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10-18-2019 05:45 pdt

'The Passion and the Impossibility' has been updated and returned to the production environment for readers' consideration. That essay had been offline for more than a year due to the need for expansion from the original.

Other than that miracle, we are status quo.



Flip

read ( words)

"Astral Karma is a pile of shit. Maybe this is, as well.

Here we go gathering nuts in May.

The month of July can go right back into the fucking calendar and suck words. The beginning of August? Fuck that too. The worst and most uncomfortable time of year is from April to late September and we are right in the fucking middle of it. Hellish, warm, sunny, long days with little comfort and less hope. The number keeps shrinking. Eventually too much of this along with the slow burn of summer will cause something more permanent than harsh words. It will cause that door to open and the hand pushing for the last time. Remember the fucking hand? Why not? Everything turns to shit.

Things have transpired lately which press heavily on my head. Painful pushing. Recollections of bliss that are years-gone, worry over the future which never lets up, and the wondrous season incoming. Why is that last part a problem? Well, because the enjoyment may not hold me up as it typically does. Life is truncated, shrunken, and uncomfortable. Days come and go and I sit here exactly the same save for more concern. The real comfort is rare. Little enjoyments (as stated here for a decade) are all that keep that hand from succeeding in its mission. I push back. Others hear the surface thoughts, but inside things are much different... Dire, bloody, disfigured. They are part of the cause, and that statement has not entered this long-term web space for quite a while. Years. My usual diatribe involves me and only me, but now the circumstances are changing. I am fine within myself. The others are most of the problem. When I stated above that I am the same, well, that is mostly true. That all relates to the time of year and daily life. Inside, I am peachy. Intelligent, deep thinking, cutting, harsh, and constantly analyzing everything. Part of that ongoing analysis relates to the others and their place in society along with how said place affects me. None of it is good. Those days of the happy-go-lucky guy joking around at the bar with others are fucking gone and will not return. I am going to make a sharp point of separating myself from the fucking picture of me that others view while I am in public.

Nuts in May. All of them.

Problems continue to arise day after day. By the time I begin to come to terms with one, another issue slams my head before the previous can be understood and alleviated. Plus, I have yet to find any ability in working through anything without supporting words and comfort from a female. That is gone, and the possibility of such a situation returning is as remote as the moon coming close enough to kiss the earth in the lifetime of future humanity. I often think about past connections and the depths to which I sunk in -- daily, honestly -- and the difficulty in knowing they are gone for all time pushes me in a familiar direction. Down, but not the everyday down. I am speaking of the vast bottom. The black end. The decay. The dark which has no semblance of future lightening. Nothingness. The absence of everything... Conscious thought, the conceptualization of all things derived from a single mind which is the only way one person can view life. Unfortunately, that is a huge part of the problem(s).

What to do? Shut it down. All of it. Maintain what is inside and keep it close in order to press others into wondering what goes on in there. They will no longer find out. My words are going to become increasingly cryptic, harsh, and shorter than they have throughout the life of this fucking site. On top of that, I will not initiate anything toward anyone. No ideas, outings, offers of help, nothing.

Flip. Nuts in May.



054



Apparently, whenever there is dissent, I am the catalyst. Differing subjects of which I am familiar come up from time to time, and regardless of what I may actually know intimately, I am viewed as incorrect. The difficulty in dealing with situations of those types is overwhelming. I do have a solution, however. This night has been a turning point in how I relate to others. Things will not be the same as in the past because I will no longer express my thoughts on any given subject no matter whether or not I know the truth. The silence and disinterest will now push those requests into unknown territory. The people involved will be dramatically and coldly stonewalled, and when taken in doses over time they may realize that I am no longer interested in what they have to say. Years of being told I am intelligent and important alongside behavior toward the contrary have pressed me to alter my demeanor enough to detach. Having done so, they will eventually avoid me. At that point, they may see the consequences of their actions. If not, the silence may create even more fucking dissent and push them away. Either is fine, one will happen.

The underlying issue is glanced every now and then, but that is all. Nuts in May, or perhaps all year long.

