[10/05/2015 16:47 pdt]

Happy Monday.

But not for all. Admin has lost it yet again and is stomping around the office in headphones and pajamas muttering descriptive terms and threatening the world due to what you may read below. We sympathize, and short of having been there for this event we will stay out of his way. While composing an essay to describe a woman we have learned to remain clear of him. Yikes.

On the Clodmaster front, the PC boards have been ordered and should arrive in a week's time. We will photograph and continue that blog when available. This is a huge step eight years in the making and may require somewhat of a celebration. Too bad admin is now mentally crippled by yet another female. Two occasions of this in a mere six month period and he is now impossible with which to communicate. Over the next several months we will attempt to pull him out of space and time to return to the work at hand.

Another section of the galleries will soon be up and available... Wristwatches. The collection admin has held, as well as those he holds now will be displayed for historic reasons. The photographs will not be up to par with past work, but the identification and views should help to illustrate a compelling story.

Backend work continues and the coding for Dimensional Passion is underway. We are in the process of securing necessary web space for the new venture. Much of what has been written here on this index will migrate (copy) along with a multitude of instructional and supplementary information pertaining to the business. RSE will expand into this as well. In addition, the idea of spinning off the Clodmaster writeup has been tossed into the last staff meeting and we will address that when the time comes. There is certainly enough information and technical data to support such a change. To be continued.

"There is an exit.

A bit of a preamble before the essay. The past few days we spent time in the mountains and a short visit to the forest, and of course the typical drop took place almost immediately afterward... And continues this morning. For fuck's sake why do we enter into this Goddamned void every fucking time? Is the pull too great for us to escape without escape? Jesus.

The forest always brings an expansive sense of wonder and possibility but returning to this shithole of a society slams us back into the space we seemingly cannot leave. We are cemented, and seeing the trees and taking in the cool, dry air proves just how detached we have become from that which matters most. This period of the calendar year represents the wondrous seasonal beginning of us feeling both relief and comfort (as much as that is possible within this coffin of an area). For the next few months we can expect a steady drop in temperature and humidity which is paramount to our survival. We also love the shorter days. These changes in the weather keep the drop to a minimum, of course, but the feeling remains nonetheless. We know not what to do nor which direction to turn."

Damage at the Express Checkout

 to read ( words)

"Approaching the checkout lane... Passing Starbucks... Leaving the frozen food aisle... A vision unparalleled. Jesus Christ... the sight. Standing there as tall as could be and perched upon five-inch spikes, she could not have displaced more than twenty inches of diameter nor one-hundred-ten pounds of mass. Fucking hell. Tall as hell. Slender... The thinnest arms coupled with a stance of nearly six feet and a pair of eyes like giant Tootsie rolls. Holy shit this woman was fluid art of the highest form. Extremely well-defined yet thin arms, nearly nonexistent wrists supporting hands like a giant fictional spider's legs, and just enough disparity between thighs, waist, and hips to create a remarkable and beautiful female shape the likes of which we have never seen. Fucking hell anyway. Why did we need to glimpse this? After suffering a near heart-attack, we were able to regain composure and watch her walk toward the exit for a second or two... Just enough to add epoxy to the already unreal thoughts in our heads. Fuck. Absolutely unearthly to the last fucking thought.

Rip our eyes out and burn them to black. We need them no longer.


From top to bottom... Hair to shoes... Vertical prowess unlike any other. She simply stood there awaiting service from the cashier and with a slight expression on her beautiful face. Dark skin, black hair, dark eyes. silk tank over a silk camisole. All black. 'Skinny' medium-blue jeans -- low rise -- and black leather shoes with open toes and criss-crossed straps. Side seams on her jeans aligned perfectly with the outermost radii of her long legs, and enough of a diameter difference from knee to hip to appear as a runway model and then some. The modern runway dictates extreme thinness and she was larger by a margin which pushed her into the stratosphere of shape.


