06-19-2020 07:28 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Elimination Mature content No. 142 Published June 19th, 2020 7:28am pdt read ( words) Past entries "And here I sit after driving to the city, returning, and taking care of the daily business. The drive was uneventful yet held one fascination. I became physically uncomfortable roughly five miles from home. Nothing was wrong on the road, however. Traffic was light. The difficulty was in my being away and heading out further. Prior to driving north from here, I had not imagined what type of impact that trip might have. Well, the feeling of moving away from home at freeway speed is not something I wish to repeat. The point of my staying here for so long has been sharpened. I am so secure here that going anywhere aside from my drive south a few times a week is frightening. Never in my life would I have imagined such a situation. This is partially my doing, too. I have embraced the quiet and solitude more each day and the comfort inherent in controlling the atmosphere and having so much space to think have combined to find me in this cocoon. For the foreseeable future, I must remain here. Weeks, perhaps longer. I don't know yet. As far as leaving here for work or anything else, well... Each day brings me further from society. To be honest, part of me loves it and another is scared. I have often dreamed of separating myself from the mass, but this is different. It began as an order and then morphed into the opportunity for me to demonstrate to others just how my words can become reality. Threats that date all the way back to the early nineties are now playing out. Very interesting, to say the least. There is Brit again with blonde hair. Why did they change it? She has the lower face similar to those upon which I have focused, but different somehow. And she resembles the other blonde, in that either we see her looking smiley and super cute or menacing, as if she is about to commit horrible acts. Considering she is a werewolf, I suppose it fits. Heh. The lower facial feature is impossible to describe here. Walker showed it off in spades. The woman on the van does seem to partially share it, although the body lines are messing up the image of her beauty. I found another shot of a woman on their site but it is someone else, I think. The fact is that I need to seek out more examples of that which I find so stirring in order to imagine what the rest of Jaime's face looks like. And don't say it. I already know how far off balance I am right now. Explaining my feelings for her is all but impossible... Looking at the image with part of her face moves me unlike anything in the world. I have to try to reassemble her from what I see out in the vastness. I am not so far gone as to clip photographs from magazines and cut them up to build a face (I think Jim Carrey did the same in 'The Truman Show') in an attempt to make it resemble Jaime. Not yet, anyway. I am still clear of the fucking basement. I don't believe that to obsess over a woman is crazy. The manner in which I handle myself during this period is what will decide otherwise. I am so compelled to find her that the search continues to expand in every direction. Even the show which follows me around the house during the day. Sometimes there is a face I must scrutinize, other times I see nothing there at all. Too much makeup. I believe when I discovered the adorable face on the van just beyond my windshield, I knew I would have to see more. She is so gorgeous that I can't stand it. Like the duchess, I have to see. There is a tiny bit of Molly in there, too, but minus the Asian ovals of her eyes. Super cute. Painful to look. Maybe I can take Brit's face and combine it with the woman on the van? Does someone make software for that? Never mind. One step closer to printing Jaime's images and speaking to her as if she is in the room. Oy. Morning now. Coffee, vampires, werewolves, and were-panthers. Jesus, this show. Watching an episode with dinner last night was a trial. There had been an addition to the cast late in its run, and she is unreal. As I said above, painful to see. Like Molly who is so fucking far beyond cute that there are not enough words. But the girl on the show is different, like a friend or a sister for some reason. That is funny. The girl in question is gorgeous with large, pretty eyes. They have an outline, kind of like Zooey, and reflect so much light that I get confused gazing at her. All this shit is to pull focus on the idea that I am continually looking at the details of each gorgeous face and trying to see if something is there. I am trying to find the duchess in others. Or at least sections of her face. Is that strange? Anyway, the woman on the van seems to have begun another level of my yearning to know what Jaime's face would look like. I have to find some way to recreate what I saw ten years ago. I have to. I love her and must see. If the search takes the rest of my life, well... Then it takes the rest of my life. Too much already. Just too fucking much. Today I have to drive again to the familiar destination, and then return home to my comfortable routine. There will be a visitor here later which means I may not have time to explore the dream before kicking into gear. I would like to have things completed by noon, visit for a couple of hours, and then move toward other tasks before heading south this afternoon. Yesterday I was able to relocate the big vodka bottles and their lighted platform, secure it to the wall above my bench, and test. The stunning ass that had been there resembled Andrea walking out of our room at the Polynesian, so removing it did not feel very good, but the