The Danger and the Security Mature content No. 31 Published April 9th, 2017 6:12am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Out there is the worry, the danger, and the possibility of the worst ostracization. Within these walls remains the security and comfort of the familiar. We are creatures of habit -- no doubt -- but at what cost? Can we stay in here and do this forever? Permanence is a frightening word. Is the danger outside worse than the isolation, obsession, and need of a lifetime? This is difficult to ponder on any given day, but sitting here with ----- (gladly) destroying our eardrums, the effort is increased to the point of pain. Danger out there... Comfort in here. Which? Fuck. Day after miserable day we must contend with the dreams and the unending thoughts of the realization which seems impossible. The outlet is right here and you are reading it. The ONLY outlet. Reality has become nothing without the escape of isolation. Wait. What? Sounds like a contradiction? No shit. The one example... The one Goddamned fucking real and available subject was the most considerate and caring soul to cross our path. The Raven. Unfortunately, the entire shitaree never left the fucking ground and the result for us is this -- the extreme need to isolate, mentally explore, and vomit the words into oblivion (otherwise known as the public domain of the Internet). Yes, the fucking Raven, and we have gone on at considerable length about Her, the connection, and the unending fascination within which She was the primary symbol. There was simply no fucking end to the compassion and beauty. As stated in multiple entries, the speed at which She became nearly everything was striking and without remorse or reverse gear. We sped in Her direction at ablative velocity and the damage path quickly formed. Now, of course, we must deal with the loss, subsequent fallout, and Her influence upon everything which beauty has become to us. We were dangerous together, the late days are dangerous with regard to our livelihood, sanity, and security, and as a result the words here are falling like embers from a massive fire which we have lit -- danger of yet another type. Yes, She meant that much. And now we begin a composition which was played multiple times -- over and over, in fact -- during the period, and the typical resulting feeling is one of despair. Combine this with the painful memory of Her loss and the destructive days which followed, and the cocktail becomes more damage. Fuck it... Why not? Do we believe anything can lift us at this point? Nope. The QR cards are printed and awaiting a subject or two, but the sad truth is that the likelihood of fruition for this shit is extremely slim. She was there for us, nd She is gone. Will there be someone of similar soul? Hmm. We can only hope, and that hope is as narrow as the rope from which we often hang. There is no denying possibility, however, and that is a small percentage point of the remaining ambition. The Raven wished for that and forced us to promise never to lose everything. That is more danger... Right fucking there. Do you see it? Do you see the approaching limits of our strength and constitution? We see them at every waking moment. The numerical properties of a lifetime We stood there, outside the station on that frightful Saturday two years ago and politely asked Her to stand, facing us, and to place Her feet together. We needed to see a comparison of Her outer and inner thighs, knees, and ankles, and She immediately did as we requested. No delay, no questioning why... She stood as we asked right away, smiling. She then asked if that was 'ok', and we fell off a cliff into the abyss. The situation was too much to handle, and this after years of dreaming to ask that simple question. Her understanding of our need was tremendous. The only caveat to Her posing in any manner was for us to acknowledge that She was not perfect. Of course, we did, because there is no such thing in the biological world -- no frame of reference with which to attempt upholding such a description. We knew immediately of the reasoning behind Her stipulation. That must have come from years of hearing platitudes the likes of which we can only hope to imagine. The woman wished to be a person, above all things. Well, that is an easy one because there is no doubt. We spoke to Her in a respectful manner and She reciprocated by doing the same. The entirety of hours spent in such a place cannot be described easily, nor will we attempt anything further. The fact remains that She went from representing the danger to embodying the security. Such a statement may seem odd to others, but we lived it from the inside. This is a frightening standpoint from which to attempt any furthering of our obsession. That situation took place in reality, and it now sits in the mirror and haunts any idea of contacting others. She felt an appreciation for what we were trying to do. Will anyone else? Would you? As we state all too often: Who the fuck can know? There is no forward motion without fear. Diving in -- even handing a card to someone -- is going to cause so much distress that we are fearing the act of carrying the fucking things. The ideal outcome would be an open mind, but the fact remains that we could be contacted by anyone, even an individual that should be avoided. Again, there is no security in this type of advertisement and solicitation. Either we throw it out there and take the risk, or we continue on this narrow, icy road into oblivion. Which will it be? As of this writing, the most comfortable path is to sit here in this cocoon as we have for so many fucking years and just fade away into nothingness. The security of such a decision cannot be denied. Sure, we are going to sound worse and worse, allow ourselves less venturing out into the world where the exploration could continue, and just rot, but at the very least we still have