Onward through time.

The press begins immediately. Today is the first full day of pro football and I have been awaiting this time of year since the outset. All those months of agonizing, sweating, working toward passing the fucking days were not easy, and generally speaking, by the time September rolls around -- even with warm weather hanging on -- I am lifted by all of the events from the beginning of football until the second of January when the world turns onto its side again. I plowed all of the shit and took care of business. I worked, waited, dealt with all of the people I would rather avoid, and made it to the beginning of this month through my own sheer will and need to get past all of it. Now, I learn that things are not what they seem. Others are not looking at me with their own eyes, not speaking with their own mouths. I have been trusting, working, relating, helping, and making my way through each arduous day with the understanding that I am appreciated and seen as a nice person. Well, apparently that is just another pile of shit. But one aspect is fascinating...

The others have pulled the wool over my eyes as master magicians. I had no idea until recently.

They are not responsible for every fucking thing, and there is one point I need to make with regard to them and the issues which have arisen in both directions. Occasionally I get the ill-fated idea to do something frivolous and light. An idea comes to mind and begins with laughter and fun, but later turns into complete shit. That may be my fault or that of others, but either way the situation continuously carries just like in the past. I try, they try, but in the end it makes no difference and provides no improvement. I really do try to go easy on the others during those times. I do. And whatever transpires between those people and myself ends up a complete pile of fucking shit, every fucking time, no matter the location or circumstances. The funny part is that I seem to be the one to initiate the idea in the first place. Perhaps I should not communicate my feelings, thoughts or ideas to anyone, anytime. I am quite certain that they will notice but I will not give a shit. And whether or not everything is my fault no longer matters. I am done with it.

May. July. Flip. September. Flipped.

I have put plenty of threatening words all over this space for years, but this is different. The fiction, stories of my personal past can carry on, but no more hopeful anything. Final Flight has concluded with the third section, and I do not know the genesis of that motivation to finish it. Oh yes, there are plenty of things to put here over the next few years. The tales are many, but the downside of placing my insides here for all to see is that they begin to think I can be understood. Well, good fucking luck with the analysis. Just ask me something. Go ahead, give it a shot. See where that takes you.

Fucks in May. Here we go (gone).



539



Push. Ask. Try. Pry. You will get nowhere at all. And don't fucking ask about the references to robots. That is another issue that I will not share. It is a dream that cannot come to fruition. No way. Impossible. I will carry on bitching about it in a manner that cannot be understood. Questions may arise but the answers are unavailable. Live with it. Reading what I write and publish here is a choice. Make another choice. In the long run you will likely be better off. Or stay here and wonder. I do not give a shit either way. I no longer seek numbers.

Flip. Flipped. Out. Fuck it. Those that mattered are gone. And they, too, are better off.

Today is going to be difficult but I have the option to cut it short. No one will know why, and again I do not give half a fuck if they try to understand or not. Questions. No answers. Flip. Flop. Yes, I am going to have a hard time for a while. No one cares. They just keep asking and asking. In the past I have always been there and helped no matter the cost to me. Well, fuck you. Flip. Flipped out. Beyond caring. Beyond anger. Beyond help. There it is. I did not realize while typing those words, but that pretty much sums up all of it. All of me. My world. As disjointed and disfigured as that world has become since the other flip, the world still exists for as long as I allow it. That first event was years ago but still fresh. This one will be worse due to being more involved. All those conversations and glances have taken me to a place of decay. And I mean of the mind, not body. I am not going anywhere because I need to remain here in this location and make my fucking point for years until others no longer wish to be around me. I can do it faster, but I need it to build slowly in order to make the point more pointed. Heh. I wish that was funny.

Convoluted. Conundrum. Crap.