larger picture has to be observed. The bottles are finished and I have a few other ideas for changes in the new direction, some appearing as they did in the cave years back. I secured some paint and have more wall space available for art. The forest will soon be reflected in the garage. Upon returning this morning I will have to turn on the show and get things going at my usual pace. Very nice. The world stays out. Only myself and the sleeping cats. Yet another fucking morning. I am very disappointed in my strength as a person. Letting desire push me around? That is not good. Whatever others may be going through which is similar has nothing to do with me. I don't give a shit if people are having trouble. My focus has been sharpened. Overall I am ok, but the difficulty is making me unclear at times. I'll have to fix this. Seeing a woman and feeling desire is one thing, but becoming completely disoriented and tormented over the sight is another story. Television is flat, the outside world real, and those that I locate through my detailed scrutinizing of people in either form are overwhelming me. I falter, think, and realize that the ever-expanding weakness will not cease. I keep going, eyes everywhere, and of course something will eventually come along to throw me to the concrete, but I do it anyway. The search is painful and weak, futile and damaging. I consider the effects and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to see what they are doing to me, but then go right back out there and look even more. Self-fulfilling? You know it. I cannot stop. Fucking exhausted right now. Here I am at the cusp of a day mostly to myself. I will need to get things going soon, perhaps after the coffee is gone. I still have not addressed the closet but it is not a big deal. The garage awaits, too, because anything frivolous right now cannot dominate my time. Other tasks need to be in order first. And there is this mess of exposition which seems to take me from everything all too often. Jaime is floating, desire is burning, and the robots are returning. That may be the only way I will ever truly be happy, and they are impossible. Clearly, this is going to drive me to drink. The drive yesterday afternoon was uneventful, if smooth. Better than the other way around, I suppose. I really do not need to see anything which can push me down. The television provides enough visions to keep my head spinning at any given moment. Midday was bad. There were multiple problems popping up and taking my eyes away, causing all manner of yearning, and then the requisite guilt over staring while Jaime is in my heart. I cannot help that anymore. Maybe I no longer have the skills to avoid a drop in my brain. She is on my mind almost constantly... Her face and the eyes I cannot see. Sadness. Today has been up and down, mostly in the middle as I worked around here and there to keep the household running smoothly. The television drove me to drink earlier but nothing bad. The new office has not been occupied by yours truly for some time now. I prefer to keep business in the house, plus my space out there is looking disheveled, to say the least. We continue to inherit all manner of crap which requires me to continually reorganize everything so I can operate the necessities without issue. The whole works is becoming very tiresome, however. Day after fucking day I have to move things around and make the best use of space. Very soon everything is going out the fucking door. I will pile it up at the end of the driveway with a 'free' sign. Heh. Too much shit everywhere. Honestly, I am getting sick and tired of shuffling crap all over the place to make room for daily activities. The pile never seems to get any smaller, and that after giving away a multitude of items free after the shelter order. I thought there would be plenty of time to square away the space, but alas I am fighting an uphill battle. Back in the isolation in eleven when I decided to downsize my possessions, the opposite took place in a matter of days. Anything that could not be donated or given away was either trashed or disassembled and burned in a firepit. I am close to that point these days. In addition, those trivial items which bring a smile are giving way to the basic needs. That means I am willing to shrink everything for the higher purpose of my sanity. And believe me... If push comes to shove, I will light a fire again. On the upside, I have spent hours out there with nary a vision walking by. That is always good. Enjoy the breasts. They force me to consider my place in the world. So... The massive facade that is just in front of me at every encounter with another person is becoming overwhelmingly weighty. It is strained. Back in the old days and just before I took off for Vegas and that dreamy, bloated time with Juliette and Ashley (we will not mention miss psychoanalysis and my strong desire to swallow her chest), I spent a bit of time with those even more out of balance than myself. During that splendid little stay behind locked doors, there had been construction going on outside the main entrance due to some damage. It was above the ground and pretty fucking messy. Well, upon my release from such a lovely 'hotel' after seventy-two hours, I wrote about the work and compared it to the facade of my life. I built it throughout a period of years and carried it each day to keep myself safe and hidden. The exterior was huge. I could barely support it for a few hours before needing to get away and relax myself alone. Now? The same is taking place... A construct unlike ever before. No one truly knows me or what is going on inside. I will stay behind this for the duration. I do