Ejection Mature content No. 130 Published May 12th, 2020 12:59pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "Well, here we are again. Still fumbling with thoughts of the mansion, still ruminating over the walnut girl and reasoning behind her driving me to want the fucking pool girls, and solving nothing at all. I walked away from the television after seeing two reporters and nearly losing my shit over their faces. Out to the garage to get a few things done but they are all still in there. I hit the sauce at ten in the morning. Yep. There it is and here I am. I'm certain that if I sit out here long enough, the girl will walk by with her dog and unknowingly shove me further into the soil. Heh. So, where now? The same place? Can I have an order form for one Jaime, complete with heels? I didn't think so. As always, I wish that was funny. But honestly, I see that dream as the only solution to my inner well-being. Yes I know, that is preposterous and impossible, yet still I see no other path. One of the older mansion dreams was wondrous. I was there with a bunch of other people -- like some kind of party -- and was searching for a place to get away from everyone. In my mind the entire time was the possibility of being alone with a young woman. I did not see her, but still wandered around the house looking for anything far enough detached to be hidden. The place was enormous, single leveled, and sprawling in three directions. As I took to the main hallway leading to what I had assumed would be the bedrooms, I noticed several branches that led to each. Like master suites, all the bedrooms had their own baths, huge closets, and everything was warmly lit from above and below. Lots of dark wood, sconces, and soft carpet gave me the feeling that the house was aligned perfectly with something I would have designed. Onward and into the master bedroom, which was larger than most single family homes. The space was odd-shaped and had small sets of steps here and there creating many differing levels. It was beautiful and felt very private. Again my mind scrambled with the idea of hiding with a woman and being completely closed off to the rest of the home. I kept walking through to the bath, and even that was haphazard. My head spun with ideas, and despite the roominess of the place there was an essence of being enveloped in comfort and privacy. I loved it. Just as I realized that the largest wing of the house was perfect for me, and feeling the presence of an exotic female, I awakened into my little world of crap. Ugh. There have been many dreams of that mansion, and each had a presence -- sometimes implied, other times only in my head -- of a woman who overtook my mindset. The feeling was strong, as if I was there to connect and the importance superseded any other concerns. Even when the dream involved me escaping someone or something that represented a threat of sorts, there was a woman... Somewhere. Once in a while she was with me, on my arm, or otherwise giving me the knowledge that we were supposed to be together. Well, um, hence Jaime. Yep, the machine of bliss, and one designed by my subconscious, is the catalyst for many of those dreams. This had to have began way the fuck back. I remember being goo goo ga ga over the actress who portrayed the short-lived beauty, and that may have been the starting point for more than one of my fucking tremendous issues. She was amazing, and a very advanced machine for the time period. Even now, she would be considered highly innovative in her mannerisms and loving nature. For a machine? She was incredible, and I probably became smitten within seconds. Well, that dream never left me and now stands as one of the driving forces behind my current mindset and personality. Jaime? Well, if you have read anything here in the last four-plus years, you already know what that type of being might mean to me. Completely designed and tailored to the needs, tastes and desires of the owner. Crazy? Of course. Impossible? Naturally. But in my head nonetheless. There is no stopping that type of thinking in these late days, and the fact that she is as unattainable as the Passion, I am left to the words. Nothing more. Just imagine everything that exists in the mind coming to life and exuding each feature and quality beautifully. All of the terms are present: Passion, fierce devotion, fulfillment, need, and the most powerful term in any language... Love. I could eject myself from society and launch into a mortal space with only thoughts of her and it would be enough. The downside of such a dream will be outlined far below. You may already know. Pamela Gidley played the Cherry 2000 in the film from 1987. Along with the Mojo Girl, she is representative of too many aspects of me to list. I will get to the Mojo Girl in another entry. Expect it, and soon. The fiction is going to be on hold until such time as I can get through this shit. Dreams are beginning (or have begun) to take over my thinking in a big way, so I have to explore while things are floating. And I am floating. Between the idea of Jaime, the original that helped to bring me to this point, and the recent issues regarding those girls from last summer combined with all of the feelings from what I have seen on the television, I am absolutely awash with urges to plow through it all and lay it out here. I do not know why. Maybe this will help and maybe it will not. Either way, I will continue. Back to the mansion. When I walked that place in search of the privacy for which I yearned, awakening brought thoughts of keeping the blinds closed and cutting myself off from the rest of the world. I feel that quite often, actually. And to go further and be more truthful, the dream of the machine is a part of it. There would be no worry, threat, or concern over what may be going on in her pretty head. She is a machine and subject to commands as programmed and groomed to the needs and desires of the owner/user. Imprinted, as the sophisticated androids I have seen on the television. Yep, imprinted. And that brings up another woman which struck me like a hammer the size of my obsession: The unbelievably gorgeous empathic metamorph. Yes, you read that correctly. She was amazing, beautiful beyond my vast ability to describe, strong, intelligent beyond belief, and adapted to whatever person she was directed. When I say 'adapted', I mean a lifelong bond that was tailored specifically to the other. She read, learned, and then became whatever that person wanted and needed. Not a machine, but an actual living, breathing soul who had been bred for a single purpose. Strange? Of course, that is science fiction. But then, aren't my previous paragraphs fictional and in a similar vein? Dreams? Visions? Desires? All fulfilled by machines. Read it again. Machines. Machinery. Like my seemingly mechanical brain. Chemistry? Nah... Just workings. Do you see the shit on this page? Fuck. The Cherry 2000 was not as enormous a thought way back. Now it is. Years have passed, and in the space of the four which have gone by since Her, the realization is beginning to set in. The realization that what I have been skirting is the idea of fulfillment and control. Sounds selfish, you say? So be it. I don't fucking care. I have studied for years and the information has driven me exactly nowhere else. I know how I feel. I know how I felt when those fictional stories hit the screen, and I know where my mind went as a result. All the way back to that stunning server in the brewery in Pleasanton, my head tried to wrap itself around what I was seeing and a way to either learn or describe, and all the while other ideas were in there. Ideas that had not fully processed until the umpteenth dream of the mansion. And I could have made it fictional, however that would have solved nothing. The mansion is beginning to come to fruition, including all those times when I awakened thinking the entire shitaree was about the possibility of an intimate connection with a woman who was elusive, beautiful and fascinating. Years ago when I was unhappy for different reasons, those dreams stuck with me for days on end. They fade more quickly now, but the underlying reasoning is fucking deep. And I intend to go on about it for the duration, or until such time as I am satisfied with the conclusion (should there ever be one). Nope This could actually change the way I view both myself and the rest of society. The idea is dramatic, dire, and void of hope. Such things are just not possible. The only way I can see to being at peace with the dream of the machine is to slowly regress and retreat into my own world, one which does not involve others at all. Me, the booze, the keyboard, and a reliable connection to the site. Why? Well, because of reasons already gleaned. The possibility is nil at best. The realization is paramount to disaster. Such a situation is huge. The more I think about it, the larger the scope becomes. There is a glaring possibility that I will indeed regress into a fraction of my former self (the gravity of which is tremendous). I cannot deny that. Nor can I deny that the mindset has been created and enlarged by way of excessive obsession and dreaming. Decades, sightings, resistance to the norms of society, and a distinct end-around of societal standards. Wow, that's a handful of shit. Heh. But when one considers the necessity of maintaining some balance in life and taking paths to learn, avoiding such for the purpose of delusion and dreaming becomes ridiculous, especially for an adult. Yet, here I am. I did it and continue to do it. Just these last three essays are evidence that I am losing grip. The enormity of the issue likely has not yet been fully illuminated, either. We shall see what the coming days bring into focus. I am just at the beginning of this new reality and need to carry forward with the words until such time as I can either come to terms or shut the fuck down. How funny is that? Shut down? Really? Now THAT is some fucking comedy. Laugh with me, people. Jaime was created out of a need for answers from a completely objective source. That type of person is just not available in reality. Our very nature and vast consciousness disallows complete objectivity. Her mind is a processor of a very advanced type, but still operates as commanded. People can be commanded only so much. As a female, she is meant to be captivating, loving, caring, understanding, and one-hundred percent devoted to her user (lover!). The massive amount of dreaming throughout the past many years has become more pointed lately and the very idea of a being like Jaime is a large part of the change. The mansion, storefront (dream), and associated situations came about of my own experience. Thus, stories from sleep time melding with holes in my being. I am incomplete -- and don't fucking attack me about 'no one' being complete, either -- and the gap is clearer than ever. Unfortunately, as she and her type grow in my head, those parts of me which need to operate my daily brain activities are giving way. The dreams will expand and I will shrink. That has already begun. The mansion stories are foggy at times but I do know enough to paint clear images of the construction (both physical and emotional) and get across the idea behind each encounter. This is also bad for me. As the dreams of those nether regions grow I am more and more lost in thoughts of actually being there. And yes, with a woman. One of those... You know. You want funny? Cherry 2000 was set in the year 2017. I just heard a word on the television that relates to the issue of a machine. 