Her height was extraordinary to the point of placing us off balance (and more than just mentally). Arms which were thin yet with muscle definition both above and below the elbows. Her sharp shoulders were absolutely amazing to see, thanks to the silk tank and the fact that her long black hair was behind her back. The flat space leading from the top of her gorgeous shoulders up to her neck was amazing due to displaying almost no distortion or bone protrusion. This area also forced her neck to 'float' above and appear as a statue all its own. Long, lean, defined, and slender was her neck. A wonderland of striking dimensions. The tendons along each side flexed and relaxed in simple motions and lent to the smoothness of her skin. Above this was a face carved from something otherworldly. Huge, beautiful eyes sat above high cheekbones and full lips, and the softness was displayed in dramatic contrast to her facial musculature. She appeared to be of hybrid nationality -- not fully east Asian but combined with God-knows-what-else. Her nose appeared as Korean, slender, fairly lengthy and very symmetrical. Korean and Japanese women with narrow faces exhibit fantastic noses on occasion and hers was along these lines -- just enough there to complement her face yet not too long so as to overpower her other fine facial features. Jesus.


Her waist sat high and in wondrous contrast to the extremely narrow upper torso and hips. The upper thighs were tapered beautifully down to her knees and fit the jeans with just enough tension to allow full flexing of her muscles. There was a thigh gap from knees to you-know-where which gracefully widened and provided a perfectly matched comparison to the outside of her long legs. The ilial crests were just visible enough on either side to form a phantom Venus and the midriff vision of a lifetime. She was absolutely unreal from every angle and with every motion. Unreal to the last segment of her beautiful skin. The shoe height provided movement both front and back and side to side and the combination sent our eyes and other senses beyond words. We do our damnedest to paint an appropriate image but honestly words fail miserably. Her motions were graceful, slight, slow, and stunning in nature. The side to side movement of her hips as opposed to her knees displayed very uncommon posture. Each lengthy step provided our eyes with a sea of matching dots and dashes which, when combined, created an incredible flowing gait and left a wake of passion filling the room. We gazed upon all of her, and even the slightest of change was exhibited as none other... All of which still burns within us. Flame and pain, blackened and decayed tissue that previously was our mind's eye. She took all of it and all of us into a place beyond description. Two and one half minutes later, we died.


Now of course, we need to think about this a while. Or perhaps longer. The idea of seeing such form has been something right at the edge of our consciousness for years, and when it does happen the damage begins. During the previous sighting we did lose it for a bit, and since that was mere months ago the difficulty now feels ten-fold. Only twelve hours ago was this woman within view, and still we are unable to properly operate as a person. Why the fuck is this so important? Did someone (or something) secretly implant devices into our brains in order to push us off the deep end? Is that silly? True? Whatever the fuck, we are here and the damage and difficulty in daily life has become more than we had imagined possible. Of course, this type of vision is out there and we do realize such wonder will take place from time to time, but the stark truth is that we do not expect it nor wish it. And now... Fallout."


Had I remained in one of the five fucking colleges when the chance was there I would not be in this pot of simmering shit. Fucking hell, every time I see my words from the past sessions on MySpace I just drop. How the fuck can I avoid this? How? Do you have an idea beyond the typical platitude-laden sewage which I have heard for years? Will someone just tell me to fuck off and die (and mean it this time)? My sister will not, bless her lovely ass. She knows I'll throw everything to the ground and jump her skinniness before she can complete a thought. Wisdom from MS, circa 2008:

Me: "Ramie, you look delicious."
Her: "You're drunk anyway."
Me: "No I am not. Your perception is skewed from a lack of sex."
Her: "Please don't be vulgar."
Me: "I'll show you vulgar... How about a little kiss?"
Her: "Jesus, Reiko. Must you go down that road right now?"
Me: "Woohoo! Did someone say 'go down'? I fucking love it so! I'll have you over the couch soon enough."
Her: "Don't be an incestuous slut. Please."
Me: "I'm sorry, but you are just tasty."

She may be my blood, but I would still fuck her eight ways from Sunday. Got a problem with that? Fuck off. I feel what I feel and I made no apologies back then. I make none now. Bad mood? Yes. Do I care? Fuck no. As I said before... Not a nice girl. Fucking live with it, bitches.

In other news...

I don't know how to function half the time while near a woman who is attractive (read: fucking delicious). That type of girl will drive me up the wall with lust. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch!! I want all of them in my secret underground lair. Yes!!

Don't worry -- I'm not a psycho. Well, yes I am, but not the type to actually go through with collecting a variety of girls to experiment upon. I simply do not have the funds for such a wondrous project.


