Five Foot Eight and Fallout Mature content No. 13 Published March 6th, 2016 8:37am pst read ( words) Past entries "She was right over there... Twelve feet from us yet half a billion miles of thick, dense air between our position and hers. Half a billion fucking miles. And she was there sitting in a space all her own. Breathable air all her own. Breathable air. And that was moments ago. The memory is chemically welded. This marks three in as many months (aside from Her, of course) and such a number is both improbable and unreasonable. Historically we have not been prepared for so much information and difficulty without the proper space for noting details. The essays are exhaustive and obscenely detailed and as such demand a tremendous effort. The details are paramount to the effectiveness of description and without them the whole of the writing is shit. We must record as much as possible in an extremely short duration. We have seen her before, spoken with her, gazed upon her thin frame. She is pleasant and personable. That only adds to the allure of her wonderful look. And the numbers we imagined began to inject discomfort into our mind. We carried a conversation for several moments and during that short period our ability to remain calm began to falter. She stood there in three-inch heels looking like a blonde statue with a smile and we attempted to keep our distance from the scent of her long hair. That was nearly impossible. Her features changed the room dynamic to a dramatic degree. There was additional tension which stemmed from her appearance and demeanor. Others attempted to stare but held back. Similar... She was very tall and her height was accentuated by a very thin yet curvy frame. Her hips were disproportionately wide and sat below an extremely narrow waist which pushed her into the territory of so many jean models. The main difference was the fact that we spoke to her. Of course, we have gone on at length about such rare beauty, and this occasion represents something related yet quite different at its core. Since losing Her, we have attempted to distance ourselves -- both physically and mentally -- from any such likeness. The difficulty in gazing, longing, and dreaming has become tougher than we could have imagined. When She allowed us in, the situation was so uplifting that now we have headed in the opposite direction... down. This latest of discoveries also pushed us down. We can look but knowing there can never be any furtherance of our needs is hurtful. Simply turning away is tough. We constantly are reminded of Her and despite the slim possibility that such a wonder may happen again we must avoid contact. This is part of the fucking fallout. Very close... The effective dumping this past summer is right there... Still. Every single female which even remotely resembles Her becomes a serious problem. We do not understand the loss -- even after all of these months -- and the hole deepens. Our recent sightings in both SF and Vegas have catapulted our senses and feelings up and into a place beyond help. We are doomed, goddammit. Of course, the fallout actually relates to many other things within this life. We are into sixteen which represents yet another fucking line in the sand and that is bad. Just all bad. Work, play, weather, time... All come crashing immediately after the wondrous holiday season. Winter pushes along and we are merely weeks into it, however Winter in this place is nothing more than a glorified fall season with a different date. Even the media must admit that the colder weather is lacking. We receive threats of storms and they fail to impress, always. Over and over others worry about the impending patterns within the Pacific but in the end we are disappointed. (We shall continue to drink the weather away.) The forest calls but we remain mired in the fallout and confining situation over which we have no control. Drastic measures may win out soon. With Her gone, there is one less reason to be static as we have remained for so many years. That fact drives our dire feeling and wretched state more than the endless assholes and wastes of space around us. Mired within and living without. Period. The only saving grace we currently enjoy is the streamlining of our existence here. The more compact we endeavor to make ourselves, the easier a departure can be. In the past we have referred to this as flight mode but somehow the feeling is different -- more dire and less appealing than the early dreams of escape. 'Flight', however, is something which is always tempting -- no matter the circumstances. We have gone back and forth at length and for many years about flight mode and the simple fact remains this: Whenever we are in a place for what begins to seem like too long, the road calls. Aspects of daily life which have become difficult and/or dissatisfying point us in such a direction and they are many. In fact, we most nearly took to the road with Her at one point. She was as reckless and uncaring as we and the combination brewed into a narrow focus. Narrow and dark and dangerous. We were blinded by the Beauty and did not attempt to see elsewhere nor other souls. That moment -- one night last year -- has cemented itself into our psyche and helped to burn away everything but the fallout. Breasts which bring disparity For the time being, we shall sit here and continue to wallow. Despite all of the positives apparent within the Master season, we can no longer visualize a lift as the coming year moves in to the same territory. Her birthday will force a drop, the anniversary of the loss of Her will cause a further drop, and the end of each year will shorten as it has throughout the past decade. We see no improvement at all and that fact perpetuates the fallout. Not only are we held within an ever-expanding vortex of shit, the spin increases with each passing day. We are logarithmic. Much disparity... Ilial crests like Hers Having completely lost faith in society and the possibility of improvement, the difficulty in losing Her yet still being exposed to similar visions has become the central preoccupation of life. Every single example of form reminds us of the visions we saw last year. Additionally, they fall short. The fucking prime material plane was made of Her and Her alone. Part of this miserable fallout