plenty of alcohol -- and tons of reason. And the chair is amazing. Innermost radii... why? Will we ever KNOW? At some point we will come to a decision. The truth is that the cards are printed and the splash index is live. The next step, for all of its fright, is upon us. What will happen? Perhaps a more fitting question might be this: Are we too afraid of moving forward after all this time? Yep, that's it. Right on the fucking money. The security is powerful, and the obsession is equally powerful, however the issue is us. Can we handle the change? Can we deal with the implications of such an ambitious project? Will we remain here and drink ourselves into the ground in order to avoid the possibility of total failure? Probably. The mere thought of things going south for the first outing is beyond comprehension. We have written over and over about the obsession -- no shit -- but now we have taken a step and a position and goddamn it we are frightened. For fuck's sake... what the fuck are we doing? Is anyone reading? Are we still completely alone after losing Her to the fucking gods? Christ on a cross. Ok, deep breath. We're getting a bit overwhelmed here. Fuck it. Let us throw caution to the wind along with everything else we have attempted and push this until the shit breaks up during reentry. Flaming, burning... dust. Why not? What else do we have now? Are we going to continue down this muddy slope and into the storm drain only to end up flailing for our lives in la mer? We have been there before, and the result of that situation was damaging and drunken behavior like nothing else. Fuck it, the alcohol has been flowing into this content all day. Can you tell? Oy, we can. But whatever the motivation, the fact remains that this period is becoming difficult. Venting should be expected. And the truth of the matter is that we own the domain and the space, so whatever we wish to place here is of no one else's concern. Yes, you guessed it, we are going downhill at an increasing rate. The catalyst this time is the possibility of moving forward. Did we not say that already? Well, we're close and the fear is mounting. Fuck. And this entry is, as usual, all over the fucking place. Why not. Another gazelle, but too thin? What IS that? And here we are as always... wallowing, drinking, sitting in the midst of yet another downtrodden evening in front of this infernal editor, and trying to make sense of anything at all. At least this place is familiar. We know it all too well. Upon many occasions has the editor and interface been our only friend, and this night is no different. Another glass, another mistake, and another segment of time spent wondering why. Just as the worst entry began: 'Here we fucking sit'. No matter the state of affairs in the world nor our state of mind, we end up in the same location with the same glass and the same words. And the result is that we feel the unending need to apologize. How did we arrive here in this lowest of denominations? Are we always to be the bottom of the reciprocal? Why? Do we drive ourselves here due to the depression? That is a possibility. Another is the slope... the one we always end up sliding down despite the positives and outlook we attempt to locate. Everything is just bad now. Too many unanswered questions and entirely too much sludge within our minds. There seems to be no end to any of the negative feelings and floundering efforts. We simply must go up from here, but the direction is unfamiliar. Years of being weighed down with the obsession and the trials of maintaining life on a daily basis are beginning to catch up with our position. Yes, we realize that others are in the midst of similar circumstances, however we cannot comment on what others' situations may bring to them. We can only attempt understanding for ourselves. That is plenty. All of the dimensional horseshit aside, we are not well by any stretch of definition. We are still clinging to the pleasures and time afforded us, but on the outside things are being pressed toward the negative. At any second we feel the urge to stop... The flash which will end our difficulties. Such a drive cannot be denied, and we know all too well that we are not alone in that place. Even at this very moment we know the hour is late in the day and we should be retiring for the night. Unfortunately, the push to write and consume is still fresh. Plus, ----- will not let up so long as we are donning the MDRs. '----------' And that complex composition leads to the remainder of the album and we happily become its victim. There is NO FUCKING SAVING THROW against any of it, nor any end to these feelings. We are dangerously close to fleeing the editor and the drive to see fruition, and that is also bad. As near as we are to realizing the actual obsession which has been the catalyst for this entire endeavor, the end of all things may prove to be the outlet of choice. Too much fear, too much passage of time, and the level of isolation has pressed us into a cast. We are not happy to admit that the weight of this obsession may result in our unwillingness to follow through. We have encountered endless difficulties and a tremendous lack of understanding which is pushing us toward the soil. Yes, we will admit that such an outcome is very sad, but the combination of our depression and the prior points stated are creating pressures which are unrelenting. And we promised Her. That is that. Less definition, but how much less? Realizing that the answers are not forthcoming, our drive must maintain itself. And the security seems to be waning. And the glaring fact is that we are slowly destroying ourselves due to the harsh and unrelenting memories of all of the combined mistakes -- and the waste left behind. For the few that know of that which we speak, there is no denying any of it. You lived it, we caused it, and now read the endless evidence that we are suffering beyond