After such a wonderfully positive weekend I am in the fucking toilet again. Big surprise? Not really. I just need to talk to someone and I cannot at this point. The fact that I have made friends with some individuals on the Internet and fucked it all up is not such a surprise either. As often as I may rail on about how disassociated and disconnected a person can be from their online presence, I certainly have created one very close to my actual self. This was probably not a good idea. I am not the most stable example of a person. After yesterday's visit to the big auto show and attendance at dinner afterward, I am in a fucking hole yet again. I saw nice cars, beautiful men and women, and lovely examples of creativity and innovation. Mostly the spokesmodels, however, remained in my head afterward and even now. This is prototypical Reiko behavior. I am unable to unglue myself from the vision of a beautiful person, but to see a shining example of a fine looking male before even entering the fucking show is a first. Immediately after I spied a six-foot female gliding down the street looking soft, lanky, and very model-like. Of course, that set the stage for my being aroused by every Goddamned tall woman all fucking day. I even caught sight of a bikini-top clad young Asian girl on her way to a display in the drift room and nearly lost my breath. She was absolutely gorgeous and shapely beyond belief.


In other words, very troublesome to my thought processes similar to the damned Mojo girl whom resides in my head at any given time. Fuck, what a work of art. Anyway, I am distracted through the rest of the day and into dinner. Even the alluring Hispanic large-breasted beauty that served us in the bar could not get all of the tall models out of my head. Dinner was the point at which I realized my strong attraction to one of my friends there. He is very beautiful -- eyes to hands to everything. I was aroused on and off throughout dinner (more than three and a half hours' worth, to be certain). I am simply all over the fucking map with this one. One moment I am lusting over a tall, blonde female model that is unbelievably well sculpted, and the next I am sitting across the table from a male that is forcing me to imagine things I probably should not since his wife is next to him looking beautiful herself.

All fucked up once again.

No shit, Reiko, just no shit.


This past weekend has helped me to realize just how much impact the fall of 2003 has had on me. That time period was so damaging. I had no idea those feelings would hang on this long. While it is true that they come and go, for the most part they are just below the surface at any given time. When I sense a return to those types of mindsets I must prepare myself for a terrible storm. Memories of the pain I had caused back then are still clear. I am holding mental images of situations as they played out during that uncomfortable and very down time period. Some are foggy (probably because much of my memory is still reeling from the copious amounts of vodka within which I bathed) and others frighteningly sharp. Cutting words and painful conversations dominate that landscape at times. These days the memories seem to hold tougher lessons than first realized. All of this time has passed, yet my mind instantly exits the present calm and veers quickly into a wallowing sadness when certain situations arise in my head. I cannot easily remove most thoughts when that takes place. If I am alone, I can reach the danger level in seconds. Beating myself up (like at this moment) is something difficult with which to deal and others have attempted to alleviate this, but I must say that the worst is remembering the pain that I have caused others. One in particular.

I fail to understand how a life-changing period can be put to the past permanently. I mean, the truth is that the memory is important. That is the device I am to employ in order to learn from the past, right? If so, why do I feel exactly the same? Should not the pain diminish over the years? I really do not know, for my memory and detailed diary of the behavior that almost drove me to the knife is with me every day and waiting to yell at full volume of my mistakes and their consequences. Learn.. Yes. Forget... Fuck no. Just as I have tattooed the earlier defining moments of my life onto my body, so I may need to do the same with the latter section. Another few square inches of skin, and another memory injected into my blood. Forgetting is not necessarily allowed. So, this weekend I was among very good friends and as such I had to hide the memories and pain. Sitting with young people and watching their wide-eyed and hopeful outlook unfold along with plans, excitement over the simplest of adventures, and happiness with which they greeted every morning, I am forced to look at my experiences and the toll they have taken on me. True, these young ones are half my age at best, but the fact is I was not like that during my formative years. I was not the same. I was, in fact, on a bullet train to the now. A high-speed ride passing both what I could have done and could have been, but never was. I deservedly rode the train secure in the knowledge that this is my destiny. I rode and rode with purpose, and the train has carried me to the now. The fucking now in which I am hiding yet again. Hiding from people, feelings, projects, and the future path. Hiding from the future? Yes, the fucking future. Why? Because I know it holds little more than my grave. It will be a hole for a hole. God damn this feeling. God damn it yet again. Just... why.

A left hook to myself this weekend, and soon back to work. Wow.