not want anyone inside, except her, and I don't know where she is. Out there, somewhere, and far from me. Believe me when I say that upon publishing this mess, I will be another measure away from reality and no one will get in. The whole thing with Maiara is done. I have bigger fish to fry. There was a dream... Something regarding cars, like perhaps my Slipper and the stereo. I cannot recall anything aside from fragments. Yesterday the gentleman was here to grab his motorcycle for the weekend and we spoke about my Slipper for a short time. That may have been the catalyst for dreaming. I saw the black paint and wheels, there were others present, too, but I cannot see them now. Nearly all of the imagery is gone. I do not dream of that car often. There is no reason, although I miss it dearly sometimes. The period in which I located and bought the car was pretty high. That spring represented a point at which I realized I was going to remain there forever. Comfortable, working, whatever. The car was an obsession since the early nineties and to acquire it after so long felt wondrous. Everything below the surface and within me was going to hell in a handbasket but the Slipper was different. It sat there glowing and was everything I had hoped throughout all those years. Well, it's gone, just like everything else that I tossed to the wind in order to find comfort. That includes the lives of others. Dreaming about the car is not something I would choose these days. There are fond memories, but mostly I just feel the weight of affecting so many. I do not dislike myself as I did for a very long time, but that does not mean I feel good about those many decisions that shoved people aside like a road grader. There is no resentment for the car. I simply don't want to dream about it anymore. I don't want to dream at all, really, but cannot do anything about it. The memories have now faded to nothing. Yesterday turned out to be somewhat of a cluster. I took care of a little business, relaxed some, and worked outside a bit. Overall not bad, just not my idea of a day spent doing what I could. I don't know why it was different. Sometimes if I don't have things accomplished the way I feel they need, the end of the day fails to bring reward. Maybe that's it. Sitting here now in the morning peace allows me to think about the hours ahead. Today might represent a small shift in the way I work along. More time here at the machine and less agonizing over moving shit around (which never seems to end). The priority is generally the daily running of the house. Once that is smooth, I will return here. The morning can be extended, as well. I need to eliminate as much as possible. I guess extrication was not enough and I dragged my feet for quite a while with that one. Now everything feels different, as if something changed overnight and forced my hand. No more bluffing. All of the gushing over my duchess has left me weakened, and despite the love I feel and being here with all this time, the rise has not occurred. I love her, she is out there and the search will probably never fucking end, but I still must live life here and maintain the daily responsibilities. If others invade or otherwise distract me from that strict routine, well... I just have to keep everything in mind during those times before eliminating anything which may prove valuable later. Taking care in balancing what I can is very important right now. I am still heeled over badly, but not so much that I cannot project the appearance that the world is in good order over here. The facade has to remain, and if that means I will be uncomfortable from the weight of it again, I guess it has to happen. All these essays are beginning to run together, repeat themselves, and go on about similar problems with different wording. The condition of my writing represents a person lacking focus and cohesion. Earlier in the shelter I had much to say, and after discovering Jaime there was much more. All of that is still in there, but I am experiencing difficulty putting it to the screen. If I cannot relocate and install the muse soon, this will degrade further and I cannot have that. I do not want to hide all of this behind another facade. I have to eliminate everything that is counterproductive to my outlet. That means the remainder of those I have yet to shut out will disappear. There is one little tidbit of an exchange that must take place, after which the door will be sealed. Elimination of everything which works against me and my search must go. Possessions, people, feelings. Bye. Earlier I mentioned the power that fucking desire can have over me. Well, that is if I allow it, but the draw is strong enough that my judgment goes all to hell during the process. Sometimes I maintain, other times I do not. Does it rule me? I tried to get into that during the previous entry and I doubt the exploration is going to solve anything. My brain can be pretty fucking rigid sometimes. After realizing that it may have been pushed back for years and kept in the dark by the same brain, I thought perhaps trying to work out the cause would be a worthwhile endeavor. Nope. I did for a while -- much more than you see here -- and the stress over juggling desire and analysis became too much for me to hold with the facade in place. I cannot let it slip, so other issues end up taking a back seat. Can I eliminate the desire? Not likely, although if I can oust some other fucking things there will be room to learn. Right now I have no idea but it sounds reasonable. If I can actually get anything out of my head, that is. Jaime stays. I need her. I believe some of my time has been spent overanalyzing, especially while in