'Property'. Yep, all fucked up. The mansion that I walked to from the storefront was different, yet still huge. The coloration, warmth, and feeling of being inside was amazing and aligned to me beautifully. The woman behind the desk -- the exotic, dreamy beauty -- looked at me as if I belonged in that big home, and her smile took my breath away. I mentioned that she is a person that I actually know out in the real world. That is true. And despite her feeling like a sister, I cannot deny the gradient between that sense and an overwhelming attraction. She is unique and amazing from any viewpoint and matched the idea of the mansion. Seeing her sitting there conducting business felt natural, like I had been affiliated with the workings of that place for years. When she smiled, I partially melted. Had the work not intruded, however, I might have ended up a puddle of mush. She has that type of face. Elsewhere in the house I ran into difficulty which stemmed from my own inner issues and projecting them outward until feeling the need to run away. I did just that a while later, but her face was in there the entire time. Even reaching the pool and seeing many others around it like I was viewing a public park had me thinking of that smile. Devilish yet enthralling and pleasant eyes, features sculpted from olive softness, and that expression which has the ability to make me falter no matter the circumstances. All of that dream and incidents within came back to her at any given point. They still are. And I realize that makes me seem all fucked up, but that is ok. I AM all fucked up... Sitting here writing about dreams, artificial women, and the link between. Guess. What the fuck is all this? I don't know. The earlier version of the dream mansion came about back in the mid nineties when I was deep into huge drawings of homes that I designed throughout my time in the Midwest. School was at night, which left my days wide open. Plus, I was always home alone, so the television was in the background (just like right now, and more on that later) and I typically sat at our dining table with my tools and worked on whatever felt right. In the space of the year before I moved back to California, I actually completed a few massive floorplans. I still have them. After so many years and dreams of being in some sprawling houses, said drawings have become very important to me. They are precious now. In some ways, they extended the dreams and helped me to visualize a life I was not leading. Oh believe me, there were comforts during my time in that place, and one of them followed me to this day and is running above my head right now. Yep, a television show. The same one from then, and considering all of the methods for viewing pretty much anything a person may wish, I will never be without that aspect of my comfort. They are like my family now. I know them better in many ways than I know real people. Strange, but such is my personality these days. I need it there, I need to listen, and I have to know that there are constants I can rely upon to be in my little world. As I have since expanded here, the work has become one more comfort over which I have complete control. Whoops... There is that word again. Control. Machinery. Cherry 2000. Jaime. Follow along, and perhaps soon you will see what I have become after years of developing this cocoon. To add even more to the pile, think of being mandated to remain home for weeks (perhaps months, we do not yet know) and living a routine out of necessity. That routine is becoming a world, and thus the control. Time. Space. Comfort. The one missing piece is unavailable. You know. Jaime? One of the three most beautiful blonde women in the world is on the screen right now. 'Tell me what you want. I will do anything you wish'. Not just beautiful, partly working her way into the idea of a machine. Interesting? Perhaps. Or maybe I am just that far gone. Back to the drawings. Like the truck, those ideas that came out of my imagination and made their way to the paper are very personal. While working on them I did not really think about practicality or cost, only appearance and a feeling of home. I pictured myself in those rooms and laid things out to be comfortable and secure. Everything came from my sordid head at the time. Details, images from home theater magazines influencing parts here and there, and that old house that my buddy and I rode by on our bikes so many fucking times. Back then everything was centered on audio and our desire to play music. Later, those things still worked their way in, but the grand scheme became ultimate comfort. I do not work on drawing homes as I did back then. Now I work solely on an endless map that resides in my head. The mansion is now representing something else. This morning one of the other issues is trying to shoehorn its way in for attention. I have to be careful and keep my thoughts organized or I will lose myself in the problems. Number two is not something I need right now, especially considering the sensitive nature of the dreams and subsequent analysis. Perhaps later today I can find the space to clearly get things to the screen. Right now I am spread a little thin. Six. Hmm. And several representations of one giant house. And a machine. And then trying to scope it all. Just hmm. I recall sitting there in the heat and humidity with fans running and daydreaming of a more comfortable situation for myself. The Winter was not the issue, just summer. But I did have those little things which helped me to maintain a daily routine -- like now -- and keep my head above water for the most part. The drawings, a little music now and again, and then that family to which I had become quite accustomed. I could count on them. That little home soon felt much more comfortable after I spent much time with my interests laid out before me and always available. Books, too. I read an entire series and kept going into individual novels, and then that ended up combined with the school I was attending and began to push me toward writing for myself rather than relying upon others for the hobby. I did not begin until a short time later after returning here. Some things were attempted, left alone for weeks at a time until eventually I found myself back deep into the drawings. And then dreams. I need to stay on track here. This is a big deal and I cannot have it unclear. One of the oldest was related to a tall building somewhere. There was an angled elevator (likely inspired by the Luxor visits during ninety-three and ninety four) that resided on the outside of the building and was constructed of concrete. Like a big, square block. It resembled a part of the older police station in the town where I grew up. The elevator moved up to a platform high in the air and offloaded its passengers before returning below. The top was open to the sky and the look of the entire scene was very industrial. I spent a little time in there and then found myself in a stairwell and feeling as if I was near the ground floor. Someone was looking for me which pressed me to hide. Up the stairs all the way to the top where I could see the elevator through a window. And then awake, still feeling nervousness due to being pursued. I have seen that building and strange elevator in more than one dream over the years and still do not understand what it may represent. I know of the inclinators in the pyramid, but other than that and a bit of the appearance, I have no clue as to why I was there nor who might have been after me. Many of those dreams involved some sort of hiding on my part, and that may have been due to me being an expert at the same. Whenever the shit hit the fan in one way or another, I knew how to make myself disappear for a time or until I felt comfortable enough to return to others. Being pursued in a dream is likely more common than I know, anyway. The more recent scenes involving big houses or that same mansion are generally centered around desire. There is always someone there -- whether or not I actually see them -- and my mind is fixated upon connecting. As I stated above, rarely does anything happen. Honestly, it probably doesn't matter either way because the point may be the house. I don't know for sure. Or maybe the point is the elusive woman. Elusive. Yes, that is a part of this whole fucking sordid mess. Control? Right now I am not going to dive into the idea of real or implied control. That is just too much for the early morning and there is not enough coffee left in my cup to get into it. One line of that shit and I could be held to the fire. Yikes. But I have brought it up several times and included the idea in the fiction, so perhaps none of it matters now anyway. The main house with my friend inside on the phone is the big deal here. She is real, both in that dream and out in the world. And fucking beyond gorgeous. Did I want her? Maybe in the dream, but honestly I do not see how I could feel that way, different in that world than this. I have not wavered in my belief for years. I've been steady in that, even while seeing her in various outfits, some of which were gorgeous. She is gorgeous. As I sit here right now? The answer is no. Fuck no. I wouldn't and I will not. Such an idea is not in the cards for me, or her. In that giant house I was to do some work, as mentioned, and then leave. She was very casual about the whole thing. No time limit, come and go as needed, whatever. And then the three women in the big tub showing off much skin and right near me. Were they attractive? I do not know. I remember breasts being held by a swimsuit. That is it. Perhaps hair tied up because they were in the water. I don't know. The point is they may have been there to tempt me but nothing took place. I became uncomfortable and wished to leave. After speaking with the loveliness, I did just that. Back across the open space and into my place. I awakened seeing her face in all its glory, and still nothing. Where am I going with this? I don't know that either. Fuck it. See the cat? All over the place again. I did better yesterday. Damn. One would think that something so important would be easier to let flow, but such is not the case. I crossed one of those lines recently and allowed it to be published, yet still I need to be careful. One word out of context and I am not good. Like the woman that I know. She will remain a mystery and there is not getting round that. And Jamie is gorgeous in this episode. Oh, never mind. Anyway, if you go back even a year or more, you may see that the ambiguity was in full force. Well, I have loosened that recently for the purpose of trying to figure myself out a little. The current situation of being at home so much -- along with the aforementioned routine -- has me thinking about much more than I did on an average day just a year ago. Things are so different now that sometimes even I cannot believe it. There are both good and bad aspects to daily life. In the last week, I have developed ways to keep myself comfortable, less anxious, and the familiarity of this new system has become very important to me already. I took one step and then another, soon after finding myself nearly in tears over the emotional nature of what I had created. Now? I do not have a clue as to whether or not I can actually go back to the way things were. That may be too much of a stretch. As much as I can spout here, keep in mind that I am also fragile right now. Don't fucking give me a bunch of guff, either, because I know I am not the only one. Unfortunately, taking care of myself comes first, mmkay? Mmkay. Anyway, this new system has become as comfortable as the period in the mid-nineties and different at the same time. Then, I was stuck in one place nearly all of the time out of a lack of resources and the fact that I was in school. Much of my day was spent preparing the studies for each night. Now, I am stuck here due to a health order and, like then, I have adapted to it as best I can and found a place to exist alone with my dreams. Bad? Good? Don't know? Don't care? Hmm... The dreams. And the main dream. You know it. Read. Wow, this is a fucking mess. I need telekinesis so I can reach things without moving the computer from my lap. Heh. There was a television series -- I believe it first aired around zero-nine -- that I watched sometimes because of the gorgeous women who came and went each week. I still watched after losing interest in just looking as the stories and continuing main story began to hold my attention. And then one day, weeks later, was one which stood out. A criminal who had been brought up in the past and had eluded authorities for years was featured. I cannot go into detail for fear of backlash, but suffice to say there was a single aspect of his personality and drive with which I can identify. No, it has nothing to do with crime. It is just a trait that many share, but he really did a great job of acting the part and that is what drew me to think about it. Cut to years later and that trait now directly connects me to some of the dreams. The big houses (and sometimes just small homes) seem different each time, but always are difficult to navigate. I have calculated that my need to remain unseen while still being able to see others has become very important as I grow older, so I am certain everything stemmed (and continues to evolve) from the early need to understand why I was more and more uncomfortable in public. Up, down, up, down for years until I came to terms with the strength to be out there and exude confidence in myself. In