is said material permeating each aspect of life and subsequently ruining our chances of finding joy in anything. For years and years we sat in front of this editor and lamented many aspects of life -- from the people to the roads to the weather. Each day started with a bit of hope and ended without. These latest of days are similar yet with one massive hole from which there is seemingly no escape. Each view of social media and others interacting within it have pushed us further than in years passed. No one seems to see the direction nor the narrowing of daily life into one rolled up pastry empty of meaning. They sit and share the same crap over and over -- visual and audiovisual trash with no end. With every passing second the trash expands until there is nothing aside from stupidity and apathy. No one thinks, no one wishes to think, and no one sees what society has become. The entire world can be described as sad but the truth is not such. There is no sadness to this fucking shit. The simple fact is that we do not care and there is no sadness attached. Others avoid meaning by drowning within what they believe will lift themselves above their fellow human beings and feel larger. This is impossible... Just as any possibility of change. We hate everyone." Addendum I wish someone would tell me exactly why I am still residing in California. This place is becoming unacceptable in so many ways that the thought of being here is absolutely nauseating. Each day the weather and people proceed to push me into a fucking hole from which there is no escape whatsoever. Fuck this place. Oh sure, there is all that culture and beauty, but it is buried beneath so many stressful and difficult aspects of daily life that the uphill walk from one day to the next has become more than any sane person should be required to plow. Since there are seemingly no sane fucks left except myself, the solution has become clear: just fucking leave it all behind. Don't I wish. If she was in my mouth I could stay in this craphole Oh yeah bring her to me and I will do whatever it takes to live in this fuckface-laden society. She would make everything easier because I would not be able to see anything in front of me. Her breasts would cover my face! Yes! One of these days soon I will take that left turn to... Somewhere. I know not where nor do I give a shit about what ends up in the rear view mirror. I will simply head to a higher place, both figuratively and literally. 'Standing on Higher Ground' by The Alan Parsons Project will be on the CD player the whole time at stratospheric volume. Drive and drive and drive into the elevation and bitter cold. There are few people up there and that does not change often. People do not enjoy the cold. They flock to the warm weather just like cockroaches. Good gawd what a slender vision I. Am. Roasted. Grilled and well done. For crying out loud I went from the flame to the sea yet still the climate is unacceptable. Far too much sun and high temperatures. This place has such proximity to the vast ocean and that does serve to bring the same type of wonder as in years passed, however the short distance between me and the water does not seem to bring the lovely fog enough to satiate my desire for cool. Heat is death. The Flame of Hell follows the sun and burns all in view. I have wasted valuable years in said heat and will never get them back nor live them in any way. Without further change I am completely fucked and relegated to a life in the flame with the fucking asshats and degenerate wastes of life which inhabit this area. Worse? They have licenses to drive. Shit. All sharp elbows and knees... beware Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Five Foot Eight and Fallout Mature content No. 13 Published March 6th, 2016 8:37am pst read ( words) Past entries "She was right over there... Twelve feet from us yet half a billion miles of thick, dense air between our position and hers. Half a billion fucking miles. And she was there sitting in a space all her own. Breathable air all her own. Breathable air. And that was moments ago. The memory is chemically welded. This marks three in as many months (aside from Her, of course) and such a number is both improbable and unreasonable. Historically we have not been prepared for so much information and difficulty without the proper space for noting details. The essays are exhaustive and obscenely detailed and as such demand a tremendous effort. The details are paramount to the effectiveness of description and without them the whole of the writing is shit. We must record as much as possible in an extremely short duration. We have seen her before, spoken with her, gazed upon her thin frame. She is pleasant and personable. That only adds to the allure of her wonderful look. And the numbers we imagined began to inject discomfort into our mind. We carried a conversation for several moments and during that short period our ability to remain calm began to falter. She stood there in three-inch heels looking like a blonde statue with a smile and we attempted to keep our distance from the scent of her long hair. That was nearly impossible. Her features changed the room dynamic to a dramatic degree. There was additional tension which stemmed from her appearance and demeanor. Others attempted to stare but held back. Similar... She was very tall and her height was accentuated by a very thin yet curvy frame. Her hips were disproportionately wide and sat below an extremely narrow waist which pushed her into the territory of so many jean models. The main difference was the fact that we spoke to her. Of course, we have gone on at length about such rare beauty, and this occasion represents something related yet quite different at its core. Since losing Her, we have attempted to distance ourselves -- both physically and mentally -- from any such likeness. The difficulty in gazing, longing, and dreaming has become tougher than we could have imagined. When She allowed us in, the situation was so uplifting that now we have headed in the opposite direction... down. This latest of discoveries also pushed us down. We can look but knowing there can never be any furtherance of our needs is hurtful. Simply turning away is tough. We constantly are reminded of Her and despite the slim possibility that such a