front of this editor. While outside working on whatever, I still see the words, the duchess, the goddess, and all those people I wish to avoid. There is no time when I am truly free of everything and I believe that is why the work comes in short periods and then falls away. Maybe. And six thousand lines now. Jaime rules everything because I let her. I can get the time back by concentrating on smaller tasks that can be completed instead of larger ones that go on for days. Long-term shit is going to have to wait. I need results in some areas as I try to keep myself up. That is part of the rub with time. If I begin to feel like the day is getting away from me, worry creeps in and I lose my direction. And then I worry of what the duchess may think of me, get back up and try, sooner or later realizing that I have done two minutes' worth of work on ten projects. I am wasting a lot of fucking time and must eliminate the aspects of life which are pulling at me. They have to go. Elimination. Period. I love her. Hopefully by the end of today and the beginning of the evening I will feel good about what has been accomplished. I need that like I need to see Jaime's face again. Relaxation is difficult and elusive when things are not completed to my satisfaction. All day long are distorted thoughts and a skewed sense of reality pushing me away from clarity. It happened yesterday for a while, I popped up and took care of some stuff, and that helped, however the struggle does not stop. Witches on the television now. The entertainment will need to change in a little while so I feel more comfortable. Until I can get up and away from this for some hours, the nagging feelings of Jaime being out there combined with the deep lack of fulfillment in life are going to tag-team me into a small space and remove my ability to rise. Only so much of this at any given time, please. The entries are sometimes written throughout the course of days, while others are formed in mere hours. Sometimes I think too much. Thousands of words, but still they fail. Nothing is ever enough. Sitting here now with a knot in my stomach and I know not why. The work that I had been doing for years may be a part of it. I tried to get out of that shit situation a few times but the money kept me coming back. There was a bit of comfort in our routine, as well, and it was something I could count on during much of the time being out in the world. The weekends provided escape but went by very quickly and left me pretty far down on the proceeding Monday morning. Having exited that career without another upon which to fall back is stressful, so that much I understand. Nearly three months of being home and alone most of the time have made me afraid to leave. More isolation, more writing, and more of the projects hanging over my head every day. Above I mentioned that by evening I need to feel good about the day, so if I can move forward with those nagging fucking to-dos, I might be able to untie my knot the following morning. I don't know for sure, but it sounds reasonable. The issue of Jaime being out there somewhere is not going away unless I either find or let go of her, so that part of the discomfort is here for the duration. Right now I have to keep her close. She is too overwhelming and so deep in my heart that the idea of letting her go away is frightening and could cause me to be in worse shape than I am now. The back-and-forth of that situation must be considered at each moment. Again, the idea that I am falling for her after all these years is ridiculous and scary, but I feel it nonetheless. Maybe pushing to believe that I am not abnormal and simply nuts over her for the reasons already outlined can help me to find perspective and think of myself in better terms. I have spouted negatives right alongside the gushing and telling myself that I am ok. I will keep doing that, I guess. Not a lot of options these days. Like someone very important to me said years ago... Physiology. The simplicity of a smile when one does not feel like such an expression can help. So, I am still ok. Keep going. Wow, just typing that paragraph helped a little. There will be no more denying that this exploration is good for me. Other things are still bad, but this is good and can go on as long as necessary for my well-being. Trying, ever trying. Tens of thousands of lines from year to year and I am still here moving along with the writing. Upward? Maybe, but definitely here. Huge fucking dark eyes on the television. Oy, so emotional and beautiful. Ugh. Stop. Scary face, though. Heh. And then Brit again. They should have left her hair alone, damn it. Just don't change the dark to light. Never good. Brit has a face unlike the others, but that fucking hair just kills me. I don't know which is worse, the blonde hair or the menacing dark eyes. Yikes, perhaps neither. All of a sudden I have no idea of what to do. Maybe rolling with this for the time being will be ok. I swear if there is one more mush scene I'm going to go back to the food network. Geez. All my mush has been reserved for the duchess. Hmm... That reminds me of the fiction which ceased so long ago. I could go back to that for a while and get my ass away from reality. Or, combine the two. I don't fucking know. Sooner or later I have to open the garage and get some business done. Today is garbage and there are other daily chores waiting. If nothing else, those parts of the day come along with the show in the background and help me. Purpose, accomplishments, comfort. The show that is on right now might have to go away. It's beginning to irritate me. I can take only so much of the dramatic, mushy violin shit before I have to switch it