The bliss has gone away. They have gone away. I am aging, broken, and unwilling to be positive because it is false. Fake. Bullshit. Flip. Out. All of them are gone. Those names splayed here for years... Absent. The space left behind cannot be filled with anything or by anyone and I will no longer attempt to search. I will look and see, agonize and rant, but nothing will help. Simply continuing to wonder and dream all these years later is the only option I see. It is not a good option, just the only one. So, writing and bitching and dreaming is the path. I have done it before and will do it again. Something will come along and I will fall and place it here for the entertainment of others. Readers, if they exist at all. I see the numbers and analytics but most could be random or even robots. No, not the robots of which I dream, the other machines... Those which scrape the sites. Software robots.

Where am I going with this? No idea.

Well, yes I do. The point has meandered to and fro, been spread thinly, but it can be reassembled by anyone who gives a fuck about the words. No? I do not care. The point is there. Fake. Fuck. What? No caring, only issues piling up like the wet, heavy snow in March. All over the place with this tirade, as usual. There are no solutions, only extensions of older issues and new starts which seem to stem from the same old fucking situations. No happiness to be found, and as stated in 'Falling Away', each day has become a problem in and of itself. I continue to put up a facade which allows others to believe and/or feel as if life is just fine. The tiring nature of covering the underside and blackness within my mind has hit an all-time high. Or would that be a low? No one fucking cares anyway.



721



Just after five this morning we pulled into the parking lot, and immediately off to my right I spied a woman leaving the coffee shop and stepping to her car. I saw long legs, flowing hair, and what seemed a lovely sight, but she dropped into her car so quickly that I did not get a good look. Cut to moments later… We parked in front of the big doors to the store. My coworker dashed into the market. I sat alone. And then a car pulled up next to me. It was the same woman. She popped out to toss a few things into the trash and I saw much more. Right through the headlights...

Black button down shirt, substantial breasts in what looked to be a thin, unlined bra, gray stretch pants, probably five foot six, wavy blonde hair, full lips, slender nose, golden skin, no makeup, super cute, all the radii and curves, round rear, slender thighs. I fell off the cliff again.

Another example of a close call followed by more compulsion than can be easily described. I have not felt that type of pull for quite a while, possibly not that bad since last December. Or maybe the two girls at the pool in Paradise. That may have been it, although the situation there was vastly different. In the parking lot this morning, the feeling was urgent, dire, painful, whereas in Vegas I was able to discuss the issue and reason things through a bit. That was with someone else, and now due to being pulled so harshly combined with coming off one of the most nerve-wracking dreams in recent memory... Well, I am in moderately poor shape to say the least. The girls at the pool were wearing thong-bottom bikinis, both were stunningly beautiful, and the younger of the two aligned ideally with the map which lines the inside of my brain. I am not accustomed to seeing such shapes out in the world, and to gaze and discover what lies beneath the clothing is another matter entirely. Frightening, crippling, stirring. Considering the difficult nature of that afternoon pool visit, I am surprised to have left that town without more damage to my head. This morning was equally hurtful because she was right there next to me and simply going about everyday business. As such, the woman was more gorgeous in a hurried state and without makeup than ninety percent of the thousands of images I have amassed throughout the years. She was amazing, and I will likely never see her again. The girl at the car wash? I walked by her less than a week after writing as much as I could to do her justice. The servers? One I never saw again, and the other has been in my eyes twice. Beyond those, the seconds or minutes when an example of such vast and unique beauty is in my eyes represent the most important of my life. Another. And she is still fresh.

Coffee goddess... Probably gone for good. And I mean goddess in the highest sense of the word. She was unreal. I am sharp in the early morning, and what I saw in the space of a few moments shook me to the core. A problem. Now I am spun and falling down. Other issues are mounting as in months past and causing me difficulty in thinking straight. Just this morning after leaving the goddess behind and taking care of our business and heading into the machine for work, there were other visions along the street which have now pressed me further. The job will be short -- maybe three hours -- and then back through the city and the hell away from them.

But... Fucking flip. It already happened before seeing her early today, and now said flip is fucking solid. Unable to change or ease at all, leaving me a mess of damaged thought.

Flip. Flipped. Soon? Flipped the fuck out. I cannot easily deal with so much all at once. Sitting parked on this corner is even a problem. We were here when I saw the girl at the bus stop, the bicycle girl, and the sweet thing walking in her heels just below the front window of the work location. All of it is piling like that Goddamned wet snow.