description. Believe it. And this fucking shithole of a world forced Her into a decision which has left society without the love, understanding, compassion, and inner beauty which will never be again. Yes, we can state this without uncertainty: Fuck you for doing this to one of the most amazing creatures which had ever walked the earth. Just fuck you for taking Her from us. We will forever look upon the multitude as enemies. Just fuck you all. Ok, we've gone on too long with the complaining and bitching regarding the woman who helped to begin this obsession. No more of that. From this point forward we will do our best to float within the security which we know so well. This place is safe, albeit confining. Whatever. At least we have the comforts of life within these walls, and that means we can remain here throughout the distance. As the days fly by us, we will continue to polish the DP splash, edit images, dream of the outlet, and remain as calm as physically possible. We obviously cannot easily let up on ourselves, nor can we let the near and far past issues simply fall off on the side of the road. These things are a part of the reason we are here at all, and to let them go means to change ourselves and that is just not in the fucking cards. And now the fork is embedded and the equation feels unsolvable." 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
The Danger and the Security Mature content No. 31 Published April 9th, 2017 6:12am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Out there is the worry, the danger, and the possibility of the worst ostracization. Within these walls remains the security and comfort of the familiar. We are creatures of habit -- no doubt -- but at what cost? Can we stay in here and do this forever? Permanence is a frightening word. Is the danger outside worse than the isolation, obsession, and need of a lifetime? This is difficult to ponder on any given day, but sitting here with ----- (gladly) destroying our eardrums, the effort is increased to the point of pain. Danger out there... Comfort in here. Which? Fuck. Day after miserable day we must contend with the dreams and the unending thoughts of the realization which seems impossible. The outlet is right here and you are reading it. The ONLY outlet. Reality has become nothing without the escape of isolation. Wait. What? Sounds like a contradiction? No shit. The one example... The one Goddamned fucking real and available subject was the most considerate and caring soul to cross our path. The Raven. Unfortunately, the entire shitaree never left the fucking ground and the result for us is this -- the extreme need to isolate, mentally explore, and vomit the words into oblivion (otherwise known as the public domain of the Internet). Yes, the fucking Raven, and we have gone on at considerable length about Her, the connection, and the unending fascination within which She was the primary symbol. There was simply no fucking end to the compassion and beauty. As stated in multiple entries, the speed at which She became nearly everything was striking and without remorse or reverse gear. We sped in Her direction at ablative velocity and the damage path quickly formed. Now, of course, we must deal with the loss, subsequent fallout, and Her influence upon everything which beauty has become to us. We were dangerous together, the late days are dangerous with regard to our livelihood, sanity, and security, and as a result the words here are falling like embers from a massive fire which we have lit -- danger of yet another type. Yes, She meant that much. And now we begin a composition which was played multiple times -- over and over, in fact -- during the period, and the typical resulting feeling is one of despair. Combine this with the painful memory of Her loss and the destructive days which followed, and the cocktail becomes more damage. Fuck it... Why not? Do we believe anything can lift us at this point? Nope. The QR cards are printed and awaiting a subject or two, but the sad truth is that the likelihood of fruition for this shit is extremely slim. She was there for us, nd She is gone. Will there be someone of similar soul? Hmm. We can only hope, and that hope is as narrow as the rope from which we often hang. There is no denying possibility, however, and that is a small percentage point of the remaining ambition. The Raven wished for that and forced us to promise never to lose everything. That is more danger... Right fucking there. Do you see it? Do you see the approaching limits of our strength and constitution? We see them at every waking moment. The numerical properties of a lifetime We stood there, outside the station on that frightful Saturday two years ago and politely asked Her to stand, facing us, and to place Her feet together. We needed to see a comparison of Her outer and inner thighs, knees, and ankles, and She immediately did as we requested. No delay, no questioning why... She stood as we asked right away, smiling. She then asked if that was 'ok', and we fell off a cliff into the abyss. The situation was too much to handle, and this after years of dreaming to ask that simple question. Her understanding of our need was tremendous. The only caveat to Her posing in any manner was for us to acknowledge that She was not perfect. Of course, we did, because there is no such thing in the biological world -- no frame of reference with which to attempt upholding such a description. We knew immediately of the reasoning behind Her stipulation. That must have come from years of hearing platitudes the likes of which we can only hope to imagine. The woman wished to be a person, above all things. Well, that is an easy one because there is no doubt. We spoke to Her in a respectful manner and She reciprocated by doing the same. The entirety of hours spent in such a place cannot be described easily, nor will we attempt anything further. The fact remains