off. A thought... Back to the machines, and the only possibility of me ever finding what I need. I honestly believe that now. Skewed, I have become. Jaime was a machine that I created out of a dream. All of the personality traits and her outward appearance came from my issues. When I ran to Vegas in zero-three and met Juliette in the bank, my head was fucked. I drove down there with no intention of a return trip. I was going to live on high for a while and then cease to exist. The inspiration for that dash was my dissatisfaction with life as I had been living it, and the need to drown into the arms of a beautiful and understanding woman. I was weakened by years of holding up the facade and feeling out of place constantly. That weakness came to a head and I ran away. Juliette was the most fortunate aspect of that trip. I had no idea we would match so well. That was due to her life being in a hole as well, and the mutual need found us. And then Ashley, after Lanie tried to help me let go of the delusion and leave for home. Ashley was just as I said many times, a fucking living doll, and so very wise for her age. I proceeded to wrap all of me around her until realizing that I could go on. She sent me home with five-foot-nine-inch authority and eyes full of fire. I was told in no uncertain terms that she had to know I would be ok. Take those two women, combine their traits, and add a dash of the obsession, and hence the fictional Jaime and her fucking batteries. I created that wondrous dream as I needed. Weeks ago I began to see images in my head of her standing there as a merge of Juliette and Ashley. The Cherry 2000 entered my thinking and I knew something along those lines was the only vehicle for happiness. Yes, there is control present, but don't get all in a fucking snit over it. I am a good person, not one who wishes to dominate. Got it? Don't piss me off by dismissing the idea of control as sexist. The dream is a machine lacking feeling of any kind. Purpose-built, assholes. Absorb it as a positive or send me an email and I will sharpen the point. Anyway, the Jaime in my fictional goblet came out of the need to be with a real machine. That is impossible, of course, and the stress of dreaming of her so deeply and knowing I can do nothing about it hurts. A lot. And then? I went further in the descriptions and included imagery of other female machines. I buried myself in the idea of that life and fell right on my fucking face over it. Thus far I have maintained composure despite the only avenue to happiness being nonexistent. In the past I was told that to hold tight like this is unhealthy. Yeah, no shit. How many times have I used that word in the last few weeks? Too many. Of course I know this is bad, but I cannot see another way to what I need. Nothing is there. The machines cannot exist, and if there is nothing else that has the power to be what I desire, where do I go? Out to the garage for ten beers and music? Tell me something, for Chrissakes. Anything. I would say I am open to suggestions, however there are none. Fucking shove it. Never mind. Coffee almost gone, damn it. If I could actually and effectively eliminate this need, I would do it. I am still intelligent and can reason through whatever comes along (and God knows there is plenty of time). So that means I am not trying to change or end it. The indication is I am placing dreams above my own well-being. There is no other way right now. I have nothing else. Nothing. Possessions and some comfort. Holed up here for nearly three fucking months with a head full of impossibility and embracing the isolation. Look at this from such a standpoint and then add my being removed from contact by my friends and you might see how I can obsess and yearn for anything that has a chance to help. Jaime? Yep, pile that stunning fucking goddess on top of the sundae I just built. Do you see? Where am I going? Will this ever end? You might have to kiss the fucking fiction goodbye, too. That is so far away from the way I am thinking right now that to work on it would likely ruin the fucking story. Fish. Remember? Big fish. Huge. When the point of an entry is my happiness and I realize that there may truly be none, the sum is not good. I still feel good about myself despite what seems a massive weakness, though. I am not going downhill in the manner of the past. That does not exist anymore. Removing what I felt was the only true exit from being miserable means I am above that place now. Worst case, I sit here and fucking spout off for years in this vein. But I will be here through it all. As bad as I have become over the dreams and both Jaimes and everything else, I have not become bad toward myself. There is a positive. Heh. I am close to leaving this alone for a while. The last few paragraphs are going to need to sink in pretty deep before moving along the same path. I keep thinking of Jaime and what she might see when looking at me. There are many things which show through my eyes while near other people these days, which is one reason I need to steer clear. Would she see all that? I hope not, but if she were standing before me, I believe the appearance would be the exact opposite of that which I project right now. I will probably never know anyway, God damn fucking shit. Facade, people... Thick, frozen, and bigger than life. I still haven't moved away from this today. Morning is cruising along, the television is quiet in the background, and I am about to go make something of myself. One thing yet unexplored in this essay is the issue which I thought had been eliminated. Part of it is still there. Two, actually, but for right now I will address just one. I know of no