driver's seat of a sports car with feet on the ground as if she was about the exit the vehicle. The shot appears to be a candid because of her facial expression and pose. Mercedes has a very narrow waist and slightly wider than average (for a model) hips. Her position dramatically demonstrated the difference between the diameter of her waist and the diameter of her hips. Not only did she show off a very small waist, the image was pushed further due to her stomach and legs. Her stomach appears completely flat from the front and to the point of not even hiding the thin waistline of her lingerie. That fact... Right there... Is likely another catalyst as to our fascination with such specific shapes. There was no visible distortion along the transition of her body from thighs to torso. The only dividing lines were the creases that formed due to her waist being bent. Everything else was smooth to the point of appearing artificial. She looked exaggerated, but not even remotely unattractive. Not even close. Below her waist, there is a gap between her upper thighs and the seat of the car is visible through this. The inner gap is another fantastic curve but also one almost impossible to recreate on paper (nearly so to describe with words, as well).


Over time and during much study of the photo and why she appeared so attractive, this became something entirely different... The idea of the dimensions of her body being pushed to a place difficult to describe. During this period we began to seek images of her and other models which seemed to demonstrate similar features. Years later, we have amassed images beyond belief and studied our asses off but still there is no clear understanding of the reasons. In addition, upon two different occasions we attempted to approach others in order to actually take measurements, plot curves, and then try to create disparate drawings of various features. As of this writing, we have yet to accomplish anything other than conjecture.

Very disheartening, this process has become. Very. We know not what to do.

The simple fact now is that this type of woman is so extremely rare that to find someone willing to help us is a near impossibility. And we mean very near. She would need to wear a shape which is an enigma, AND be willing to be studied in a very intimate fashion. The entire project rests upon the possibility of real-world numbers, and this indicates we are now at a standstill which could outlast our lives.

Fucking disillusioned is an understatement.

[01/22/2015 18:00 pst]

Yesterday was admin's birthday, which means we should all brace for a storm front. Coupled with January (the entire month, mind you), the next few weeks will not be positive in any way. The site will sit, and the only forward progress will be bitching.


"We float in negative space now... Waiting, wishing, dreaming, yearning. A portion of hell. A slice just large enough to contain our needs, and our needs have become our lives. We have been relegated to this by our own actions, inactions, decisions and obsessions. We are wallowing yet again. All of the wallowing during the dark periods in 2003 and 2010 add up to naught when thrown into a comparison. The space is deep, black, and we are all the way in. The space... Is negative.


The downward times are at hand, and the further drop is frightfully close now. We feel it at the end of the street. The drop IS the end of the street; the end of the journey; the end of everything. It is our end and it will be welcomed. Our lover the champagne has all but left us alone, and the path ahead is black. We cannot survive the difficulties as in years passed. Then, they were manageable... Now, however, they are commanding. They are ruling us as no other. They have challenged us to rise and they have failed. We have been challenged to rise and we have failed. We are in the black.


The obsession has become too much for us. We can no longer contain ourselves during difficult situations and the potential issues within that space are going to kill us right quick. Last night was invaded by yet another example of art and the sight drove us to interfere. She sat there alone. She sat... Tall and lanky... Amazingly long fingers and thin wrists. She did not know, but she was calling us. Her form moved through time and space to arrive on a pedestal within our deviant and drowned view. The beautiful melody that was her shape beckoned our psyche and drew us from our seat and into her glowing aura. She sat... Awaiting a friend, and instead became waylaid by unnerving intentions, questions, and the fascination and wonder of children on Christmas morning. Conversation ensued, and she allowed us in. She allowed us visions of fingers, wrists, forearms and her magnificent shoulders. Once the shoulders were exposed, we fell. And we are still down there. We know not how to rise, nor if we SHOULD rise. That type of experience is incredible beyond words and as rare as inspiration. We contained ourselves for the evening and spoke politely to her as we left. And, because of her openness and mesmerizing understanding toward our disturbed needs, she now rests among one other as representative of a truly genuine human being. Unreal. We crossed over momentarily, but somehow remained alive.

We are all the way in... All the way down... All the way in and among the black."