that She went from representing the danger to embodying the security. Such a statement may seem odd to others, but we lived it from the inside. This is a frightening standpoint from which to attempt any furthering of our obsession. That situation took place in reality, and it now sits in the mirror and haunts any idea of contacting others. She felt an appreciation for what we were trying to do. Will anyone else? Would you? As we state all too often: Who the fuck can know? There is no forward motion without fear. Diving in -- even handing a card to someone -- is going to cause so much distress that we are fearing the act of carrying the fucking things. The ideal outcome would be an open mind, but the fact remains that we could be contacted by anyone, even an individual that should be avoided. Again, there is no security in this type of advertisement and solicitation. Either we throw it out there and take the risk, or we continue on this narrow, icy road into oblivion. Which will it be? As of this writing, the most comfortable path is to sit here in this cocoon as we have for so many fucking years and just fade away into nothingness. The security of such a decision cannot be denied. Sure, we are going to sound worse and worse, allow ourselves less venturing out into the world where the exploration could continue, and just rot, but at the very least we still have plenty of alcohol -- and tons of reason. And the chair is amazing. Innermost radii... why? Will we ever KNOW? At some point we will come to a decision. The truth is that the cards are printed and the splash index is live. The next step, for all of its fright, is upon us. What will happen? Perhaps a more fitting question might be this: Are we too afraid of moving forward after all this time? Yep, that's it. Right on the fucking money. The security is powerful, and the obsession is equally powerful, however the issue is us. Can we handle the change? Can we deal with the implications of such an ambitious project? Will we remain here and drink ourselves into the ground in order to avoid the possibility of total failure? Probably. The mere thought of things going south for the first outing is beyond comprehension. We have written over and over about the obsession -- no shit -- but now we have taken a step and a position and goddamn it we are frightened. For fuck's sake... what the fuck are we doing? Is anyone reading? Are we still completely alone after losing Her to the fucking gods? Christ on a cross. Ok, deep breath. We're getting a bit overwhelmed here. Fuck it. Let us throw caution to the wind along with everything else we have attempted and push this until the shit breaks up during reentry. Flaming, burning... dust. Why not? What else do we have now? Are we going to continue down this muddy slope and into the storm drain only to end up flailing for our lives in la mer? We have been there before, and the result of that situation was damaging and drunken behavior like nothing else. Fuck it, the alcohol has been flowing into this content all day. Can you tell? Oy, we can. But whatever the motivation, the fact remains that this period is becoming difficult. Venting should be expected. And the truth of the matter is that we own the domain and the space, so whatever we wish to place here is of no one else's concern. Yes, you guessed it, we are going downhill at an increasing rate. The catalyst this time is the possibility of moving forward. Did we not say that already? Well, we're close and the fear is mounting. Fuck. And this entry is, as usual, all over the fucking place. Why not. Another gazelle, but too thin? What IS that? And here we are as always... wallowing, drinking, sitting in the midst of yet another downtrodden evening in front of this infernal editor, and trying to make sense of anything at all. At least this place is familiar. We know it all too well. Upon many occasions has the editor and interface been our only friend, and this night is no different. Another glass, another mistake, and another segment of time spent wondering why. Just as the worst entry began: 'Here we fucking sit'. No matter the state of affairs in the world nor our state of mind, we end up in the same location with the same glass and the same words. And the result is that we feel the unending need to apologize. How did we arrive here in this lowest of denominations? Are we always to be the bottom of the reciprocal? Why? Do we drive ourselves here due to the depression? That is a possibility. Another is the slope... the one we always end up sliding down despite the positives and outlook we attempt to locate. Everything is just bad now. Too many unanswered questions and entirely too much sludge within our minds. There seems to be no end to any of the negative feelings and floundering efforts. We simply must go up from here, but the direction is unfamiliar. Years of being weighed down with the obsession and the trials of maintaining life on a daily basis are beginning to catch up with our position. Yes, we realize that others are in the midst of similar circumstances, however we cannot comment on what others' situations may bring to them. We can only attempt understanding for ourselves. That is plenty. All of the dimensional horseshit aside, we are not well by any stretch of definition. We are still clinging to the pleasures and time afforded us, but on the outside things are being pressed toward the negative. At any second we feel the urge to stop... The flash which will end our difficulties. Such a drive cannot be denied, and we know all too well that we are not alone in that place. Even at this very moment we know the hour is late in the day and we should be retiring for the night. Unfortunately, the push to write and consume is still fresh. Plus, ----- will not let up so long as we are donning the MDRs. '----------' And that complex composition leads to the remainder of the album and we happily