wonder may happen again we must avoid contact. This is part of the fucking fallout. Very close... The effective dumping this past summer is right there... Still. Every single female which even remotely resembles Her becomes a serious problem. We do not understand the loss -- even after all of these months -- and the hole deepens. Our recent sightings in both SF and Vegas have catapulted our senses and feelings up and into a place beyond help. We are doomed, goddammit. Of course, the fallout actually relates to many other things within this life. We are into sixteen which represents yet another fucking line in the sand and that is bad. Just all bad. Work, play, weather, time... All come crashing immediately after the wondrous holiday season. Winter pushes along and we are merely weeks into it, however Winter in this place is nothing more than a glorified fall season with a different date. Even the media must admit that the colder weather is lacking. We receive threats of storms and they fail to impress, always. Over and over others worry about the impending patterns within the Pacific but in the end we are disappointed. (We shall continue to drink the weather away.) The forest calls but we remain mired in the fallout and confining situation over which we have no control. Drastic measures may win out soon. With Her gone, there is one less reason to be static as we have remained for so many years. That fact drives our dire feeling and wretched state more than the endless assholes and wastes of space around us. Mired within and living without. Period. The only saving grace we currently enjoy is the streamlining of our existence here. The more compact we endeavor to make ourselves, the easier a departure can be. In the past we have referred to this as flight mode but somehow the feeling is different -- more dire and less appealing than the early dreams of escape. 'Flight', however, is something which is always tempting -- no matter the circumstances. We have gone back and forth at length and for many years about flight mode and the simple fact remains this: Whenever we are in a place for what begins to seem like too long, the road calls. Aspects of daily life which have become difficult and/or dissatisfying point us in such a direction and they are many. In fact, we most nearly took to the road with Her at one point. She was as reckless and uncaring as we and the combination brewed into a narrow focus. Narrow and dark and dangerous. We were blinded by the Beauty and did not attempt to see elsewhere nor other souls. That moment -- one night last year -- has cemented itself into our psyche and helped to burn away everything but the fallout. Breasts which bring disparity For the time being, we shall sit here and continue to wallow. Despite all of the positives apparent within the Master season, we can no longer visualize a lift as the coming year moves in to the same territory. Her birthday will force a drop, the anniversary of the loss of Her will cause a further drop, and the end of each year will shorten as it has throughout the past decade. We see no improvement at all and that fact perpetuates the fallout. Not only are we held within an ever-expanding vortex of shit, the spin increases with each passing day. We are logarithmic. Much disparity... Ilial crests like Hers Having completely lost faith in society and the possibility of improvement, the difficulty in losing Her yet still being exposed to similar visions has become the central preoccupation of life. Every single example of form reminds us of the visions we saw last year. Additionally, they fall short. The fucking prime material plane was made of Her and Her alone. Part of this miserable fallout is said material permeating each aspect of life and subsequently ruining our chances of finding joy in anything. For years and years we sat in front of this editor and lamented many aspects of life -- from the people to the roads to the weather. Each day started with a bit of hope and ended without. These latest of days are similar yet with one massive hole from which there is seemingly no escape. Each view of social media and others interacting within it have pushed us further than in years passed. No one seems to see the direction nor the narrowing of daily life into one rolled up pastry empty of meaning. They sit and share the same crap over and over -- visual and audiovisual trash with no end. With every passing second the trash expands until there is nothing aside from stupidity and apathy. No one thinks, no one wishes to think, and no one sees what society has become. The entire world can be described as sad but the truth is not such. There is no sadness to this fucking shit. The simple fact is that we do not care and there is no sadness attached. Others avoid meaning by drowning within what they believe will lift themselves above their fellow human beings and feel larger. This is impossible... Just as any possibility of change. We hate everyone." Addendum I wish someone would tell me exactly why I am still residing in California. This place is becoming unacceptable in so many ways that the thought of being here is absolutely nauseating. Each day the weather and people proceed to push me into a fucking hole from which there is no escape whatsoever. Fuck this place. Oh sure, there is all that culture and beauty, but it is buried beneath so many stressful and difficult aspects of daily life that the uphill walk from one day to the next has become more than any sane person should be required to plow. Since there are seemingly no sane fucks left except myself, the solution has become clear: just fucking leave it all behind. Don't I wish. If she was in my mouth I could stay in this craphole Oh yeah bring her to me and I will do whatever it takes to live in this fuckface-laden society. She would make everything easier because I would not be able to see anything in front of me. Her breasts would cover my face! Yes! One of these days soon I will take that left turn to... Somewhere. I know not where nor do I give a shit about what ends up in the rear view mirror. I will simply head to a higher place, both figuratively and literally. 