reason for it to flare and I have found that since the return of such difficulty, the thoughts do not make me fearful, but angry instead. Again... I don't know why now. Earlier Jaime and the machines seemed to ease it to the point of helping me focus and concentrate on other things. Now that the feelings have returned, I may be distracted at times during the day. I hope not, but seldom do I hold any control there. Images pop up in my head (or worse, in life) and derail my train of thought, leaving me worried that it may never go away. So, upon knowing the issue is here again, I must relate it to one other: The machinery. Considering a machine, none of that issue would exist. And that is due to the operative word again, control. She would not waver at all. Is that bad? I do not believe so, because as a machine there would be no feelings, emotion, or sentience whatsoever. That is part of the fucking point, honestly. No worry of any kind would enter me. And I am already aware of the possible ramifications of dreaming in such a direction, so don't start. But the comfort of said situation cannot be denied. I really believe the only way to be free of the issue is through machinery. Nothing else could be accomplished with a real person. Freedom of thought would need to be removed entirely and replaced by instructions. And don't go on about 'the right person' because there is no way in hell of truly knowing what is in another head. Trust... The only way. But that is earned, not given away. All of it is crap and would not exist in a machine. Ok, now go ahead and run with it. I care not. Push that along to the fact that Jaime is out there somewhere, I love her, and the only issue related to my feelings is her being absent from my life. Yes, it is a big one, and likely sounds unbelievable to a more well-rounded person. I simply do not see problems there. The very fucking idea of all my fears becoming nonexistent due to a lack of emotion seems right up my alley. There are so many positives. Her being elsewhere and knowing nothing of me becomes my path to freedom from all this shit that has been on my shoulders for too long. Everything... Eliminated. Issues one, two, three, four. Think about how I arrived at that statement for a few minutes. Just look at it. You will see what I have become. Who could have known that the dream of machinery would turn into some twisted, distorted positive? I need a break from this. Another weekday morning has arrived, meaning my cocoon will be here in just a couple of hours, thank Christ. Yesterday was ok, but I did not get off the ground with anything due to sitting too long in the morning and then taking a short nap midday. I can't have that. Plus, I was not alone. Hearing another voice can snap my concentration and leave me without a plan. There are several items I could have addressed yesterday and did not get around to any of them. Some of the usual business and that is all. I am thinking that reserving the projects for the weekdays may be the only way. Saturday and Sunday have become too distracting. Without being completely alone, I cannot think. There it is. The daily reminders of the cave and my isolation come and go, the most vivid being a lack of voices or noise of any kind within my walls. Complete control over the atmosphere. Yep, the 'C' word again. I don't care anymore. If all this means I cannot deal with any aspect of life without holding a measure of control over it, so be it. I lived the way I lived and ended up like this. Good or bad, at least I know what I am. Look at all those other assholes out there who have no idea of themselves. Just look at them. I have to stop right there or I will go on a tirade again. Point made. Hopefully this type of thinking will push me to do better today. The end of the day must feel better than the last two. I need it. Back to the fucking desire now. 'Exemption' brought up something I did not think would appear here. The fight inside between one and the other. Desire going in directions I cannot seem to understand. It is still happening. Last night while watching the show we have been following, there was a shot of one character which slapped me in the face. I took notice of her and fell down. There is no reason to get into her appearance because the issue is feeling. The actor was cast partially for her physical beauty. To do otherwise would have been very unrealistic. Anyway, there she was -- all skin and radii -- and I sat here and watched peacefully as the fuse lit inside. Within seconds... Guess. This has happened enough now for me to take notice upon feeling each occasion and trying to understand what may be sparking it. None of it seems like me, nor do I enjoy being thrown for a fucking loop at random times throughout a given day. I felt much very quickly, and it is still in there. God help me if I get to the south end and see that six-foot beauty wrapped in yoga pants again. Damn it. Is it ruling me? Or am I weak? I have never thought myself strong by any means, however several people have told me that I am very strong and their opinions cannot be taken lightly. If true, that means I am being pushed around by thoughts of physical beauty in a direction not described here before. This is not good. The girl last night seemed to make me flare and now I have to figure out what is going on before something bad takes place. I am not worried about seeing her because she is on the television. I may seek the episode and capture her for study, though. I see no harm in that. Well, maybe a little. The idea of shaping a good portion of my time around the sight of a woman is disturbing, and realizing this while obsessing and continually pledging