628



Switchtrack.

Very unhappy with no faith in being in such a state again. Everything is working against me, albeit unknowingly. Even the fucking weather. I lived in very uncomfortable areas for decades and dreamed of being near the ocean. Well, that has only been agreeable less than a quarter of the year. For whatever reason, I seem to still be mired within warm temperatures. The sunshine is abundant and others love it. I cannot stand the feeling of the sun's heat directly on me and have spent years and gone to great effort toward keeping myself out of it. Yes, cool days arrive at times, however the frequency of acceptable weather patterns is not what I had experienced in the past near the water. Into September now and that means all of the good things are incoming. Holidays, football, shorter length of daylight. Those facts mean that I may ease up on the bitching, however on the horizon is that fateful second day of January. It will be a slam, and each passing year is worse than the last. Ugh. In the meantime I just need to focus upon making each day count and try to embrace the time while it is apparent.

Another switch. All over the place, as usual.

I cannot take this much longer. The situation which arose years ago and has plodded on is going to kill me and I mean that literally. Frustration, pressure, tension... Those descriptors are causing pain on a daily basis and there is no longer an outlet. Every now and then I desire traveling to Colorado to seek the cause and destroy it. The dream sequence and story did not cut the fucking mustard in the least, and honestly may have pressed me further down for the effort. At the time, the story seemed a good idea and flowed from one sordid and depressing word to the next. Now, things have changed. It is out there in the public eye (if anyone gives a shit enough to hang on past the fucking ridiculously low bounce rate and feel something, that is) and I still do not know if that plan was a good idea. I can pull it, too. I can destroy the story and bottle it back into the back of my head. Never mind, I just removed the links. Fuck the staff.

Yesterday was yet another turning point. Once again, a situation nagged at me until I became upset enough to cause a rift. Weekend after weekend after fucking weekend I sit at the editor and think about all of the little things I can do to make slow changes, and those could add up to larger changes later on. The small ideas remind me of the patience involved in most aspects of life as I live it. Small. Seconds, sometimes. I sit and await the right opportunity to take advantage of something which can seem daunting at the outset but eventually disappears due to my masterful ability to snow the planet. Yes, I can do that... Almost anything. The difficulty yesterday pushed at me to make said changes which shall begin today. Some things were taken care of yesterday afternoon, however the longer term difference will take time. Much time. I need to maintain the pace and patience of the small steps and focus upon my larger goals. Day to day business will continue as it has for several years, while in the background the dramatic issues are to be dealt with in the dark. Unknowing. Quiet. Hidden. I will be completely full of shit but no one will be aware of when.

Yes, the day was tough. Every day is to some degree, however I believe that one takes the cake. The feelings were there first thing in the morning and carried on for hours until I blew. Beer cans on the back lawn are always indicative of the mood, and the morning was no different. Some business was handled in the garage and inside the house, but later the feelings amplified inside until I could no longer think clearly. My head went awry -- badly -- and something took place which I cannot stand to feel. I went in that direction knowing full well the gravity of the manner in which I would react (every fucking time). I did it and immediately regretted the action. Always. There have been days that went by with enough distraction and project-related activity to keep my head in line and such a situation being pushed away until the time is gone, but yesterday I could not stand it. Moments later? Gone. Uncomfortable. Irritated. Sad. Broken. So far today nothing of the sort is in there due to me needing to remain busy. I now feel that what happened yesterday was a lesson of a type I need to embrace. I need to remember the aftermath and all that comes with it. If my brain can successfully shut it off early, the remainder of my time alone will be much better. I have to keep it close, within, and move myself toward the projects and away from the harm. We shall see if the effort bears fruit today. So far this morning there is coffee and planning. I will move, work, and remember.

Topic sentence? Structure? Subject? Nope.

Anger and depression.



629



Switch again.