'Standing on Higher Ground' by The Alan Parsons Project will be on the CD player the whole time at stratospheric volume. Drive and drive and drive into the elevation and bitter cold. There are few people up there and that does not change often. People do not enjoy the cold. They flock to the warm weather just like cockroaches. Good gawd what a slender vision I. Am. Roasted. Grilled and well done. For crying out loud I went from the flame to the sea yet still the climate is unacceptable. Far too much sun and high temperatures. This place has such proximity to the vast ocean and that does serve to bring the same type of wonder as in years passed, however the short distance between me and the water does not seem to bring the lovely fog enough to satiate my desire for cool. Heat is death. The Flame of Hell follows the sun and burns all in view. I have wasted valuable years in said heat and will never get them back nor live them in any way. Without further change I am completely fucked and relegated to a life in the flame with the fucking asshats and degenerate wastes of life which inhabit this area. Worse? They have licenses to drive. Shit. All sharp elbows and knees... beware
Five Foot Eight and Fallout
Mature content No. 13 Published March 6th, 2016 8:37am pst read ( words) Past entries
"She was right over there... Twelve feet from us yet half a billion miles of thick, dense air between our position and hers. Half a billion fucking miles. And she was there sitting in a space all her own. Breathable air all her own. Breathable air. And that was moments ago. The memory is chemically welded. This marks three in as many months (aside from Her, of course) and such a number is both improbable and unreasonable. Historically we have not been prepared for so much information and difficulty without the proper space for noting details. The essays are exhaustive and obscenely detailed and as such demand a tremendous effort. The details are paramount to the effectiveness of description and without them the whole of the writing is shit. We must record as much as possible in an extremely short duration. We have seen her before, spoken with her, gazed upon her thin frame. She is pleasant and personable. That only adds to the allure of her wonderful look. And the numbers we imagined began to inject discomfort into our mind. We carried a conversation for several moments and during that short period our ability to remain calm began to falter. She stood there in three-inch heels looking like a blonde statue with a smile and we attempted to keep our distance from the scent of her long hair. That was nearly impossible. Her features changed the room dynamic to a dramatic degree. There was additional tension which stemmed from her appearance and demeanor. Others attempted to stare but held back.
Similar...
She was very tall and her height was accentuated by a very thin yet curvy frame. Her hips were disproportionately wide and sat below an extremely narrow waist which pushed her into the territory of so many jean models. The main difference was the fact that we spoke to her. Of course, we have gone on at length about such rare beauty, and this occasion represents something related yet quite different at its core. Since losing Her, we have attempted to distance ourselves -- both physically and mentally -- from any such likeness. The difficulty in gazing, longing, and dreaming has become tougher than we could have imagined. When She allowed us in, the situation was so uplifting that now we have headed in the opposite direction... down. This latest of discoveries also pushed us down. We can look but knowing there can never be any furtherance of our needs is hurtful. Simply turning away is tough. We constantly are reminded of Her and despite the slim possibility that such a wonder may happen again we must avoid contact. This is part of the fucking fallout.
Very close...
The effective dumping this past summer is right there... Still. Every single female which even remotely resembles Her becomes a serious problem. We do not understand the loss -- even after all of these months -- and the hole deepens. Our recent sightings in both SF and Vegas have catapulted our senses and feelings up and into a place beyond help. We are doomed, goddammit. Of course, the fallout actually relates to many other things within this life. We are into sixteen which represents yet another fucking line in the sand and that is bad. Just all bad. Work, play, weather, time... All come crashing immediately after the wondrous holiday season. Winter pushes along and we are merely weeks into it, however Winter in this place is nothing more than a glorified fall season with a different date. Even the media must admit that the colder weather is lacking. We receive threats of storms and they fail to impress, always. Over and over others worry about the impending patterns within the Pacific but in the end we are disappointed. (We shall continue to drink the weather away.) The forest calls but we remain mired in the fallout and confining situation over which we have no control. Drastic measures may win out soon. With Her gone, there is one less reason to be static as we have remained for so many years. That fact drives our dire feeling and wretched state more than the endless assholes and wastes of space around us. Mired within and living without. Period. The only saving grace we currently enjoy is the streamlining of our existence here. The more compact we endeavor to make ourselves, the easier a departure can be. In the past we have referred to this as flight mode but somehow the feeling is different -- more dire and less appealing than the early dreams of escape. 'Flight', however, is something which is always tempting -- no matter the circumstances. We have gone back and forth at length and for many years about flight mode and the simple fact remains this: Whenever we are in a place for what begins to seem like too long, the road calls. Aspects of daily life which have become difficult and/or dissatisfying point us in such a direction and they are many. In fact, we most nearly took to the road with Her at one point. She was as reckless and uncaring as we and the combination brewed into a narrow focus. Narrow and dark and dangerous. We were blinded by the Beauty and did not attempt to see elsewhere nor other souls. That moment -- one night last year -- has cemented itself into our psyche and helped to burn away everything but the fallout.