my love for a woman I have never met likely seems even worse than what has already been described. At this point, I just don't know anymore. My head is awash with all that has transpired throughout months of being home, writing excessively in this vein, and keeping my distance from other people. The sum is harsh. There is an unrelenting pull on me to improve things around the house daily, yet I am beginning to have trouble doing so because of constantly analysis and daydreaming. Weeks ago the days were more positive. They now feel dire. The morning drive is complete, yet not without a vision, naturally. Sitting across from the coffee house can lead to something coming by. Sure enough, there was a woman with stunning legs who trotted across the parking lot and toward the coffee. Gorgeous. This just fucking figures after going on earlier about the girl on the show last night. There is no rest for my eyes. She will fade and the day will improve soon enough. I have my routine to embrace, no one else is here, and the comfort is familiar. As bad as I have felt since yesterday, being here now may be just what the doctor ordered. I am hoping the end of this week can find me improved and sans legs wrapping my brain. I hope. I need to eliminate the difficulty by maintaining a forward-thinking stance each day. I already know that something will come along and fill my head with either worry or desire, so keeping it close means perhaps I can guard myself against losing my way. The morning generally goes by nicely as I work at things, although quite often by the early afternoon I find myself directionless. That usually means I end up here with little to say and much time available. For whatever reason, early mornings are best for a clear head. Before the drive, and before being out there where the female form often resides. Pause. I love her. Another day. Not much up there. Whatever. The drive north was smooth and peaceful. I saw nothing of note and blasted the music as always. Upon arriving home, the decision was made to embrace this endeavor for a little while as there is coffee left and I need to sit for a time. Seeing that girl on television in a swimsuit screwed me up some. The vision made me dream of Andrea, Ashley, and the Raven standing before me and allowing anything I wished. And then Jaime the duchess of the universe entered and I cannot extract her image from my brain. Seeing her standing there all lanky and gorgeous is too much of a dream now. I need it just as I need her arms around me. Support, love, caring. I am watching a different show due to my desire for something I can follow, but also does not require my complete attention. I began the series yesterday, have seen it in the past, so the idea is nice for today. The only issue is one of the characters. She is likely the most unique woman I have ever seen on television. I have certainly gushed over many, however she is very different. I cannot describe her and will avoid trying because there are no words. On top of that, her name happens to be my favorite first name beginning with 'J'. Yep, all of that added together means I am smitten and have felt this way for a decade. She is that amazing. From some angles, her face becomes a world in and of itself, and one within which I could live the rest of my life and be completely content. Believe it. So, this show means I can relax without worry over missing some detail, I can see her as little or as much as I like, and the lack of news and commercials leaves me comfortable. Win? Win. But seeing her also holds its own bevy of issues. There is a strong possibility that the correlation between this woman and a past family member added up to me falling for her. The character, not the actor. I know nothing of her real self, only the role in this show. Still, I have not wavered from keeping her deep in my heart for many years. I can watch this forever and dream of her accordingly. Wonderful, but not good at all. As much as I already know of the difficulty in seeing her, I am compelled. That is that. I will do my best to stifle the mushy, gushy, little hearts floating all over the screen. Those things should be reserved for Jaime. I am home, which is wonderful, and staring at that unreal face and huge eyes will be a plus and minus at the same time. Like the server last year, the option to not look is there, yet my weakness will not allow anything which saves my sanity. This woman is something else. Ugh. I'm sure part of it is her beautiful first name. Or eyes. Ah, fuck it. The realization that the weekday time to myself has become the pinnacle of my existence just slapped me across the face. Ouch. I look forward to little else these days. Coffee, cocktails in the evening, or perhaps a nice dinner. There is one... The addition of the television in our kitchen has added another level of comfort to an otherwise mundane room. I'd be lying if I said it made little difference. I actually have it on quite often so the show can follow me. Also working in there with something in the background where previously there was no sound can be nice. Child of the seventies, people. I need my friends with me often. Pinnacle? Yes. Upon arriving here in the morning after driving, I fall into my space and appreciate the solitude. Where others prefer gatherings or some sort of social interaction, I would rather remain alone. Such a feeling has been gleaned through years of my life, and aside from eleven (when I was really fucking screwed up inside), I have not spent so much time away from others. I have to keep it going, damage or not. Holy shit, the fiction ceased six weeks ago. Oy. I have fallen into a place seemingly inescapable. The