[07/24/2015 03:12 pdt]

Admin's work on the Clodmaster has reached yet another milestone. The massive PC board design which will control all of the functions and sensors is now complete. The next step is having said board(s) manufactured and the long road of assembly will commence. This is huge, and represents an end to nearly eight years of intense work. Concurrently, the last two machined parts to complete the drive are in the works. Once admin decides which will come first -- metal or electronics -- we will further the Clod section and publish. We congratulate him for the effort and look forward to the day when this magnificent vehicle is in motion.

DP is an uphill battle and one which may take the rest of the calendar year to publish. The site is already expansive, with many galleries and ties to Coma. We work fervently to that end.

Reiko's deviant and twisted bitching continues weekly and that section is the wish of both her and admin. She does have a method for describing things in excruciating detail which has the power to astound and disgust at the same time. Of course, we appreciate her... always.

One functional note: admin's words have been brought up a notch to a lighter gray in order to ease readability.

1236, the Dream, and the Hatred

 to read ( words)

"Believe it or not, removing our heads from the nether regions of the female form is actually possible. Yes, we spend much time in consideration of such areas and the meanings they may hold for us, but the simple fact remains we are able to function upon other levels and focus upon differing items. For example, the Clodmaster has seen progress despite our feathering and wavering behavior. The electronics have progressed, the board is finalized, and the drawings for the last two machined parts for the clutch are in the works. Soon we will be assembling.

Also, website number six is being built.

See? We can perform other tasks sometimes. Heh.

True, the dimensions and related imagery can rule as nothing else on earth. There can be no doubt of this.

Unfortunately, 1236 is beginning to get in the way of productive thought. 1236 is a number we consider every day of the week. We cannot escape the thoughts and memories related to that location and at times they bring us to our knees with sorrow. That number was hot, yet comfortable; high, yet not too much; isolated, yet not too far. We sat there every other Friday and spun our web of pointed words and very clearly directed patterns of disdain. Over and over the feelings flowed through our keyboard and across the Internet like flame from a plasma torch. We pushed through the din with spelled-out daggers and attacked from every conceivable angle. We tore holes in others with our diminished patience. We fired arrows into the calm and destroyed. We constantly and consistently ripped society and its standards.

And we enjoyed.

And we still do.

And we will continue due to the deserving shit fucks which inhabit.

All of that facilitated by the hellish feelings from within 1236. There are positives, mind you, but none related to our backward and moronic society. The positives are related to beauty alone. The image below serves to push the words into a place where words cannot exist. Thus, 1236, fuckheads.


1236 helped us realize and define the patterns of life in this world, and the resulting hells which to this day ruin in their unrelenting and filthy ways. That was the location of many a realization with regard to society. They are still within and constantly at our heels.

Fortunately, the number also relates to the current dimensional work as that was the location of our first descriptive essay about a woman. Once she was spotted, the words began to flow through our heads like birds flying in panic. The words slowly made their way into the processor and eventually WritePoint. That was the infantile beginning of much of this site's content.

Now... oh God are we in. The numbers have taken us out of ourselves. To sit here and consider that beginning and first attempt at a description is mind boggling. 1236 and that essay? A fluke. We shall never do that again. The interesting aspect is just how quickly the words became the need (remember the Salt?) and the need became our lives. We have been removed from the norms and placed into a pool swimming with visions of the Vision. The Beauty. Her. Them. The. Fucking. Desires. All we are in these late days... wallowing and waiting for the next possibility.

Speaking of possibility? Another. Yes, there has been another. She will grace the Writing section of this site soon enough, but in the meantime we can say that something similar to the Car Wash encounter took place yesterday. The picture was unbelievable and will take time to form and represent us as it should. Soon... very soon she will be here. 1236 shall shine again. Fucking shine, as it were. We have hoped for this -- another vision of sorts -- but there is obviously no way for predicting such things. A woman appears in the right place and at the right time, or she does not. This time, she was there and we were there. Oh certainly we are insane over this shit, but we know not how to operate our sordid lives in any other way. We must search no matter the circumstances. We must try. An essay every several years is just fine because the boost it will force is wonderful. And this time the interval is mere months. 'The Darkest of Beauty' was earlier this year. Unreal. That writing is fantastic, and exceeds even those which arose from 1236.