Sell it all and pare it down to the simplest of basic needs. The wants have to be graded aside just like the others. Just the needs. No wants. They cause trouble, always. Liquid. Compact. Ready. Just in case the shit hits the fan. And it will because I may be the one throwing said shit. I really am running out of methods for living through each day, so the shit (read: everything) is already within my hands. Flip. Streamline, just as stated her for years. The dissatisfaction has mounted to the point of a shutoff. So, the sale is on. Dump it.

October?

Aside from that aspect of tidying things in my life, the other issues will have to be dealt with in order to maintain some type of comfort and stability. One at a time. For now, the focus is clear. Nothing else is working, the little joyous moments are shrinking, and the hand is pushing at my back yet again. I am seeing options and pathways narrowed like never before. More and more I find myself standing still without a direction to choose. Things need to be done, other things have waited in the wings for the higher priority tasks to be completed, and none of it looks interesting or compelling like years ago. The underlying decades-long trouble with myself is still pushing, yet feels different now. I feel that the situation is less arduous than even six months back. I do not understand at all. And the days are getting away from me. Now three weeks into September (and yes, this writing spans a long time period. Suck it), but have I appreciated each day? Football started, the mornings are darker, and that threatening angle of the sun in the late afternoon is approaching. I am supposed to consider the good fortune of fall at each step. Have I? Or are the issues taking up too much of my precious time? Are there any answers? Nope... But I need to think of such things. Daily, hourly, moment to moment. Even right now, sitting in front of a job with extra time to wait, thoughts are of the cool air and morning sun way off to the side. The season is approaching at terminal speed with me riding along hoping for that comfort and joy.

Flipped. Switch. Fuck.

Just yesterday was another example of my grating against any appreciation and leaving another person without any positivity. I did it knowing full well the result. On the heels of that? Something worse. An event which has pushed me to do something which will be the largest 'fuck you' that I can conceive at this point in life.

Yep, something which extended the already completely fucked situation underway. Not good. After all of the shit spewed here throughout seventeen years, for me to say not good is horrid. It is worse than that. The feeling is as the past. Not the long past, but early during eleven when the inside of me was damaged and in pieces. Some of those were not recovered and such a thing has left me half a person, if not less. I have become so fragile that the slightest bump cripples my head. I did it to myself over decades by trying to be nice to others. Well, fuck everyone. Yes, that means fuck you... Whomever you may be. I cannot lash out at some fucking god which may or may not exist, so I throw it toward anyone who gives enough of a shit to read. Pain? Yes, plenty enough for a lifetime. Emotional or physical? Both, and for good reason I would suppose. Am I not to suppose or assume? Explain why. Go for it.



630



I want to walk into the street and pull the trigger for two reasons. That is not a masked statement nor a metaphor. The trigger is a blued-steel spring-loaded catch with a live round waiting patiently in front. The round will ignite and make my sorry head into a canoe. Remember 'Realization'? The manner in which the bad man's neck exploded and the way I described the event should come to mind immediately. Reason number one is to be free of the difficulty in my head. Years and years of trying to fix myself or help in some way combined with many therapists attempting to do the same have brought me nowhere. I am not the same, I am worse. That leads to reason number two. The statements made and left behind will serve to illuminate my dissatisfaction and slam the point that I was not heard. Done.

Old trouble fades as new trouble comes to the forefront.

I am not accustomed to this type of feeling. Years ago was an issue I had not been forced to deal with before. I became so uncomfortable and nauseous over worry that one day to the next was a trial of enormous proportions. While with people I successfully covered it out of fear of appearing weak and threatened while others remained stable. Joking, bantering, tossing silly things back and forth was the norm, yet inside me was a food processor liquefying everything. I felt scared, filled with the desire to gush about it, but kept all of the fear within. I had to maintain my composure or be out. The effort taxed me to no end. The time required for me to recover most of my confidence was years... Nearly a decade. And now it is happening again, yet different somehow. This is very hard to explain. Partially because the feelings are so hurtful, and partially due to my need to remain ambiguous. One aspect is certain, however, and that is the dramatic case of my stability when threatened. During more than one past issue I fled and stonewalled the world badly. I will do that again soon. I need to make a statement that is less causal than that which I described above. Both situations will come to pass and the first will take time. I simply cannot deal with going through the same fucking hell from years ago. That nearly destroyed me and one more time through another abyss will find me out the other side sans life. Yes, that is exactly what I said. Suck it.