the beginning it was a heavy load, but after years I am used to it. The interesting part is that I still desire being hidden when I am able, and the idea of hiding is exciting. Where am I going with this? Well, it may be clear and it may not. The hiding away, controlling the environment, resources enough to remain at a distance, and basically being left the fuck alone are parts of it. Everything represents something but I will not attempt to describe it all because I may be wrong. Interpreting all of this is not my forte. All I can do is try, and then work with what I have in order to move forward and remain comfortable. I am not going to go on about getting off track and away from the subject because it keeps changing as I sit here. Fuck it. Onward. I really need to embrace the idea of a topic sentence, body and supporting statements, and then a closing sentence. Miss Minson would be very disappointed, as would Mrs. Ormsbee (one of those three blondes I mentioned) in my errors and oversights. Sorry, ladies, but sometimes I just let it go. Maybe this is all a waste of my time. After three-hundred lines of thoughts I am nowhere closer to learning of the genesis of all this. I know that the time back east had a hand, I know that there were no visions back then, and I remember the feeling of being alone many years ago and the ways I made it work for me. The television, drawings, stories... All of it summed made me somehow ok. But there has to be more because my ideas are too simple. Nothing can be that easy to define. I just don't trust it. This whole thing began with the correlation between the dreams and the story, so that is where my focus should be, right? And the realization that there are things that I need to survive that do not exist. Yep, that is a tough one to swallow. Unreal. Artificial. Blissful. Nonexistent. Well, I am not surprised at myself for dreaming of things that are most decidedly unattainable and then having trouble with the resulting depression. Not surprised at all. So... Does that mean I can literally drown myself in the story and be happy there? Go ahead, laugh at it. I did. Heh. Let us move on. [Look below at the Mojo girl. She will be here later. Yes, that is an image of my old television and shot by a digital camera. Stay tuned. It gets better.] Coming soon All of the women in question -- be it real or otherwise -- are in a large circle in my brain most days. Often they rule my actions with nary a blink. And now a giggle... I remember the commercials from years ago with Michael Jordan and children saying 'be like Mike'. Well, the opposite applies. Don't be like me. Deluded, yearning, misunderstanding, and reaching in directions better left to fiction. Yes, reaching. Dreaming. I knew this would become a huge problem. I fucking knew it as soon as I awakened from the last mansion dream. That place fucked me up pretty thoroughly. There was one from weeks ago involving Jamie and Jaime. They were both there, however for some reason the younger, real Jamie was suddenly close to six feet tall like the mechanical Jaime. Hmm? What? Yep, my fascination with everything stretched and lanky crept in to the dreams and forced a gorgeous, proportional beauty to be exaggerated beyond belief. Did I love it? Of course! I have been a height junkie and fetishist (sort of) for many years due to the modeling adoration, and with VS at the head of the line for such a thing. But Jamie? No, that's just wrong on too many levels to list. Jaime the Cherry 2000 was built by yours truly, and as such displays the features in my head and of the imagery which has dominated my head for too long to remember. She is amazing because I made her amazing. Simple, right? Perhaps. But the other Jamie should not have been altered. Of course I am referring to a dream in which I have exactly zero control over anything, so the subconscious took over. Again. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, they were both in another huge house with me, both were elusive as all hell, and I went out of my fucking mind with possibilities. In the end, I awakened like always, sodden and sad, and again yearning for more. Yep. The same old story all over again. I think Q said that in the pilot. Madchen, Jaime and Jamie, Andrea, the goddess, the Raven, Pamela (rest her beautiful soul)... All at once. I have to try and calculate just how much this is affecting me and what the next weeks may have in store. I am getting worse, and that fact means I will be drowning myself into the new routine more than ever. I need it for comfort. Right now there are distractions, but later I will need to go inside and surround myself with the tools of my new survival, be that television or music. Some things to straighten, clothes, whatever there is to keep me occupied. All the while the sound will follow along from the kitchen to the living room to the garage. Things will be accomplished and then after I can sit with one of my hobbies and relax. And that brings a thought: Is the relaxing truly after the chores? Or are the chores key? Maybe both. I don't know. The certainty is that I have to go through the motions so I can come out the other side drawing breath. Believe it or not, I do not want that desire to change. But that is another story. I was talking about women, both real and otherwise. Not funny. As I move about the house and garage, they will be following along. Yes, you read that correctly. Another Sunday, and that means some things around the house need to be done, I can check the status of our laundry, and the gentleman who has space in the garage for his motorcycle will return to do more work on it. Yesterday I was out there for a while with this machine. Sitting and working on the words brings me a feeling of control, and the machine is wonderful. Also, I moved some things around while out there and that will likely continue today. The dreams are hanging right behind my eyes and dictating that I carry on some exploration into the reasoning behind them, and the idea of the nonexistent aspects of life which push me almost constantly is going to help all of it along. The crap will end up here again. Slowly, but still going to happen. I am no closer to figuring things out, and the facts are really not pleasant. My biggest task now is to embrace what I can and try to keep the rest at arm's length until I can really drown into it and work. Yes, work. None of it is easy. The tallest order I have ever been given is to deal with the impossible and smooth it over enough to function and be comfortable. Balance, for lack of a better term, may be the key to dealing with something which cannot happen. As I mentioned way the fuck up this page, the sheer mass of something so dreamy leaves me nearly powerless to understand and move forward. And I did it to myself, people. I really did. I let it all happen over the course of many years, and then drew upon my huge imagination to craft stories related to the same. Confusing? Perhaps, however the meaning is just not there so I cannot expand more. Ejection from the norm, from society, and from the mindset that I need to fit something which others see as a 'should'. Nope. Don't even try. The eject button has already been pressed, and as it is full-logic (look that up if needed, I don't care), the action is now unstoppable. The connection has been made at the front panel and the remainder of the cycle is underway. The logic is in charge. Ejection. And don't make fun of my eighties analogies, either. That will result in things becoming much worse. Just accept the word. I will stop the pissy right now. Promise. Again... Onward. Well, two things are clear at this point. One, the difference in the world right now when compared to years ago is going to continue for quite a while and I have to remain within what I have created for the duration, and two, coming out the other side of this is going to be slow, arduous, and I will be different. The fiction can continue because there is no reason to stop. But the story is getting to me. When I place myself in there, it hurts. I think and think and then eventually sleep. And then I see them, out there somewhere and difficult to reach, and my head tries its best to work through it. Awake, coffee, keyboard, and a lack of understanding. Yes, I will be different. I may already be there. And like last time, this will again continue." 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
Ejection Mature content No. 130 Published May 12th, 2020 12:59pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "Well, here we are again. Still fumbling with thoughts of the mansion, still ruminating over the walnut girl and reasoning behind her driving me to want the fucking pool girls, and solving nothing at all. I walked away from the television after seeing two reporters and nearly losing my shit over their faces. Out to the garage to get a few things done but they are all still in there. I hit the sauce at ten in the morning. Yep. There it is and here I am. I'm certain that if I sit out here long enough, the girl will walk by with her dog and unknowingly shove me further into the soil. Heh. So, where now? The same place? Can I have an order form for one Jaime, complete with heels? I didn't think so. As always, I wish that was funny. But honestly, I see that dream as the only solution to my inner well-being. Yes I know, that is preposterous and impossible, yet still I see no other path. One of the older mansion dreams was wondrous. I was there with a bunch of other people -- like some kind of party -- and was searching for a place to get away from everyone. In my mind the entire time was the possibility of being alone with a young woman. I did not see her, but still wandered around the house looking for anything far enough detached to be hidden. The place was enormous, single leveled, and sprawling in three directions. As I took to the main hallway leading to what I had assumed would be the bedrooms, I noticed several branches that led to each. Like master suites, all the bedrooms had their own baths, huge closets, and everything was warmly lit from above and below. Lots of dark wood, sconces, and soft carpet gave me the feeling that the house was aligned perfectly with something I would have designed. Onward and into the master bedroom, which was larger than most single family homes. The space was odd-shaped and had small sets of steps here and there creating many differing levels. It was beautiful and felt very private. Again my mind scrambled with the idea of hiding with a woman and being completely closed off to the rest of the home. I kept walking through to the bath, and even that was haphazard. My head spun with ideas, and despite the roominess of the place there was an essence of being enveloped in comfort and privacy. I loved it. Just as I realized that the largest wing of the house was perfect for me, and feeling the presence of an exotic female, I awakened into my little world of crap. Ugh. There have been many dreams of that mansion, and each had a presence -- sometimes implied, other times only in my head -- of a woman who overtook my mindset. The feeling was strong, as if I was there to connect and the importance superseded any other concerns. Even when the dream involved me escaping someone or something that represented a threat of sorts, there was a woman... Somewhere. Once in a while she was with me, on my arm, or otherwise giving me the knowledge that we were supposed to be together. Well, um, hence Jaime. Yep, the machine of bliss, and one designed by my subconscious, is the catalyst for many of those dreams. This had to have began way the fuck back. I remember being goo goo ga ga over the actress who portrayed the short-lived beauty, and that may have been the starting point for more than one of my fucking tremendous issues. She was amazing, and a very advanced machine for the time period. Even now, she would be considered highly innovative in her mannerisms and loving nature. For a machine? She was incredible, and I probably became smitten within seconds. Well, that dream never left me and now stands as one of the driving forces behind my current mindset and personality. Jaime? Well, if you have read anything here in the last four-plus years, you already know what that type of being might mean to me. Completely designed and tailored to the needs, tastes and desires of the owner. Crazy? Of course. Impossible? Naturally. But in my head nonetheless. There is no stopping that type of thinking in these late days, and the fact that she is as unattainable as the