become its victim. There is NO FUCKING SAVING THROW against any of it, nor any end to these feelings. We are dangerously close to fleeing the editor and the drive to see fruition, and that is also bad. As near as we are to realizing the actual obsession which has been the catalyst for this entire endeavor, the end of all things may prove to be the outlet of choice. Too much fear, too much passage of time, and the level of isolation has pressed us into a cast. We are not happy to admit that the weight of this obsession may result in our unwillingness to follow through. We have encountered endless difficulties and a tremendous lack of understanding which is pushing us toward the soil. Yes, we will admit that such an outcome is very sad, but the combination of our depression and the prior points stated are creating pressures which are unrelenting. And we promised Her. That is that. Less definition, but how much less? Realizing that the answers are not forthcoming, our drive must maintain itself. And the security seems to be waning. And the glaring fact is that we are slowly destroying ourselves due to the harsh and unrelenting memories of all of the combined mistakes -- and the waste left behind. For the few that know of that which we speak, there is no denying any of it. You lived it, we caused it, and now read the endless evidence that we are suffering beyond description. Believe it. And this fucking shithole of a world forced Her into a decision which has left society without the love, understanding, compassion, and inner beauty which will never be again. Yes, we can state this without uncertainty: Fuck you for doing this to one of the most amazing creatures which had ever walked the earth. Just fuck you for taking Her from us. We will forever look upon the multitude as enemies. Just fuck you all. Ok, we've gone on too long with the complaining and bitching regarding the woman who helped to begin this obsession. No more of that. From this point forward we will do our best to float within the security which we know so well. This place is safe, albeit confining. Whatever. At least we have the comforts of life within these walls, and that means we can remain here throughout the distance. As the days fly by us, we will continue to polish the DP splash, edit images, dream of the outlet, and remain as calm as physically possible. We obviously cannot easily let up on ourselves, nor can we let the near and far past issues simply fall off on the side of the road. These things are a part of the reason we are here at all, and to let them go means to change ourselves and that is just not in the fucking cards. And now the fork is embedded and the equation feels unsolvable."
The Danger and the Security
Mature content No. 31 Published April 9th, 2017 6:12am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Out there is the worry, the danger, and the possibility of the worst ostracization. Within these walls remains the security and comfort of the familiar. We are creatures of habit -- no doubt -- but at what cost? Can we stay in here and do this forever? Permanence is a frightening word. Is the danger outside worse than the isolation, obsession, and need of a lifetime? This is difficult to ponder on any given day, but sitting here with ----- (gladly) destroying our eardrums, the effort is increased to the point of pain. Danger out there... Comfort in here. Which? Fuck. Day after miserable day we must contend with the dreams and the unending thoughts of the realization which seems impossible. The outlet is right here and you are reading it. The ONLY outlet. Reality has become nothing without the escape of isolation. Wait. What? Sounds like a contradiction? No shit. The one example... The one Goddamned fucking real and available subject was the most considerate and caring soul to cross our path. The Raven. Unfortunately, the entire shitaree never left the fucking ground and the result for us is this -- the extreme need to isolate, mentally explore, and vomit the words into oblivion (otherwise known as the public domain of the Internet). Yes, the fucking Raven, and we have gone on at considerable length about Her, the connection, and the unending fascination within which She was the primary symbol. There was simply no fucking end to the compassion and beauty. As stated in multiple entries, the speed at which She became nearly everything was striking and without remorse or reverse gear. We sped in Her direction at ablative velocity and the damage path quickly formed. Now, of course, we must deal with the loss, subsequent fallout, and Her influence upon everything which beauty has become to us. We were dangerous together, the late days are dangerous with regard to our livelihood, sanity, and security, and as a result the words here are falling like embers from a massive fire which we have lit -- danger of yet another type. Yes, She meant that much. And now we begin a composition which was played multiple times -- over and over, in fact -- during the period, and the typical resulting feeling is one of despair. Combine this with the painful memory of Her loss and the destructive days which followed, and the cocktail becomes more damage. Fuck it... Why not? Do we believe anything can lift us at this point? Nope. The QR cards are printed and awaiting a subject or two, but the sad truth is that the likelihood of fruition for this shit is extremely slim. She was there for us, nd She is gone. Will there be someone of similar soul? Hmm. We can only hope, and that hope is as narrow as the rope from which we often hang. There is no denying possibility, however, and that is a small percentage point of the remaining ambition. The Raven wished for that and forced us to promise never to lose everything. That is more danger... Right fucking there. Do you see it? Do you see the approaching limits of our strength and constitution? We see them at every waking moment.