From here I need to keep focused upon creating space and resources should the need arise to speak with actions. I've done it so many times that running feels perfectly natural. Just two nights back I was up at 1am and had I been in better shape... Well, that would have been that. I even had a plan for the beginning of the dash. Nothing crazy, just a little silent jaunt to gather the attention of those who are causing some of my distress. One small step has been taken, others require time. The situation is uncomfortable to the point of distracting me from everyday tasks. Even my relaxed enjoyment becomes haphazard as thoughts creep in and strain me. The only path seems either spewing shit here or taking those wonderfully satisfying steps toward being autonomous. Plus, there is the matter of the quiet. That garners attention almost immediately and creates questions that I will not fucking answer for anyone. Far from home and detached feels good for a while. With Andrea it was weeks, although that began differently, and the angel was in a similar frame of mind when we ran. Silence truly is golden.

The current difficulty taking over my days and this essay is not trivial. I cannot overstate the manner in which I have dropped in the course of a week. At times I feel as if I can learn and grow into being able to absorb the threat, and other times there is no chance at all. I have lived enough years and established myself as a deep-thinking soul with knowledge and intelligence to match. According to people I have known, anyway. Enough of that for a long period of time has taught me that I am at least part way there. As such, when the first situation of this type damaged me nearly eight years ago, I felt inadequately equipped to rise from it. I was correct then. Am I correct now? No answers. Nothing. Just daily life interrupting my train of thought and others expecting me to be the me they have known. Well, fuck them. I am not the same. People will see. That is, if they see me at all.



631



The time for isolation is at hand.

Even the simplicity of a fucking fragrance commercial has the ability to cause an hour's worth of distress before I can calm enough to function properly. Why? Well, I will try to avoid that word in favor of continuing. Every single moment around or within view of others requires a hell of an effort. The gears constantly turn and analyze the surroundings, I cannot force my way through it, and then I hide in the corner and stew. Every fucking Goddamned day. Threatened, weakened, and without hope. All those years mentioned above have helped exactly zero. The only difference in mind is my ability to put things into clearer terms while writing. Speaking is not possible unless the subject is something ridiculously superficial, and that is never in short supply. When words begin to pop out along another line, I remove myself immediately. I cannot hear it because everything hurts me. The pain piles up, becomes stored away, and no matter how much time passes I remember all of it verbatim. In these late days, that fucking mental file cabinet has become full. Words and phrases and images still pile there, too. There is no stopping anything. My head is a mess, and I cannot describe to what extent.

'I did not come here to talk to people.'
'What's wrong?'
'That requires talking and I have said too much already. Leave me the fuck alone.'

That was just three weeks ago and amidst many. So why did I venture into a place full of people? To watch football and attempt to embrace the season. I cannot do that at home because the atmosphere is much less powerful. The season flies by very quickly and coming out the other side further damaged feels too close right now. I try and try to appreciate each second of the shorter days and cooler weather. Soon enough, though, all of it is gone. The issue raised by that talkative idiot was on my mind from early morning and I already knew it would go bad. It did. Barely halfway into my game of choice and I disappeared. Some asked where I was going and I lied through my teeth in replying that I would be right back.

Gone in a flash.

I arrived home and went on counting the seconds until my precious free time ended. That did not take long.

Two different problems are at work here and I am too scattered to keep them separate and clear. I do not really give a fuck if anyone follows along, either. I cannot follow and I am the one putting words to the screen. And though one has taken precedence over the other, they are still somewhat related. Another fragrance commercial. Fuck me. There it is again. In the space of a few paragraphs that nagging stomach ache subsided enough for me to think of the impending work day, and then the imagery brings it all back in seconds. Something is terribly wrong inside me and each occasion adds to it. Yes, the effects are cumulative. I sit here now as a product of many years of ups and downs. Broken, weakened, and barely able to keep up the heavy facade which others see. One day soon I intend to blow the top of it off and put the shit away for good. The space left behind will never be occupied by anyone or anything again. Soon. You can suck the fucking words off the keyboard. And a clothing ad on the television. That nearly propelled me back to the goblet. Shit.