Passion, I am left to the words. Nothing more. Just imagine everything that exists in the mind coming to life and exuding each feature and quality beautifully. All of the terms are present: Passion, fierce devotion, fulfillment, need, and the most powerful term in any language... Love. I could eject myself from society and launch into a mortal space with only thoughts of her and it would be enough. The downside of such a dream will be outlined far below. You may already know. Pamela Gidley played the Cherry 2000 in the film from 1987. Along with the Mojo Girl, she is representative of too many aspects of me to list. I will get to the Mojo Girl in another entry. Expect it, and soon. The fiction is going to be on hold until such time as I can get through this shit. Dreams are beginning (or have begun) to take over my thinking in a big way, so I have to explore while things are floating. And I am floating. Between the idea of Jaime, the original that helped to bring me to this point, and the recent issues regarding those girls from last summer combined with all of the feelings from what I have seen on the television, I am absolutely awash with urges to plow through it all and lay it out here. I do not know why. Maybe this will help and maybe it will not. Either way, I will continue. Back to the mansion. When I walked that place in search of the privacy for which I yearned, awakening brought thoughts of keeping the blinds closed and cutting myself off from the rest of the world. I feel that quite often, actually. And to go further and be more truthful, the dream of the machine is a part of it. There would be no worry, threat, or concern over what may be going on in her pretty head. She is a machine and subject to commands as programmed and groomed to the needs and desires of the owner/user. Imprinted, as the sophisticated androids I have seen on the television. Yep, imprinted. And that brings up another woman which struck me like a hammer the size of my obsession: The unbelievably gorgeous empathic metamorph. Yes, you read that correctly. She was amazing, beautiful beyond my vast ability to describe, strong, intelligent beyond belief, and adapted to whatever person she was directed. When I say 'adapted', I mean a lifelong bond that was tailored specifically to the other. She read, learned, and then became whatever that person wanted and needed. Not a machine, but an actual living, breathing soul who had been bred for a single purpose. Strange? Of course, that is science fiction. But then, aren't my previous paragraphs fictional and in a similar vein? Dreams? Visions? Desires? All fulfilled by machines. Read it again. Machines. Machinery. Like my seemingly mechanical brain. Chemistry? Nah... Just workings. Do you see the shit on this page? Fuck. The Cherry 2000 was not as enormous a thought way back. Now it is. Years have passed, and in the space of the four which have gone by since Her, the realization is beginning to set in. The realization that what I have been skirting is the idea of fulfillment and control. Sounds selfish, you say? So be it. I don't fucking care. I have studied for years and the information has driven me exactly nowhere else. I know how I feel. I know how I felt when those fictional stories hit the screen, and I know where my mind went as a result. All the way back to that stunning server in the brewery in Pleasanton, my head tried to wrap itself around what I was seeing and a way to either learn or describe, and all the while other ideas were in there. Ideas that had not fully processed until the umpteenth dream of the mansion. And I could have made it fictional, however that would have solved nothing. The mansion is beginning to come to fruition, including all those times when I awakened thinking the entire shitaree was about the possibility of an intimate connection with a woman who was elusive, beautiful and fascinating. Years ago when I was unhappy for different reasons, those dreams stuck with me for days on end. They fade more quickly now, but the underlying reasoning is fucking deep. And I intend to go on about it for the duration, or until such time as I am satisfied with the conclusion (should there ever be one). Nope This could actually change the way I view both myself and the rest of society. The idea is dramatic, dire, and void of hope. Such things are just not possible. The only way I can see to being at peace with the dream of the machine is to slowly regress and retreat into my own world, one which does not involve others at all. Me, the booze, the keyboard, and a reliable connection to the site. Why? Well, because of reasons already gleaned. The possibility is nil at best. The realization is paramount to disaster. Such a situation is huge. The more I think about it, the larger the scope becomes. There is a glaring possibility that I will indeed regress into a fraction of my former self (the gravity of which is tremendous). I cannot deny that. Nor can I deny that the mindset has been created and enlarged by way of excessive obsession and dreaming. Decades, sightings, resistance to the norms of society, and a distinct end-around of societal standards. Wow, that's a handful of shit. Heh. But when one considers the necessity of maintaining some balance in life and taking paths to learn, avoiding such for the purpose of delusion and dreaming becomes ridiculous, especially for an adult. Yet, here I am. I did it and continue to do it. Just these last three essays are evidence that I am losing grip. The enormity of the issue likely has not yet been fully illuminated, either. We shall see what the coming days bring into focus. I am just at the beginning of this new reality and need to carry forward with the words until such time as I can either come to terms or shut the fuck down. How funny is that? Shut down? Really? Now THAT is some fucking comedy. Laugh with me, people. Jaime was created out of a need for answers from a completely objective source. That type of person is just not available in reality. Our very nature and vast consciousness disallows complete objectivity. Her mind is a processor of a very advanced type, but still operates as commanded. People can be commanded only so much. As a female, she is meant to be captivating, loving, caring, understanding, and one-hundred percent devoted to her user (lover!). The massive amount of dreaming throughout the past many years has become more pointed lately and the very idea of a being like Jaime is a large part of the change. The mansion, storefront (dream), and associated situations came about of my own experience. Thus, stories from sleep time melding with holes in my being. I am incomplete -- and don't fucking attack me about 'no one' being complete, either -- and the gap is clearer than ever. Unfortunately, as she and her type grow in my head, those parts of me which need to operate my daily brain activities are giving way. The dreams will expand and I will shrink. That has already begun. The mansion stories are foggy at times but I do know enough to paint clear images of the construction (both physical and emotional) and get across the idea behind each encounter. This is also bad for me. As the dreams of those nether regions grow I am more and more lost in thoughts of actually being there. And yes, with a woman. One of those... You know. You want funny? Cherry 2000 was set in the year 2017. I just heard a word on the television that relates to the issue of a machine. 'Property'. Yep, all fucked up. The mansion that I walked to from the storefront was different, yet still huge. The coloration, warmth, and feeling of being inside was amazing and aligned to me beautifully. The woman behind the desk -- the exotic, dreamy beauty -- looked at me as if I belonged in that big home, and her smile took my breath away. I mentioned that she is a person that I actually know out in the real world. That is true. And despite her feeling like a sister, I cannot deny the gradient between that sense and an overwhelming attraction. She is unique and amazing from any viewpoint and matched the idea of the mansion. Seeing her sitting there conducting business felt natural, like I had been affiliated with the workings of that place for years. When she smiled, I partially melted. Had the work not intruded, however, I might have ended up a puddle of mush. She has that type of face. Elsewhere in the house I ran into difficulty which stemmed from my own inner issues and projecting them outward until feeling the need to run away. I did just that a while later, but her face was in there the entire time. Even reaching the pool and seeing many others around it like I was viewing a public park had me thinking of that smile. Devilish yet enthralling and pleasant eyes, features sculpted from olive softness, and that expression which has the ability to make me falter no matter the circumstances. All of that dream and incidents within came back to her at any given point. They still are. And I realize that makes me seem all fucked up, but that is ok. I AM all fucked up... Sitting here writing about dreams, artificial women, and the link between. Guess. What the fuck is all this? I don't know. The earlier version of the dream mansion came about back in the mid nineties when I was deep into huge drawings of homes that I designed throughout my time in the Midwest. School was at night, which left my days wide open. Plus, I was always home alone, so the television was in the background (just like right now, and more on that later) and I typically sat at our dining table with my tools and worked on whatever felt right. In the space of the year before I moved back to California, I actually completed a few massive floorplans. I still have them. After so many years and dreams of being in some sprawling houses, said drawings have become very important to me. They are precious now. In some ways, they extended the dreams and helped me to visualize a life I was not leading. Oh believe me, there were comforts during my time in that place, and one of them followed me to this day and is running above my head right now. Yep, a television show. The same one from then, and considering all of the methods for viewing pretty much anything a person may wish, I will never be without that aspect of my comfort. They are like my family now. I know them better in many ways than I know real people. Strange, but such is my personality these days. I need it there, I need to listen, and I have to know that there are constants I can rely upon to be in my little world. As I have since expanded here, the work has become one more comfort over which I have complete control. Whoops... There is that word again. Control. Machinery. Cherry 2000. Jaime. Follow along, and perhaps soon you will see what I have become after years of developing this cocoon. To add even more to the pile, think of being mandated to remain home for weeks (perhaps months, we do not yet know) and living a routine out of necessity. That routine is becoming a world, and thus the control. Time. Space. Comfort. The one missing piece is unavailable. You know. Jaime? One of the three most beautiful blonde women in the world is on the screen right now. 