So... where do we go? What do we do? Continue writing ourselves into the fucking soil? Perhaps. The need has become so great that we can no longer consider abstinence as an option. The pull is far too strong and we cannot deny. We must wait. Just wait and write and write and wait. For crying out loud, we have little else. The dreams simply must come to fruition. Our need is far too great to push aside. It defines us, completely. All else is filler.

Of course, we must plod with the daily routines until such time as the opportunity to further our studies is realized. The end result -- understanding -- is not something of which we can be certain, and the focus of our needs may only push us outward and into a place near to solitary confinement. The idea of ending up like that cannot be denied.

The Goddamned opportunity of a lifetime is uncertain to the point of driving us far beyond the fucking bottle... it may push us into a hole defined by therapy (as before) and confinement. We are already descending into that pit. We created it, so why not just let go and fall into the sewage with the rest? Why the fuck not? We shall end up there anyway. Fuck it all, and fuck you... those whom have assisted in this decay. Queue the funeral doom.

Today has been one of those forsaken and downtrodden periods in which we realize our value within a group. We are broken and the glue has expired. Soon we will expire, too. Fuck it. Why not? Are we to rise at any time? Are we to understand? Are we to be where we (barely) wish? Are we to just sit here and die with the need still within us like a fucking parasite? Probably. The time for hope and forward thinking is very stale.

The visions have taken us over completely, as previously stated in spades. The issues of dealing with visions, as well. Day after dying day we attempt to find distraction and comfort. The latter is there from time to time, however it is not real. What is real has become all of us... Her... the Beauty... the fucking Dream. The decision has been made that if the opportunity is not realized, we are finished and this space is all that will remain. Sad? Yes, but necessary. We cannot rise. The idea has become everything. The staff will roll into the future and likely not miss us and our pointed words. Oh well. Such is the world we have created for ourselves, and such are the sad facts of which we are victims.

The Beauty has become everything.

Our routines reflect all of this. Habit, repeatability, concentricity. Those words are every moment. And the new home (of the past three years) has turned into the latest cocoon. The apartment represented a level of comfort unparalleled, but we are so well suited to the new home that the comfort is different yet enough. Time spent in development is abundant and peaceful. Thus, the Beauty and the Dream are constantly at the forefront of our quiet lives. An upswing? Perhaps, but of a sort we have yet to understand... just as the Dream. Oh it is there... Somewhere... but we are not within. We are most decidedly without. Fuck. Shit. Crap. Damn.


Over and over the hatred happens... we are disregarded. The thoughts flow like a two-bit whore yet there is little or no response. We do not understand. Make us understand why the continual slight must take place. We are at a loss. One occurrence is understandable and may simply be an accident. Years of this? Something else. And the issue is not only from the past years, but still happens today. When we speak, no one listens. When we respond to a question or some other inquiry, no one awaits a response. We are trod upon over and over by those who speak of caring and kindness. We sit aside and await some semblance of courtesy but to no avail. We just sit. The courtesy is nonexistent. Soon we will be nonexistent.

Again and again we are spoken toward and shut off like a machine. We are dispensed, pushed aside and left alone. We are sent into the corner with nary a thought near humanity. We are left to feel unimportant and as if we do not matter.

Well, the switch has flipped.

Our writings now and in the past are to be the most pleasant available and possible, and the pleasant is over. Unfortunately, the disrespect and disdain are now at the forefront and cannot be reversed. The others are now the enemy. The capital is now the negative -- not the mellow negative of the development environment, but the actual. There is to be no end to this, and there is to be no end to the downfall of what we have become due to the others.

Here is the result: We no longer wish to speak with others. If and when we do, we do not want anyone hearing what we may be saying, and we do not want others listening to what we are being told. Crush your cars, burn your homes, slice your throats, stay out of the way of productive society, and simply die quietly and alone. We will not miss you. No one will. If they claim to, they are lying. And the lies are guaranteed. Consider the fucking source, idiots."


She is right fucking there in the forefront of my mind constantly. I find that throughout my day if I simply sit and relax I am drawn quickly into dreams of being her. I cannot escape the feeling at times. Cannot. I am consumed with her all day and all night. I need to keep my mind occupied or the time will disappear as suddenly as my own waning ambition, like so many days and weeks and months and years I have lost to my thoughts of inadequacies, limitations, regrets, and surmounting fears. All consuming, she is. My daydreaming mind is losing its already failing grasp and fundamental connection with everyday life. I have not needed a fucking drink this bad in a long, long time. Damned long. But I can have none.