632



Nuts in October? Ah... Fuck it anyway. I couldn't keep track of a ham sandwich right now. All over the place, yearning for something to happen, needing things beyond explanation. Here is another...

Just another day. Shopping, lunch, a couple of drinks, and that is that. Just a day. Two stores, two restaurants. One fucking wrecked human being. I still have no idea of why. Things were fine until the second store, and then off a cliff I went. There was too much in that space for me to handle. I shopped around, interfaces with the two with whom I had gone, and saw two shapes. One was fine, the other was not. More I strolled looking at whatever seemed interesting, but still she floated inside. As soon as I pulled focus on that tall woman, my brain kicked into defensive mode and I made a beeline for another department. The possibility of my falling down had to be squashed due to my shopping partners. The day was a plan of mine and I did not wish to end their enjoyment, nor did I want the trip to be anything but productive. In my head, though, things were not well and would end up manifesting themselves after an incident in the parking lot. While in the store I maintained composure. At finally reaching the checkout, there was a third. I had seen her behind the jewelry counter and only for a few seconds. At the register, and on the edge of leaving everything behind, she looked at me and I realized I could barely hold it together. We stepped out to roll a bit and get a drink, but even the simplicity of loading the car turned into pain. A little slip of merchandise and I made harsh contact with myself. Yes, an accident, however hurtful enough to still be feeling it three days later.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? Was the isolation of eleven the best place for me? Should I do the same now? Why?

Well, one certainty is clear. No more of that. Shopping, lunch, nope. The slimmest chance of an issue is too much. I have to remember that given enough time the shit will hit the fan and make a smelly mess. Isolation is not easy these days because my situation is vastly different than years ago. I don't even know if I can get myself into that type of place in a reasonable amount of time. As for the drop in that parking lot? No one seemed to care. I was told later that I 'took it like a champ'. What the fuck does that mean? A fucking champ? So I am to just pull up the long pants and live with it? Because I am a male? Fuck you. I am going to flip the fuck out.

Flipping. Flipped? Nuts. Fuck you. Flip this.

I've had it. Everything. I stated above that interfacing with others is no longer a desire.



633



'Sitting... Thinking... Sitting... Thinking more. This feels as a circle, a large circle I know all too well. I know the radius, the look, the feel... I know it intimately. The circle allows me travel from one place to another, but always returning and the journey is never long. This path I follow day after day... moment to moment... looking never to the rear, for that is unnecessary. The path behind looks as the path forward. It looks as if it has been tread upon for ten lifetimes. I know every inch, every bump, every contour, as if it were my own worn hand. The circle is sharp with cold. It can cut me to ribbons or freeze me in time if I slow my pace, but it can also soften, open and cradle me within warmth. The cold parts show me water, wind, ice, and snow... The warm parts show me sunshine, air, earth, and sky. The cold can overpower the warmth so easily and so very quickly that the warmth becomes unseen. The warmth begs but the cold is just that -- so cold that it cannot be denied. The cold shows itself along my path and I cannot avoid it. Just as the warmth wishes itself known, the cold wishes itself all-powerful. The cold succeeds.

The shadow behind me expands from time to time and hides the sections of the circle which I need. Today is one of those days when the shadow adds to the curvature... It adds what it deems necessary for my consideration. Once shown, the additions become fears which mark the circle's sections for viewing over and over again. I cannot avoid the markings... they are burned deeply. The smoldering often overpowers the entire circle and renders me helpless. That shadow looks as the smoke from a terrible fire and the flames lick the circle enough to force me along a crooked path... I try to overstep the ashes, but my effort is for naught. They follow me, know me, impede me.

They have the power to reduce me to the familiar fetal position of cowering, shame, and broken spirit.'


Do not take issue with me. Do not even begin to ask or you will no longer be allowed to speak with me.

Thin."



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