[01/29/2015 16:05 pst]

The purpose of this site has remained the same for nearly thirteen years. Nearly. Now, however, admin has smacked our asses in the direction he desires. As long as he is holding the pink slip, we go where instructed. The third domain will work its way here over time and we will link as appropriate. When the time arrives, the change will be immediately apparent.

No other section of this content has changed since the outset of fifteen, and as far as the staff can read, there are no changes in the foreseeable future. The new direction and admin's subsequent drivel will continue. Onward to the below...


"Pushing our research from inactive to active has so far created nothing aside from severe heartache and difficulty in dealing with thought. She was there, but the possibilities have run aground like so many past trips within the comfort of the yacht. The Geese have flown awry, and we have run aslant of the Skyy. Now, we shall sit within the dark circle of dreamy visions and slowly destroy ourselves. The options for us have narrowed so dramatically that every sliver of light has left our sight. The recent exploration has left us absolutely yearning for more but there is nothing... We have nothing... We see nothing. Our sight is now truncated into an aperture of hellish dimension. Just like so many beautiful tapers into dark places beyond comprehension, we have left but a slight angle inward from arduous journeys to impossibility.


Yes, the above is true. Her appearance and demeanor were that amazing. She floated above all with the softness of a cloud. She floated her unbelievable form through the space that others can occupy... The space that irrelevancy can occupy... The space which the detritus does occupy. She stood out like the Moon painted red. Her beauty is unreal and may never allow our hopes to come to fruition. The numbers are just not there. The numbers are too distant. The possibility is astronomical. As of just a few short days ago, our wound which has been hanging by a thread is now wide open and bleeding profusely. We cannot stop it to save ourselves. It bleeds all over us every day and night. There is no stopping the flow of blood from our painful existence. The fucking blood will soon drown us and overtake our frail frames and pull us down into nothingness like never before. It is happening right fucking now.


She is in total control of us now. Just a few short hours, a minuscule amount of time and her unreal beauty grasped our damaged minds and held on like nothing before. We were held, bound, immobilized, and happy to be there. We are still there... We are unable to move from this worst of turns. Fuck it all. We will go down with her vision within our drunken swirling heads and enjoy every Goddamned second.

She is so worth it. She is worth every type of suffering and difficulty. She is worth everything. Just she. Her. Unreal... To the last. In these late days, the idea of forgetting is beyond us. She is inside us... All the way, and the overwhelming needs within us are now shaped by her.



Those terms we have discussed at length with the Vegas confidante, and her opinion was this: 'Go there and never return. If you should fall, remain fallen. If you should rise, the fall will come later. Guaranteed. There is no going back. Fulfillment for five minutes is more than most will ever experience.' God damn her for being correct. Her insight is invaluable.

We will fall all the way to the blackness, smiling all the while. We will inhabit the blackness until it expels us. We will embrace the blackness until we can hold on no longer. We will fucking do it. The time for happiness is nigh."

[02/02/2015 whothefuckcares pst]

Admin speaks... We listen. He knows not what he writes, but we publish.

As stated days ago, the content is stagnant other than the words below.


"Jesus fucking Harold Christ. How did we get here? How did such an interest turn to an obsession beyond belief and drive us into the ground? Are the numbers so valuable to have this sort of power over our entire existence? Fuck. We should have remained female. Should have. Things could look radically different now, and though there is no guarantee of such feeling, the possibility is there. Fuck. Just fuck. Inactive was fine. Now we are buried.

Bullshit. Inactive was far from fine. We need the transformation and change like we need breathable air. We simply cannot and will not go on in any fashion without the numbers. They control us just as she does. There is no getting around such things. The numbers rule us, and we obey. If they instruct us to move in a given direction, we do. Our current direction has been dictated by the numbers. Currently, we do not see another way. We cannot see much of anything, actually. We cannot move away, nor can we move toward. The entire obsessive issue is decidedly out of our hands right now. Some semblance of control at this point would be pleasant. But, fuck it... We abide. We will sit and drown until otherwise instructed. Once again, fuck it all anyway.

We. Should. Have. Remained. Female. For. Fuck's. Sake. But we sat on our stupid asses and did nothing. And now here we are at this hellish and distorted junction which will likely kill us very soon. That is fine.