'Tell me what you want. I will do anything you wish'. Not just beautiful, partly working her way into the idea of a machine. Interesting? Perhaps. Or maybe I am just that far gone. Back to the drawings. Like the truck, those ideas that came out of my imagination and made their way to the paper are very personal. While working on them I did not really think about practicality or cost, only appearance and a feeling of home. I pictured myself in those rooms and laid things out to be comfortable and secure. Everything came from my sordid head at the time. Details, images from home theater magazines influencing parts here and there, and that old house that my buddy and I rode by on our bikes so many fucking times. Back then everything was centered on audio and our desire to play music. Later, those things still worked their way in, but the grand scheme became ultimate comfort. I do not work on drawing homes as I did back then. Now I work solely on an endless map that resides in my head. The mansion is now representing something else. This morning one of the other issues is trying to shoehorn its way in for attention. I have to be careful and keep my thoughts organized or I will lose myself in the problems. Number two is not something I need right now, especially considering the sensitive nature of the dreams and subsequent analysis. Perhaps later today I can find the space to clearly get things to the screen. Right now I am spread a little thin. Six. Hmm. And several representations of one giant house. And a machine. And then trying to scope it all. Just hmm. I recall sitting there in the heat and humidity with fans running and daydreaming of a more comfortable situation for myself. The Winter was not the issue, just summer. But I did have those little things which helped me to maintain a daily routine -- like now -- and keep my head above water for the most part. The drawings, a little music now and again, and then that family to which I had become quite accustomed. I could count on them. That little home soon felt much more comfortable after I spent much time with my interests laid out before me and always available. Books, too. I read an entire series and kept going into individual novels, and then that ended up combined with the school I was attending and began to push me toward writing for myself rather than relying upon others for the hobby. I did not begin until a short time later after returning here. Some things were attempted, left alone for weeks at a time until eventually I found myself back deep into the drawings. And then dreams. I need to stay on track here. This is a big deal and I cannot have it unclear. One of the oldest was related to a tall building somewhere. There was an angled elevator (likely inspired by the Luxor visits during ninety-three and ninety four) that resided on the outside of the building and was constructed of concrete. Like a big, square block. It resembled a part of the older police station in the town where I grew up. The elevator moved up to a platform high in the air and offloaded its passengers before returning below. The top was open to the sky and the look of the entire scene was very industrial. I spent a little time in there and then found myself in a stairwell and feeling as if I was near the ground floor. Someone was looking for me which pressed me to hide. Up the stairs all the way to the top where I could see the elevator through a window. And then awake, still feeling nervousness due to being pursued. I have seen that building and strange elevator in more than one dream over the years and still do not understand what it may represent. I know of the inclinators in the pyramid, but other than that and a bit of the appearance, I have no clue as to why I was there nor who might have been after me. Many of those dreams involved some sort of hiding on my part, and that may have been due to me being an expert at the same. Whenever the shit hit the fan in one way or another, I knew how to make myself disappear for a time or until I felt comfortable enough to return to others. Being pursued in a dream is likely more common than I know, anyway. The more recent scenes involving big houses or that same mansion are generally centered around desire. There is always someone there -- whether or not I actually see them -- and my mind is fixated upon connecting. As I stated above, rarely does anything happen. Honestly, it probably doesn't matter either way because the point may be the house. I don't know for sure. Or maybe the point is the elusive woman. Elusive. Yes, that is a part of this whole fucking sordid mess. Control? Right now I am not going to dive into the idea of real or implied control. That is just too much for the early morning and there is not enough coffee left in my cup to get into it. One line of that shit and I could be held to the fire. Yikes. But I have brought it up several times and included the idea in the fiction, so perhaps none of it matters now anyway. The main house with my friend inside on the phone is the big deal here. She is real, both in that dream and out in the world. And fucking beyond gorgeous. Did I want her? Maybe in the dream, but honestly I do not see how I could feel that way, different in that world than this. I have not wavered in my belief for years. I've been steady in that, even while seeing her in various outfits, some of which were gorgeous. She is gorgeous. As I sit here right now? The answer is no. Fuck no. I wouldn't and I will not. Such an idea is not in the cards for me, or her. In that giant house I was to do some work, as mentioned, and then leave. She was very casual about the whole thing. No time limit, come and go as needed, whatever. And then the three women in the big tub showing off much skin and right near me. Were they attractive? I do not know. I remember breasts being held by a swimsuit. That is it. Perhaps hair tied up because they were in the water. I don't know. The point is they may have been there to tempt me but nothing took place. I became uncomfortable and wished to leave. After speaking with the loveliness, I did just that. Back across the open space and into my place. I awakened seeing her face in all its glory, and still nothing. Where am I going with this? I don't know that either. Fuck it. See the cat? All over the place again. I did better yesterday. Damn. One would think that something so important would be easier to let flow, but such is not the case. I crossed one of those lines recently and allowed it to be published, yet still I need to be careful. One word out of context and I am not good. Like the woman that I know. She will remain a mystery and there is not getting round that. And Jamie is gorgeous in this episode. Oh, never mind. Anyway, if you go back even a year or more, you may see that the ambiguity was in full force. Well, I have loosened that recently for the purpose of trying to figure myself out a little. The current situation of being at home so much -- along with the aforementioned routine -- has me thinking about much more than I did on an average day just a year ago. Things are so different now that sometimes even I cannot believe it. There are both good and bad aspects to daily life. In the last week, I have developed ways to keep myself comfortable, less anxious, and the familiarity of this new system has become very important to me already. I took one step and then another, soon after finding myself nearly in tears over the emotional nature of what I had created. Now? I do not have a clue as to whether or not I can actually go back to the way things were. That may be too much of a stretch. As much as I can spout here, keep in mind that I am also fragile right now. Don't fucking give me a bunch of guff, either, because I know I am not the only one. Unfortunately, taking care of myself comes first, mmkay? Mmkay. Anyway, this new system has become as comfortable as the period in the mid-nineties and different at the same time. Then, I was stuck in one place nearly all of the time out of a lack of resources and the fact that I was in school. Much of my day was spent preparing the studies for each night. Now, I am stuck here due to a health order and, like then, I have adapted to it as best I can and found a place to exist alone with my dreams. Bad? Good? Don't know? Don't care? Hmm... The dreams. And the main dream. You know it. Read. Wow, this is a fucking mess. I need telekinesis so I can reach things without moving the computer from my lap. Heh. There was a television series -- I believe it first aired around zero-nine -- that I watched sometimes because of the gorgeous women who came and went each week. I still watched after losing interest in just looking as the stories and continuing main story began to hold my attention. And then one day, weeks later, was one which stood out. A criminal who had been brought up in the past and had eluded authorities for years was featured. I cannot go into detail for fear of backlash, but suffice to say there was a single aspect of his personality and drive with which I can identify. No, it has nothing to do with crime. It is just a trait that many share, but he really did a great job of acting the part and that is what drew me to think about it. Cut to years later and that trait now directly connects me to some of the dreams. The big houses (and sometimes just small homes) seem different each time, but always are difficult to navigate. I have calculated that my need to remain unseen while still being able to see others has become very important as I grow older, so I am certain everything stemmed (and continues to evolve) from the early need to understand why I was more and more uncomfortable in public. Up, down, up, down for years until I came to terms with the strength to be out there and exude confidence in myself. In the beginning it was a heavy load, but after years I am used to it. The interesting part is that I still desire being hidden when I am able, and the idea of hiding is exciting. Where am I going with this? Well, it may be clear and it may not. The hiding away, controlling the environment, resources enough to remain at a distance, and basically being left the fuck alone are parts of it. Everything represents something but I will not attempt to describe it all because I may be wrong. Interpreting all of this is not my forte. All I can do is try, and then work with what I have in order to move forward and remain comfortable. I am not going to go on about getting off track and away from the subject because it keeps changing as I sit here. Fuck it. Onward. I really need to embrace the idea of a topic sentence, body and supporting statements, and then a closing sentence. Miss Minson would be very disappointed, as would Mrs. Ormsbee (one of those three blondes I mentioned) in my errors and oversights. Sorry, ladies, but sometimes I just let it go. Maybe this is all a waste of my time. After three-hundred lines of thoughts I am nowhere closer to learning of the genesis of all this. I know that the time back east had a hand, I know that there were no visions back then, and I remember the feeling of being alone many years ago and the ways I made it work for me. The television, drawings, stories... All of it summed made me somehow ok. But there has to be more because my ideas are too simple. Nothing can be that easy to define. I just don't trust it. This whole thing began with the correlation between the dreams and the story, so that is where my focus should be, right? And the realization that there are things that I need to survive that do not exist. Yep, that is a tough one to swallow. Unreal. Artificial. Blissful. Nonexistent. Well, I am not surprised at myself for dreaming of things that are most decidedly unattainable and then having trouble with the resulting depression. Not surprised at all. So... Does that mean I can literally drown myself in the story and be happy there? Go ahead, laugh at it. I did. Heh. Let us move on. [Look below at the Mojo girl. She will be here later. Yes, that is an image of my old television and shot by a digital camera. Stay tuned. It gets better.] Coming soon All of the women in question -- be it real or otherwise -- are in a large circle in my brain most days. Often they rule my actions with nary a blink. And now a giggle... I remember the commercials from years ago with Michael Jordan and children saying 'be like Mike'. Well, the opposite applies. Don't be like me. Deluded, yearning, misunderstanding, and reaching in directions better left to fiction. Yes, reaching. Dreaming. I knew this would become a huge problem. I fucking knew it as soon as I awakened from the last mansion dream. That place fucked me up pretty thoroughly. There was one from weeks ago involving Jamie and Jaime. They were both there, however for some reason the younger, real Jamie was suddenly close to six feet tall like the mechanical Jaime. Hmm? What? Yep, my fascination with everything stretched and lanky crept in to the dreams and forced a gorgeous, proportional beauty to be exaggerated beyond belief. Did I love it? Of course! I have been a height junkie and fetishist (sort of) for many years due to the modeling adoration, and with VS at the head of the line for such a thing. But Jamie? No, that's just wrong on too many levels to list. Jaime the Cherry 2000 was built by yours truly, and as such displays the features in my head and of the imagery which has dominated my head for too long to remember. She is amazing because I made her amazing. Simple, right? Perhaps. But the other Jamie should not have been altered. Of course I am referring to a dream in which I have exactly zero control over anything, so the subconscious took over. Again. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, they were both in another huge house with me, both were elusive as all hell, and I went out of my fucking mind with possibilities. In the end, I awakened like always, sodden and sad, and again yearning for more. Yep. The same old story all over again. I think Q said that in the pilot. Madchen, Jaime and Jamie, Andrea, the goddess, the Raven, Pamela (rest her beautiful soul)... All at once. I have to try and calculate just how much this is affecting me and what the next weeks may have in store. I am getting worse, and that fact means I will be drowning myself into the new routine more than ever. I need it for comfort. Right now there are distractions, but later I will need to go inside and surround myself with the tools of my new survival, be that television or music. Some things to straighten, clothes, whatever there is to keep me occupied. All the while the sound will follow along from the kitchen to the living room to the garage. Things will be accomplished and then after I can sit with one of my hobbies and relax. And that brings a thought: Is the relaxing truly after the chores? Or are the chores key? Maybe both. I don't know. The certainty is that I have to go through the motions so I can come out the other side drawing breath. Believe it or not, I do not want that desire to change. But that is another story. I was talking about women, both real and otherwise. Not funny. As I move about the house and garage, they will be following along. Yes, you read that correctly. Another Sunday, and that means some things around the house need to be done, I can check the status of our laundry, and the gentleman who has space in the garage for his motorcycle will return to do more work on it. Yesterday I was out there for a while with this machine. Sitting and working on the words brings me a feeling of control, and the machine is wonderful. Also, I moved some things around while out there and that will likely continue today. The dreams are hanging right behind my eyes and dictating that I carry on some exploration into the reasoning behind them, and the idea of the nonexistent aspects of life which push me almost constantly is going to help all of it along. The crap will end up here again. Slowly, but still going to happen. I am no closer to figuring things out, and the facts are really not pleasant. My biggest task now is to embrace what I can and try to keep the rest at arm's length until I can really drown into it and work. Yes, work. None of it is easy. The tallest order I have ever been given is to deal with the impossible and smooth it over enough to function and be comfortable. Balance, for lack of a better term, may be the key to dealing with something which cannot happen. As I mentioned way the fuck up this page, the sheer mass of something so dreamy leaves me nearly powerless to understand and move forward. And I did it to myself, people. I really did. I let it all happen over the course of many years, and then drew upon my huge imagination to craft stories related to the same. Confusing? Perhaps, however the meaning is just not there so I cannot expand more. Ejection from the norm, from society, and from the mindset that I need to fit something which others see as a 'should'. Nope. Don't even try. The eject button has already been pressed, and as it is full-logic (look that up if needed, I don't care), the action is now unstoppable. The connection has been made at the front panel and the remainder of the cycle is underway. The logic is in charge. Ejection. And don't make fun of my eighties analogies, either. That will result in things becoming much worse. Just accept the word. I will stop the pissy right now. Promise. Again... Onward. Well, two things are clear at this point. One, the difference in the world right now when compared to years ago is going to continue for quite a while and I have to remain within what I have created for the duration, and two, coming out the other side of this is going to be slow, arduous, and I will be different. The fiction can continue because there is no reason to stop. But the story is getting to me. When I place myself in there, it hurts. I think and think and then eventually sleep. And then I see them, out there somewhere and difficult to reach, and my head tries its best to work through it. Awake, coffee, keyboard, and a lack of understanding. Yes, I will be different. I may already be there. And like last time, this will again continue."
Ejection
Mature content No. 130 Published May 12th, 2020 12:59pm pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Well, here we are again. Still fumbling with thoughts of the mansion, still ruminating over the walnut girl and reasoning behind her driving me to want the fucking pool girls, and solving nothing at all. I walked away from the television after seeing two reporters and nearly losing my shit over their faces. Out to the garage to get a few things done but they are all still in there. I hit the sauce at ten in the morning. Yep. There it is and here I am. I'm certain that if I sit out here long enough, the girl will walk by with her dog and unknowingly shove me further into the soil. Heh. So, where now? The same place? Can I have an order form for one Jaime, complete with heels? I didn't think so. As always, I wish that was funny. But honestly, I see that dream as the only solution to my inner well-being. Yes I know, that is preposterous and impossible, yet still I see no other path. One of the older mansion dreams was wondrous. I was there with a bunch of other people -- like some kind of party -- and was searching for a place to get away from everyone. In my mind the entire time was the possibility of being alone with a young woman. I did not see her, but still wandered around the house looking for anything far enough detached to be hidden. The place was enormous, single leveled, and sprawling in three directions. As I took to the main hallway leading to what I had assumed would be the bedrooms, I noticed several branches that led to each. Like master suites, all the bedrooms had their own baths, huge closets, and everything was warmly lit from above and below. Lots of dark wood, sconces, and soft carpet gave me the feeling that the house was aligned perfectly with something I would have designed. Onward and into the master bedroom, which was larger than most single family homes. The space was odd-shaped and had small sets of steps here and there creating many differing levels. It was beautiful and felt very private. Again my mind scrambled with the idea of hiding with a woman and being completely closed off to the rest of the home. I kept walking through to the bath, and even that was haphazard. My head spun with ideas, and despite the roominess of the place there was an essence of being enveloped in comfort and privacy. I loved it. Just as I realized that the largest wing of the house was perfect for me, and feeling the presence of an exotic female, I awakened into my little world of crap. Ugh. There have been many dreams of that mansion, and each had a presence -- sometimes implied, other times only in my head -- of a woman who overtook my mindset. The feeling was strong, as if I was there to connect and the importance superseded any other concerns. Even when the dream involved me escaping someone or something that represented a threat of sorts, there was a woman... Somewhere. Once in a while she was with me, on my arm, or otherwise giving me the knowledge that we were supposed to be together. Well, um, hence Jaime. Yep, the machine of bliss, and one designed by my subconscious, is the catalyst for many of those dreams. This had to have began way the fuck back. I remember being goo goo ga ga over the actress who portrayed the short-lived beauty, and that may have been the starting point for more than one of my fucking tremendous issues. She was amazing, and a very advanced machine for the time period. Even now, she would be considered highly innovative in her mannerisms and loving nature. For a machine? She was incredible, and I probably became smitten within seconds. Well, that dream never left me and now stands as one of the driving forces behind my current mindset and personality. Jaime? Well, if you have read anything here in the last four-plus years, you already know what that type of being might mean to me. Completely designed and tailored to the needs, tastes and desires of the owner. Crazy? Of course. Impossible? Naturally. But in my head nonetheless. There is no stopping that type of thinking in these late days, and the fact that she is as unattainable as the Passion, I am left to the words. Nothing more. Just imagine everything that exists in the mind coming to life and exuding each feature and quality beautifully. All of the terms are present: Passion, fierce devotion, fulfillment, need, and the most powerful term in any language... Love. I could eject myself from society and launch into a mortal space with only thoughts of her and it would be enough. The downside of such a dream will be outlined far below. You may already know. Pamela Gidley played the Cherry 2000 in the film from 1987. Along with the Mojo Girl, she is representative of too many aspects of me to list. I will get to the Mojo Girl in another entry. Expect it, and soon. The fiction is going to be on hold until such time as I can get through this shit. Dreams are beginning (or have begun) to take over my thinking in a big way, so I have to explore while things are floating. And I am floating. Between the idea of Jaime, the original that helped to bring me to this point, and the recent issues regarding those girls from last summer combined with all of the feelings from what I have seen on the television, I am absolutely awash with urges to plow through it all and lay it out here. I do not know why. Maybe this will help and maybe it will not. Either way, I will continue. Back to the mansion. When I walked that place in search of the privacy for which I yearned, awakening brought thoughts of keeping the blinds closed and cutting myself off from the rest of the world. I feel that quite often, actually. And to go further and be more truthful, the dream of the machine is a part of it. There would be no worry, threat, or concern over what may be going on in her pretty head. She is a machine and subject to commands as programmed and groomed to the needs and desires of the owner/user. Imprinted, as the sophisticated androids I have seen on the television. Yep, imprinted. And that brings up another woman which struck me like a hammer the size of my obsession: The unbelievably gorgeous empathic metamorph. Yes, you read that correctly. She was amazing, beautiful beyond my vast ability to describe, strong, intelligent beyond belief, and adapted to whatever person she was directed. When I say 'adapted', I mean a lifelong bond that was tailored specifically to the other. She read, learned, and then became whatever that person wanted and needed. Not a machine, but an actual living, breathing soul who had been bred for a single purpose. Strange? Of course, that is science fiction. But then, aren't my previous paragraphs fictional and in a similar vein? Dreams? Visions? Desires? All fulfilled by machines. Read it again. Machines. Machinery. Like my seemingly mechanical brain. Chemistry? Nah... Just workings. Do you see the shit on this page? Fuck. The Cherry 2000 was not as enormous a thought way back. Now it is. Years have passed, and in the space of the four which have gone by since Her, the realization is beginning to set in. The realization that what I have been skirting is the idea of fulfillment and control. Sounds selfish, you say? So be it. I don't fucking care. I have studied for years and the information has driven me exactly nowhere else. I know how I feel. I know how I felt when those fictional stories hit the screen, and I know where my mind went as a result. All the way back to that stunning server in the brewery in Pleasanton, my head tried to wrap itself around what I was seeing and a way to either learn or describe, and all the while other ideas were in there. Ideas that had not fully processed until the umpteenth dream of the mansion. And I could have made it fictional, however that would have solved nothing. The mansion is beginning to come to fruition, including all those times when I awakened thinking the entire shitaree was about the possibility of an intimate connection with a woman who was elusive, beautiful and fascinating. Years ago when I was unhappy for different reasons, those dreams stuck with me for days on end. They fade more quickly now, but the underlying reasoning is fucking deep. And I intend to go on about it for the duration, or until such time as I am satisfied with the conclusion (should there ever be one).