The numerical properties of a lifetime
We stood there, outside the station on that frightful Saturday two years ago and politely asked Her to stand, facing us, and to place Her feet together. We needed to see a comparison of Her outer and inner thighs, knees, and ankles, and She immediately did as we requested. No delay, no questioning why... She stood as we asked right away, smiling. She then asked if that was 'ok', and we fell off a cliff into the abyss. The situation was too much to handle, and this after years of dreaming to ask that simple question. Her understanding of our need was tremendous. The only caveat to Her posing in any manner was for us to acknowledge that She was not perfect. Of course, we did, because there is no such thing in the biological world -- no frame of reference with which to attempt upholding such a description. We knew immediately of the reasoning behind Her stipulation. That must have come from years of hearing platitudes the likes of which we can only hope to imagine. The woman wished to be a person, above all things. Well, that is an easy one because there is no doubt. We spoke to Her in a respectful manner and She reciprocated by doing the same. The entirety of hours spent in such a place cannot be described easily, nor will we attempt anything further. The fact remains that She went from representing the danger to embodying the security. Such a statement may seem odd to others, but we lived it from the inside. This is a frightening standpoint from which to attempt any furthering of our obsession. That situation took place in reality, and it now sits in the mirror and haunts any idea of contacting others. She felt an appreciation for what we were trying to do. Will anyone else? Would you? As we state all too often: Who the fuck can know? There is no forward motion without fear. Diving in -- even handing a card to someone -- is going to cause so much distress that we are fearing the act of carrying the fucking things. The ideal outcome would be an open mind, but the fact remains that we could be contacted by anyone, even an individual that should be avoided. Again, there is no security in this type of advertisement and solicitation. Either we throw it out there and take the risk, or we continue on this narrow, icy road into oblivion. Which will it be? As of this writing, the most comfortable path is to sit here in this cocoon as we have for so many fucking years and just fade away into nothingness. The security of such a decision cannot be denied. Sure, we are going to sound worse and worse, allow ourselves less venturing out into the world where the exploration could continue, and just rot, but at the very least we still have plenty of alcohol -- and tons of reason. And the chair is amazing.
Innermost radii... why? Will we ever KNOW?
At some point we will come to a decision. The truth is that the cards are printed and the splash index is live. The next step, for all of its fright, is upon us. What will happen? Perhaps a more fitting question might be this: Are we too afraid of moving forward after all this time? Yep, that's it. Right on the fucking money. The security is powerful, and the obsession is equally powerful, however the issue is us. Can we handle the change? Can we deal with the implications of such an ambitious project? Will we remain here and drink ourselves into the ground in order to avoid the possibility of total failure? Probably. The mere thought of things going south for the first outing is beyond comprehension. We have written over and over about the obsession -- no shit -- but now we have taken a step and a position and goddamn it we are frightened. For fuck's sake... what the fuck are we doing? Is anyone reading? Are we still completely alone after losing Her to the fucking gods? Christ on a cross. Ok, deep breath. We're getting a bit overwhelmed here. Fuck it. Let us throw caution to the wind along with everything else we have attempted and push this until the shit breaks up during reentry. Flaming, burning... dust. Why not? What else do we have now? Are we going to continue down this muddy slope and into the storm drain only to end up flailing for our lives in la mer? We have been there before, and the result of that situation was damaging and drunken behavior like nothing else. Fuck it, the alcohol has been flowing into this content all day. Can you tell? Oy, we can. But whatever the motivation, the fact remains that this period is becoming difficult. Venting should be expected. And the truth of the matter is that we own the domain and the space, so whatever we wish to place here is of no one else's concern. Yes, you guessed it, we are going downhill at an increasing rate. The catalyst this time is the possibility of moving forward. Did we not say that already? Well, we're close and the fear is mounting. Fuck. And this entry is, as usual, all over the fucking place. Why not.