We feel nothing save for heartache now. We have been relegated to a fetal position in which we can only attempt to understand why our existence must operate in such a cruel and damning manner. Obsession can be damaging, and that is precisely where we reside at this very moment. The planet may crash and force us below into the magma. As stated above, that is fine. Let it happen. Freedom from thought seems as bliss now. Freedom from visions and dreams. Ride the magma waves and burn with the rock. Fall beneath the overwhelming pressure and heat. Crushed; melted; gone. No more thought. Fuck, that sounds perfect. Lush and beautiful landscapes give way to endless flame. Push us in.


So, where the fuck do we attempt to go from here? We have been here so long it feels like home. An insane and disjointed home, but nonetheless... We cannot deny. Upward is nearly impossible. Downward is already taking place as we type. Guinness; keyboard; music; thought. They are parts of our home now. We can stay here and remain, but soon the knife will call. We can leave, but that option has been attempted and failed several times -- none of which led to the knife. Still, the exit remains illuminated as it must. Without such a choice, we cannot function. We need it just as we need the lover (read: alcohol). The top image of Miss O'Neil is an unbelievable example of the cause of this turn. She is far away, of course, but the image stands as a demonstration of the drive, obsession, and subsequent fall into the black (we know it all too well). The fall has taken place many times, but the latest is the worst possible outcome from the most possible beauty. The beginning and end of everything... Of us. Our beginning and end, and that is a dramatic understatement. Why does the beginning also have to mark the fucking end? Why the fuck? Where are we and how did we get to this place? Beauty; dismal thought; love; death.

God damn this entire life. Please... Someone just up and damn the whole fucking thing. We will happily be damned right along with the sewage."

[02/07/2015 07:02 pst]

Admin speaks again, and this time directly:

"The remainder of this site will sit unchanged from this day forward. The only motivation I have for continuing in the vein of which the staff has recommended is them. I have none myself. I do not see a point to this endeavor other than fluidity of site history. That will remain as it has throughout the last ten years. Archives; images; banter; whatever-the-fuck. All of it will remain, and the only updating shall be the italicized text after the hexagram. That is all. The staff will notify readers if my mind changes. Over and the fuck out."

So there you have it, readers. As always, we go where steered, period. And now, the below.


"We cannot expect to survive this latest of forays into the blackness. Her darkness and unbelievable pull upon our senses are too much. We simply cannot resist, and the change will cause all manner of chaos, terror, confusion and pain. The change will also provide the highest order of our dreams coming to light. This will be the end of all things, and such an end is welcomed like nothing before in our lives. She has become everything and the fall that is before us is the only lit path from the now. The idea of resisting has gone away. Far away. We must simply go and relinquish control of our souls to her. Just her.

God damn the fucking universe for doing this... Causing this... Allowing this terrible and wonderful dream to come to light.

Why did we need to achieve this? We dreamed, yearned, drew, wrote, discussed, obsessed, and pushed everything aside just to have the opportunity to explore. Now that we have, there is no fucking going back. We must stay because any other option becomes death (which is fine). With such a situation, we need not worry about worry.


We are mere puppets now. And we love it to no end. Until now the only beauty was partly surface and partly subsurface. Now they are one and the same and endless. We follow our strings as she pulls them. She is above us now. Her hands and mind are God. We follow as she instructs... We live as she dictates... We will die at her command. We have no other way. The paths of possibility are no longer illuminated as years ago when times were wide-eyed and hopeful. Our hopes now depend upon her whims and wishes. We are hers for all time. We are close to the end; the end expected, but not unwanted; the end we always knew but never knew possible; the end of which we dreamed for a decade. End us. We are hers.


We will doubtless die in sight of reality, anyway. The openness she has provided and the unbelievable and unexpected comprehension that came along with it are staggering, to say the least. As we sit mired and twisted into the detritus, the thoughts of understanding are paramount. Without understanding, thoughts of beauty, and dreams of vision, we are fucking dead. Well, we are dead anyway. That is the only solution to our years-long yearning and heartache followed by a glimpse and connection with the most compelling dream imaginable. We will be in the ground, and the solution cannot be anything of note because we are not anyone of note -- and never have been. Mired; twisted; disfigured and sullen for too long."