Nope
This could actually change the way I view both myself and the rest of society. The idea is dramatic, dire, and void of hope. Such things are just not possible. The only way I can see to being at peace with the dream of the machine is to slowly regress and retreat into my own world, one which does not involve others at all. Me, the booze, the keyboard, and a reliable connection to the site. Why? Well, because of reasons already gleaned. The possibility is nil at best. The realization is paramount to disaster. Such a situation is huge. The more I think about it, the larger the scope becomes. There is a glaring possibility that I will indeed regress into a fraction of my former self (the gravity of which is tremendous). I cannot deny that. Nor can I deny that the mindset has been created and enlarged by way of excessive obsession and dreaming. Decades, sightings, resistance to the norms of society, and a distinct end-around of societal standards. Wow, that's a handful of shit. Heh. But when one considers the necessity of maintaining some balance in life and taking paths to learn, avoiding such for the purpose of delusion and dreaming becomes ridiculous, especially for an adult. Yet, here I am. I did it and continue to do it. Just these last three essays are evidence that I am losing grip. The enormity of the issue likely has not yet been fully illuminated, either. We shall see what the coming days bring into focus. I am just at the beginning of this new reality and need to carry forward with the words until such time as I can either come to terms or shut the fuck down. How funny is that? Shut down? Really? Now THAT is some fucking comedy. Laugh with me, people. Jaime was created out of a need for answers from a completely objective source. That type of person is just not available in reality. Our very nature and vast consciousness disallows complete objectivity. Her mind is a processor of a very advanced type, but still operates as commanded. People can be commanded only so much. As a female, she is meant to be captivating, loving, caring, understanding, and one-hundred percent devoted to her user (lover!). The massive amount of dreaming throughout the past many years has become more pointed lately and the very idea of a being like Jaime is a large part of the change. The mansion, storefront (dream), and associated situations came about of my own experience. Thus, stories from sleep time melding with holes in my being. I am incomplete -- and don't fucking attack me about 'no one' being complete, either -- and the gap is clearer than ever. Unfortunately, as she and her type grow in my head, those parts of me which need to operate my daily brain activities are giving way. The dreams will expand and I will shrink. That has already begun. The mansion stories are foggy at times but I do know enough to paint clear images of the construction (both physical and emotional) and get across the idea behind each encounter. This is also bad for me. As the dreams of those nether regions grow I am more and more lost in thoughts of actually being there. And yes, with a woman. One of those... You know. You want funny? Cherry 2000 was set in the year 2017. I just heard a word on the television that relates to the issue of a machine. 'Property'. Yep, all fucked up. The mansion that I walked to from the storefront was different, yet still huge. The coloration, warmth, and feeling of being inside was amazing and aligned to me beautifully. The woman behind the desk -- the exotic, dreamy beauty -- looked at me as if I belonged in that big home, and her smile took my breath away. I mentioned that she is a person that I actually know out in the real world. That is true. And despite her feeling like a sister, I cannot deny the gradient between that sense and an overwhelming attraction. She is unique and amazing from any viewpoint and matched the idea of the mansion. Seeing her sitting there conducting business felt natural, like I had been affiliated with the workings of that place for years. When she smiled, I partially melted. Had the work not intruded, however, I might have ended up a puddle of mush. She has that type of face. Elsewhere in the house I ran into difficulty which stemmed from my own inner issues and projecting them outward until feeling the need to run away. I did just that a while later, but her face was in there the entire time. Even reaching the pool and seeing many others around it like I was viewing a public park had me thinking of that smile. Devilish yet enthralling and pleasant eyes, features sculpted from olive softness, and that expression which has the ability to make me falter no matter the circumstances. All of that dream and incidents within came back to her at any given point. They still are. And I realize that makes me seem all fucked up, but that is ok. I AM all fucked up... Sitting here writing about dreams, artificial women, and the link between. Guess. What the fuck is all this? I don't know. The earlier version of the dream mansion came about back in the mid nineties when I was deep into huge drawings of homes that I designed throughout my time in the Midwest. School was at night, which left my days wide open. Plus, I was always home alone, so the television was in the background (just like right now, and more on that later) and I typically sat at our dining table with my tools and worked on whatever felt right. In the space of the year before I moved back to California, I actually completed a few massive floorplans. I still have them. After so many years and dreams of being in some sprawling houses, said drawings have become very important to me. They are precious now. In some ways, they extended the dreams and helped me to visualize a life I was not leading. Oh believe me, there were comforts during my time in that place, and one of them followed me to this day and is running above my head right now. Yep, a television show. The same one from then, and considering all of the methods for viewing pretty much anything a person may wish, I will never be without that aspect of my comfort. They are like my family now. I know them better in many ways than I know real people. Strange, but such is my personality these days. I need it there, I need to listen, and I have to know that there are constants I can rely upon to be in my little world. As I have since expanded here, the work has become one more comfort over which I have complete control. Whoops... There is that word again. Control. Machinery. Cherry 2000. Jaime. Follow along, and perhaps soon you will see what I have become after years of developing this cocoon. To add even more to the pile, think of being mandated to remain home for weeks (perhaps months, we do not yet know) and living a routine out of necessity. That routine is becoming a world, and thus the control. Time. Space. Comfort. The one missing piece is unavailable. You know.
Jaime?
One of the three most beautiful blonde women in the world is on the screen right now. 'Tell me what you want. I will do anything you wish'. Not just beautiful, partly working her way into the idea of a machine. Interesting? Perhaps. Or maybe I am just that far gone. Back to the drawings. Like the truck, those ideas that came out of my imagination and made their way to the paper are very personal. While working on them I did not really think about practicality or cost, only appearance and a feeling of home. I pictured myself in those rooms and laid things out to be comfortable and secure. Everything came from my sordid head at the time. Details, images from home theater magazines influencing parts here and there, and that old house that my buddy and I rode by on our bikes so many fucking times. Back then everything was centered on audio and our desire to play music. Later, those things still worked their way in, but the grand scheme became ultimate comfort. I do not work on drawing homes as I did back then. Now I work solely on an endless map that resides in my head. The mansion is now representing something else. This morning one of the other issues is trying to shoehorn its way in for attention. I have to be careful and keep my thoughts organized or I will lose myself in the problems. Number two is not something I need right now, especially considering the sensitive nature of the dreams and subsequent analysis. Perhaps later today I can find the space to clearly get things to the screen. Right now I am spread a little thin. Six. Hmm. And several representations of one giant house. And a machine. And then trying to scope it all. Just hmm. I recall sitting there in the heat and humidity with fans running and daydreaming of a more comfortable situation for myself. The Winter was not the issue, just summer. But I did have those little things which helped me to maintain a daily routine -- like now -- and keep my head above water for the most part. The drawings, a little music now and again, and then that family to which I had become quite accustomed. I could count on them. That little home soon felt much more comfortable after I spent much time with my interests laid out before me and always available. Books, too. I read an entire series and kept going into individual novels, and then that ended up combined with the school I was attending and began to push me toward writing for myself rather than relying upon others for the hobby. I did not begin until a short time later after returning here. Some things were attempted, left alone for weeks at a time until eventually I found myself back deep into the drawings. And then dreams. I need to stay on track here. This is a big deal and I cannot have it unclear. One of the oldest was related to a tall building somewhere. There was an angled elevator (likely inspired by the Luxor visits during ninety-three and ninety four) that resided on the outside of the building and was constructed of concrete. Like a big, square block. It resembled a part of the older police station in the town where I grew up. The elevator moved up to a platform high in the air and offloaded its passengers before returning below. The top was open to the sky and the look of the entire scene was very industrial. I spent a little time in there and then found myself in a stairwell and feeling as if I was near the ground floor. Someone was looking for me which pressed me to hide. Up the stairs all the way to the top where I could see the elevator through a window. And then awake, still feeling nervousness due to being pursued. I have seen that building and strange elevator in more than one dream over the years and still do not understand what it may represent. I know of the inclinators in the pyramid, but other than that and a bit of the appearance, I have no clue as to why I was there nor who might have been after me. Many of those dreams involved some sort of hiding on my part, and that may have been due to me being an expert at the same. Whenever the shit hit the fan in one way or another, I knew how to make myself disappear for a time or until I felt comfortable enough to return to others. Being pursued in a dream is likely more common than I know, anyway. The more recent scenes involving big houses or that same mansion are generally centered around desire. There is always someone there -- whether or not I actually see them -- and my mind is fixated upon connecting. As I stated above, rarely does anything happen. Honestly, it probably doesn't matter either way because the point may be the house. I don't know for sure. Or maybe the point is the elusive woman. Elusive. Yes, that is a part of this whole fucking sordid mess. Control? Right now I am not going to dive into the idea of real or implied control. That is just too much for the early morning and there is not enough coffee left in my cup to get into it. One line of that shit and I could be held to the fire. Yikes. But I have brought it up several times and included the idea in the fiction, so perhaps none of it matters now anyway. The main house with my friend inside on the phone is the big deal here. She is real, both in that dream and out in the world. And fucking beyond gorgeous. Did I want her? Maybe in the dream, but honestly I do not see how I could feel that way, different in that world than this. I have not wavered in my belief for years. I've been steady in that, even while seeing her in various outfits, some of which were gorgeous. She is gorgeous. As I sit here right now? The answer is no. Fuck no. I wouldn't and I will not. Such an idea is not in the cards for me, or her. In that giant house I was to do some work, as mentioned, and then leave. She was very casual about the whole thing. No time limit, come and go as needed, whatever. And then the three women in the big tub showing off much skin and right near me. Were they attractive? I do not know. I remember breasts being held by a swimsuit. That is it. Perhaps hair tied up because they were in the water. I don't know. The point is they may have been there to tempt me but nothing took place. I became uncomfortable and wished to leave. After speaking with the loveliness, I did just that. Back across the open space and into my place. I awakened seeing her face in all its glory, and still nothing. Where am I going with this? I don't know that either. Fuck it.