She is in there so deeply that the thought of removing her image and soul from my consciousness is distant to the point of incomprehension. I want so deeply to be her that I am closing in on some way of making myself immune to everything outside that lovely dream. I want to wear her clothes, walk in her shoes, see the world through her eyes, and experience a life worth experiencing.

I am wishing every waking Goddamned moment.

My desire to be her is overwhelming and becoming more and more realistic. I have had need to leave her presence in my mind many times this week, but now more than ever. Just standing as her in the room makes me lightheaded. This is not an emotional desire but one of lust. The feeling is incredible and it is succeeding in making me miserable. Moving away from her image is no longer enough. I am fucking glad I am fairly busy while here at work, because the more she is in my thoughts the worse off I am. My condition is also such that I am absolutely drowning within daydreams of plunging my face into you-know-who's little ass and feeling its warmth. I almost cannot stand it anymore. She is incredibly fresh, bright, and alluring. I sleep against her and she trusts me to no end, but the need is killing me. Killing me! I want her like never before. Fuck! That soft skin...


In other matters, my Shadow is there at my back like a rabid animal bent upon my destruction. The recent realization that I must reenter therapy has helped to keep my head up over the last few days, but last evening I just dropped. How am I to know that this round will be any different? What will motivate me to open my self-destructive and secluded mind to another? Face to face communication is not my forte, so this will take time. I just hope I can stick with it long enough to reap the benefits. We shall see when the fork of possibility once again plunges into my path. We shall just fucking see.


Further, the aforementioned Mojo/Esquire ad is also cemented into my brain and will not leave. The sweetest and most drippingly alluring confection is attached to that ad and may actually be a more driving desire than my own blood. Mercy, but these thoughts will send me to the devil. I see it coming. I see it as clearly as the next five minutes on this blog. It is coming at me with alarming purpose and frightening determination. The fucking sex of society has embedded its swirling cocktail of a dagger into my head. My head is awash with that sex. Their intent has succeeded with me.

Congratulations, society, you have killed my common sense. Fuckers. Just bring her on and I will devour that velvety vixen like so much sweet, sweet chocolate.

I need a fucking drink! Save me!


I want her to be my whole life. After all of this time since the big drop I experienced five years ago, she has been supportive, loving, and completely understanding. I love her beyond words, and I can say in all honesty that I am alive right now because of her. She is the most important person in my life.

On the downside of my feelings, I am attracted to her sexually more than ever. My desire is consuming me and complicating her efforts to help keep me afloat during these difficult times. I find myself wanting to touch her when we are together and in the midst of an emotional discussion. To me, moving into that territory seems a natural extension of our closeness. I feel so strongly about physical contact between us that sleeping next to her is becoming an exercise in restraint. As much as she allows me to hold her at night, the idea of anything beyond that is very alien to her (as well as most everyone with normal societal boundaries and standards). That is understandable as our relationship is not progressive at all beyond the sleeping arrangements. Just this morning she told me that sleeping up against me has become very comfortable for her and she looks forward to being close to me every night. Apparently, we are experiencing the same type of therapeutic resolution to our respective days. I feel the same as her about our sleeping arrangements. A loving embrace full of warmth and security is what we have created.

My feelings toward a sexual relationship have grown exponentially over the last several weeks and have followed in line with my recent deepened depression. She suspects my desire to be with her physically will experience a decline if my life's outlook improves. That makes sense, but I honestly am enjoying this recent desire and would like it to remain.

Aside from this subject, my weekend has been up and down. Plenty of gin and bourbon have helped cloud my head even more than usual, and the feelings related to my future are still very mixed. School, work, some other type of work, and my quality of life have swirled through my head over and over. Last night I began to have another sort of episode with regard to my breathing and I do remember my mindset when that took place. I was mixing thoughts of my past with worry over my future, as usual. This is never a good thing. Toss in a dash of booze and my eyes well up as the realization of my self worth invades. That is precisely the combination that sends me spiraling, and lately seems to have the ability to send me to the floor with difficulty breathing.

In short, I have made zero progress in trying to improve my self-esteem issues and have not even begun to address the destructive feelings which accompany such. My limitation is me. The honest truth is I do not care to improve my situation most of the time. I just do not. I am willing to sit and wait for my demise. Those times when I do actually care to improve are few and very weak in comparison. Finding ammunition to damn myself is so easy.

So I am here in tears again. Tears aplenty. She is sweet to mop them up, but in the end I look at her eyes and want something more than understanding and conversation.

I want all of her all over all of me.