Another gazelle, but too thin? What IS that?
And here we are as always... wallowing, drinking, sitting in the midst of yet another downtrodden evening in front of this infernal editor, and trying to make sense of anything at all. At least this place is familiar. We know it all too well. Upon many occasions has the editor and interface been our only friend, and this night is no different. Another glass, another mistake, and another segment of time spent wondering why. Just as the worst entry began: 'Here we fucking sit'. No matter the state of affairs in the world nor our state of mind, we end up in the same location with the same glass and the same words. And the result is that we feel the unending need to apologize. How did we arrive here in this lowest of denominations? Are we always to be the bottom of the reciprocal? Why? Do we drive ourselves here due to the depression? That is a possibility. Another is the slope... the one we always end up sliding down despite the positives and outlook we attempt to locate. Everything is just bad now. Too many unanswered questions and entirely too much sludge within our minds. There seems to be no end to any of the negative feelings and floundering efforts. We simply must go up from here, but the direction is unfamiliar. Years of being weighed down with the obsession and the trials of maintaining life on a daily basis are beginning to catch up with our position. Yes, we realize that others are in the midst of similar circumstances, however we cannot comment on what others' situations may bring to them. We can only attempt understanding for ourselves. That is plenty. All of the dimensional horseshit aside, we are not well by any stretch of definition. We are still clinging to the pleasures and time afforded us, but on the outside things are being pressed toward the negative. At any second we feel the urge to stop... The flash which will end our difficulties. Such a drive cannot be denied, and we know all too well that we are not alone in that place. Even at this very moment we know the hour is late in the day and we should be retiring for the night. Unfortunately, the push to write and consume is still fresh. Plus, ----- will not let up so long as we are donning the MDRs. '----------' And that complex composition leads to the remainder of the album and we happily become its victim. There is NO FUCKING SAVING THROW against any of it, nor any end to these feelings. We are dangerously close to fleeing the editor and the drive to see fruition, and that is also bad. As near as we are to realizing the actual obsession which has been the catalyst for this entire endeavor, the end of all things may prove to be the outlet of choice. Too much fear, too much passage of time, and the level of isolation has pressed us into a cast. We are not happy to admit that the weight of this obsession may result in our unwillingness to follow through. We have encountered endless difficulties and a tremendous lack of understanding which is pushing us toward the soil. Yes, we will admit that such an outcome is very sad, but the combination of our depression and the prior points stated are creating pressures which are unrelenting. And we promised Her. That is that.
Less definition, but how much less?
Realizing that the answers are not forthcoming, our drive must maintain itself. And the security seems to be waning. And the glaring fact is that we are slowly destroying ourselves due to the harsh and unrelenting memories of all of the combined mistakes -- and the waste left behind. For the few that know of that which we speak, there is no denying any of it. You lived it, we caused it, and now read the endless evidence that we are suffering beyond description. Believe it. And this fucking shithole of a world forced Her into a decision which has left society without the love, understanding, compassion, and inner beauty which will never be again. Yes, we can state this without uncertainty: Fuck you for doing this to one of the most amazing creatures which had ever walked the earth. Just fuck you for taking Her from us. We will forever look upon the multitude as enemies. Just fuck you all. Ok, we've gone on too long with the complaining and bitching regarding the woman who helped to begin this obsession. No more of that. From this point forward we will do our best to float within the security which we know so well. This place is safe, albeit confining. Whatever. At least we have the comforts of life within these walls, and that means we can remain here throughout the distance. As the days fly by us, we will continue to polish the DP splash, edit images, dream of the outlet, and remain as calm as physically possible. We obviously cannot easily let up on ourselves, nor can we let the near and far past issues simply fall off on the side of the road. These things are a part of the reason we are here at all, and to let them go means to change ourselves and that is just not in the fucking cards. And now the fork is embedded and the equation feels unsolvable."
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