See the cat?
All over the place again. I did better yesterday. Damn. One would think that something so important would be easier to let flow, but such is not the case. I crossed one of those lines recently and allowed it to be published, yet still I need to be careful. One word out of context and I am not good. Like the woman that I know. She will remain a mystery and there is not getting round that. And Jamie is gorgeous in this episode. Oh, never mind. Anyway, if you go back even a year or more, you may see that the ambiguity was in full force. Well, I have loosened that recently for the purpose of trying to figure myself out a little. The current situation of being at home so much -- along with the aforementioned routine -- has me thinking about much more than I did on an average day just a year ago. Things are so different now that sometimes even I cannot believe it. There are both good and bad aspects to daily life. In the last week, I have developed ways to keep myself comfortable, less anxious, and the familiarity of this new system has become very important to me already. I took one step and then another, soon after finding myself nearly in tears over the emotional nature of what I had created. Now? I do not have a clue as to whether or not I can actually go back to the way things were. That may be too much of a stretch. As much as I can spout here, keep in mind that I am also fragile right now. Don't fucking give me a bunch of guff, either, because I know I am not the only one. Unfortunately, taking care of myself comes first, mmkay? Mmkay. Anyway, this new system has become as comfortable as the period in the mid-nineties and different at the same time. Then, I was stuck in one place nearly all of the time out of a lack of resources and the fact that I was in school. Much of my day was spent preparing the studies for each night. Now, I am stuck here due to a health order and, like then, I have adapted to it as best I can and found a place to exist alone with my dreams. Bad? Good? Don't know? Don't care? Hmm... The dreams. And the main dream. You know it. Read. Wow, this is a fucking mess. I need telekinesis so I can reach things without moving the computer from my lap. Heh. There was a television series -- I believe it first aired around zero-nine -- that I watched sometimes because of the gorgeous women who came and went each week. I still watched after losing interest in just looking as the stories and continuing main story began to hold my attention. And then one day, weeks later, was one which stood out. A criminal who had been brought up in the past and had eluded authorities for years was featured. I cannot go into detail for fear of backlash, but suffice to say there was a single aspect of his personality and drive with which I can identify. No, it has nothing to do with crime. It is just a trait that many share, but he really did a great job of acting the part and that is what drew me to think about it. Cut to years later and that trait now directly connects me to some of the dreams. The big houses (and sometimes just small homes) seem different each time, but always are difficult to navigate. I have calculated that my need to remain unseen while still being able to see others has become very important as I grow older, so I am certain everything stemmed (and continues to evolve) from the early need to understand why I was more and more uncomfortable in public. Up, down, up, down for years until I came to terms with the strength to be out there and exude confidence in myself. In the beginning it was a heavy load, but after years I am used to it. The interesting part is that I still desire being hidden when I am able, and the idea of hiding is exciting. Where am I going with this? Well, it may be clear and it may not. The hiding away, controlling the environment, resources enough to remain at a distance, and basically being left the fuck alone are parts of it. Everything represents something but I will not attempt to describe it all because I may be wrong. Interpreting all of this is not my forte. All I can do is try, and then work with what I have in order to move forward and remain comfortable. I am not going to go on about getting off track and away from the subject because it keeps changing as I sit here. Fuck it. Onward. I really need to embrace the idea of a topic sentence, body and supporting statements, and then a closing sentence. Miss Minson would be very disappointed, as would Mrs. Ormsbee (one of those three blondes I mentioned) in my errors and oversights. Sorry, ladies, but sometimes I just let it go. Maybe this is all a waste of my time. After three-hundred lines of thoughts I am nowhere closer to learning of the genesis of all this. I know that the time back east had a hand, I know that there were no visions back then, and I remember the feeling of being alone many years ago and the ways I made it work for me. The television, drawings, stories... All of it summed made me somehow ok. But there has to be more because my ideas are too simple. Nothing can be that easy to define. I just don't trust it. This whole thing began with the correlation between the dreams and the story, so that is where my focus should be, right? And the realization that there are things that I need to survive that do not exist. Yep, that is a tough one to swallow. Unreal. Artificial. Blissful. Nonexistent. Well, I am not surprised at myself for dreaming of things that are most decidedly unattainable and then having trouble with the resulting depression. Not surprised at all. So... Does that mean I can literally drown myself in the story and be happy there? Go ahead, laugh at it. I did. Heh. Let us move on. [Look below at the Mojo girl. She will be here later. Yes, that is an image of my old television and shot by a digital camera. Stay tuned. It gets better.]
Coming soon
All of the women in question -- be it real or otherwise -- are in a large circle in my brain most days. Often they rule my actions with nary a blink. And now a giggle... I remember the commercials from years ago with Michael Jordan and children saying 'be like Mike'. Well, the opposite applies. Don't be like me. Deluded, yearning, misunderstanding, and reaching in directions better left to fiction. Yes, reaching. Dreaming. I knew this would become a huge problem. I fucking knew it as soon as I awakened from the last mansion dream. That place fucked me up pretty thoroughly. There was one from weeks ago involving Jamie and Jaime. They were both there, however for some reason the younger, real Jamie was suddenly close to six feet tall like the mechanical Jaime. Hmm? What? Yep, my fascination with everything stretched and lanky crept in to the dreams and forced a gorgeous, proportional beauty to be exaggerated beyond belief. Did I love it? Of course! I have been a height junkie and fetishist (sort of) for many years due to the modeling adoration, and with VS at the head of the line for such a thing. But Jamie? No, that's just wrong on too many levels to list. Jaime the Cherry 2000 was built by yours truly, and as such displays the features in my head and of the imagery which has dominated my head for too long to remember. She is amazing because I made her amazing. Simple, right? Perhaps. But the other Jamie should not have been altered. Of course I am referring to a dream in which I have exactly zero control over anything, so the subconscious took over. Again. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, they were both in another huge house with me, both were elusive as all hell, and I went out of my fucking mind with possibilities. In the end, I awakened like always, sodden and sad, and again yearning for more. Yep. The same old story all over again. I think Q said that in the pilot. Madchen, Jaime and Jamie, Andrea, the goddess, the Raven, Pamela (rest her beautiful soul)... All at once. I have to try and calculate just how much this is affecting me and what the next weeks may have in store. I am getting worse, and that fact means I will be drowning myself into the new routine more than ever. I need it for comfort. Right now there are distractions, but later I will need to go inside and surround myself with the tools of my new survival, be that television or music. Some things to straighten, clothes, whatever there is to keep me occupied. All the while the sound will follow along from the kitchen to the living room to the garage. Things will be accomplished and then after I can sit with one of my hobbies and relax. And that brings a thought: Is the relaxing truly after the chores? Or are the chores key? Maybe both. I don't know. The certainty is that I have to go through the motions so I can come out the other side drawing breath. Believe it or not, I do not want that desire to change. But that is another story. I was talking about women, both real and otherwise. Not funny. As I move about the house and garage, they will be following along. Yes, you read that correctly. Another Sunday, and that means some things around the house need to be done, I can check the status of our laundry, and the gentleman who has space in the garage for his motorcycle will return to do more work on it. Yesterday I was out there for a while with this machine. Sitting and working on the words brings me a feeling of control, and the machine is wonderful. Also, I moved some things around while out there and that will likely continue today. The dreams are hanging right behind my eyes and dictating that I carry on some exploration into the reasoning behind them, and the idea of the nonexistent aspects of life which push me almost constantly is going to help all of it along. The crap will end up here again. Slowly, but still going to happen. I am no closer to figuring things out, and the facts are really not pleasant. My biggest task now is to embrace what I can and try to keep the rest at arm's length until I can really drown into it and work. Yes, work. None of it is easy. The tallest order I have ever been given is to deal with the impossible and smooth it over enough to function and be comfortable. Balance, for lack of a better term, may be the key to dealing with something which cannot happen. As I mentioned way the fuck up this page, the sheer mass of something so dreamy leaves me nearly powerless to understand and move forward. And I did it to myself, people. I really did. I let it all happen over the course of many years, and then drew upon my huge imagination to craft stories related to the same. Confusing? Perhaps, however the meaning is just not there so I cannot expand more. Ejection from the norm, from society, and from the mindset that I need to fit something which others see as a 'should'. Nope. Don't even try. The eject button has already been pressed, and as it is full-logic (look that up if needed, I don't care), the action is now unstoppable. The connection has been made at the front panel and the remainder of the cycle is underway. The logic is in charge. Ejection. And don't make fun of my eighties analogies, either. That will result in things becoming much worse. Just accept the word. I will stop the pissy right now. Promise. Again... Onward. Well, two things are clear at this point. One, the difference in the world right now when compared to years ago is going to continue for quite a while and I have to remain within what I have created for the duration, and two, coming out the other side of this is going to be slow, arduous, and I will be different. The fiction can continue because there is no reason to stop. But the story is getting to me. When I place myself in there, it hurts. I think and think and then eventually sleep. And then I see them, out there somewhere and difficult to reach, and my head tries its best to work through it. Awake, coffee, keyboard, and a lack of understanding. Yes, I will be different. I may already be there. And like last time, this will again continue."
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