Breasts which bring disparity
For the time being, we shall sit here and continue to wallow. Despite all of the positives apparent within the Master season, we can no longer visualize a lift as the coming year moves in to the same territory. Her birthday will force a drop, the anniversary of the loss of Her will cause a further drop, and the end of each year will shorten as it has throughout the past decade. We see no improvement at all and that fact perpetuates the fallout. Not only are we held within an ever-expanding vortex of shit, the spin increases with each passing day. We are logarithmic.
Much disparity...
Ilial crests like Hers
Having completely lost faith in society and the possibility of improvement, the difficulty in losing Her yet still being exposed to similar visions has become the central preoccupation of life. Every single example of form reminds us of the visions we saw last year. Additionally, they fall short. The fucking prime material plane was made of Her and Her alone. Part of this miserable fallout is said material permeating each aspect of life and subsequently ruining our chances of finding joy in anything. For years and years we sat in front of this editor and lamented many aspects of life -- from the people to the roads to the weather. Each day started with a bit of hope and ended without. These latest of days are similar yet with one massive hole from which there is seemingly no escape. Each view of social media and others interacting within it have pushed us further than in years passed. No one seems to see the direction nor the narrowing of daily life into one rolled up pastry empty of meaning. They sit and share the same crap over and over -- visual and audiovisual trash with no end. With every passing second the trash expands until there is nothing aside from stupidity and apathy. No one thinks, no one wishes to think, and no one sees what society has become. The entire world can be described as sad but the truth is not such. There is no sadness to this fucking shit. The simple fact is that we do not care and there is no sadness attached. Others avoid meaning by drowning within what they believe will lift themselves above their fellow human beings and feel larger. This is impossible... Just as any possibility of change. We hate everyone."
Addendum
I wish someone would tell me exactly why I am still residing in California. This place is becoming unacceptable in so many ways that the thought of being here is absolutely nauseating. Each day the weather and people proceed to push me into a fucking hole from which there is no escape whatsoever. Fuck this place. Oh sure, there is all that culture and beauty, but it is buried beneath so many stressful and difficult aspects of daily life that the uphill walk from one day to the next has become more than any sane person should be required to plow. Since there are seemingly no sane fucks left except myself, the solution has become clear: just fucking leave it all behind. Don't I wish.
If she was in my mouth I could stay in this craphole
Oh yeah bring her to me and I will do whatever it takes to live in this fuckface-laden society. She would make everything easier because I would not be able to see anything in front of me. Her breasts would cover my face! Yes! One of these days soon I will take that left turn to... Somewhere. I know not where nor do I give a shit about what ends up in the rear view mirror. I will simply head to a higher place, both figuratively and literally. 'Standing on Higher Ground' by The Alan Parsons Project will be on the CD player the whole time at stratospheric volume. Drive and drive and drive into the elevation and bitter cold. There are few people up there and that does not change often. People do not enjoy the cold. They flock to the warm weather just like cockroaches.
Good gawd what a slender vision
I. Am. Roasted. Grilled and well done. For crying out loud I went from the flame to the sea yet still the climate is unacceptable. Far too much sun and high temperatures. This place has such proximity to the vast ocean and that does serve to bring the same type of wonder as in years passed, however the short distance between me and the water does not seem to bring the lovely fog enough to satiate my desire for cool. Heat is death. The Flame of Hell follows the sun and burns all in view. I have wasted valuable years in said heat and will never get them back nor live them in any way. Without further change I am completely fucked and relegated to a life in the flame with the fucking asshats and degenerate wastes of life which inhabit this area. Worse? They have licenses to drive. Shit.
All sharp elbows and knees... beware
Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
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