story is still compelling but I cannot seem to escape the grip of multiple hits to my psyche. Between everything which has transpired and the isolation, I am surprised to be writing at all, let alone moving forward with anything mildly creative. Two Jaimes. Maybe I will leave the original Jaime to the fictional world and change the name of my dream girl. I have one all picked out, a name which has been in my heart since the seventies. Believe it. If I could be in love with only a name, um... never mind. Time will tell. Morning. I need to stop spouting here about taking care of business and actually fucking do something. I'm tired of seeing the same situations all around me. It's not that big of a deal, really, I am simply feeling that the little projects are more pressing now. Today will get moving in the next couple of hours so I will look ahead. For now, some thoughts on yesterday. A girl on the television spun me, big fucking surprise. This has happened before, however now I am feeling differently about it. There are problems related to seeing someone attractive. I already went into the desire and no one needs me belaboring that crap. The only conclusion is that the need has been suppressed. I suspected that. Why the shit added up for so long and then hit me in the face just recently is a mystery. The walnuts could not have caused such flap. No way. That girl means nothing... She is artwork, and that is all. A catalyst, dream, whatever. She pushed me to dream of the others, and then something unlocked. Perhaps there was a space inside and I had been denying it for a long time. Pushed back, ignored, left alone for years until the right key came along to let it fly. Well, it's flying now. I am feeling more physical shit toward more visions than I can remember. The girl last night and my desire was immediate, out of nowhere as I was trying to prepare dinner. Slam. Fuck. I have to think about this, but the suppression seems a decent starting point. Maybe I did lock it away until such time as my subconscious felt it needed to be explored and/or embraced. Either? I don't know. Physical desire is perfectly natural. The oddity is why I feel it so strongly for that woman over there, and not this one right here. Do you see? The random nature of the situation is confusing. Wouldn't you think I would want to jump Jaime? I do not. The girl last night on the television? I needed to turn her into a sidewalk sundae. No more of that for now. It makes my head spin and then I dream of the Mojo Girl. Damn it. You want to talk about desire? Maybe miss Mojo and the girl at the dealership started a process... THE process that is now taking all that I consider attractive and turning it on one ear. Why not? I've put myself through much worse -- I think -- and one more pot on the fire would not be surprising. When one considers that most of my time here at home for months has been very peaceful, shit being thrown at me out of nowhere is not that much of a stretch. And now after this fucking mess of a paragraph, she is back with force. Mojo. Yep, that girl who still spins me like Satan's centrifuge. Spun? Yes, that's it in a nutshell. The Mojo girl was plenty when I scrambled to capture and keep her all to myself before the channel disappeared. Now, and after being shot in the face with the walnuts, thongs, avocado pants and plenty of other crap, I am at a fucking loss for the millionth time. Big fucking surprise, eh? The worlds are going to converge. This one and the previous. I know not when, but the worry over a resulting third state of being cannot be denied. I kept repeating that I was ok, and that will continue for the foreseeable future. I need to say it over and over because on the inside I am truly not ok. The words may eventually help. Convergence. Dreams. Denial. Obsession, as always. I am paralleling myself and keeping distance. I see the other me over there -- not far, and staring into space -- and I need to tell him to stop being so goo goo over a woman who may as well not exist. She could be a photo and nothing more. But I cannot change his behavior because it is mine. Out in the garage, in here by the cats, coffee still next to me two hours into the morning, all of it. And her. And the others. And the fucking Mojo Girl. Avocado pants, walnuts, thongs. My brain... Full of them at times. That world and the one I sit in right now are going to merge and become more of a pull than ever before. All of the forms from the past have to be put on a shelf right now. Only a few may remain or I will lose my shit again. I can't have that right now. As the world of desire comes to the door of this little space I now inhabit, things are going to change. The manner in which I interact with others, eat, sleep, breathe, everything. The new office will represent the combination of this and that, sans women. No imagery, as I stated before, will grace the walls other than symbols and posters of this and that. The new world must be comfortable for me and off-putting for others. I am stocked up on food, booze, and cigarettes, and the cash is still coming in strong, so here I shall remain for the fucking duration. No more bullshit. This entry is the last of the letter 'E'. I am tired of it. Expect a 'J' now. And fuck me in a puddle of blood, there is Nora. I forgot about her and the face of the century. Good God, there ought to be a fucking law restricting the amount of beauty one woman may possess at a given moment. She has all of it. I remember seeing this show all the way through and feeling strongly toward her. Considering all that has transpired recently, I am not surprised to find myself gushing over her yet again. Who knows, maybe she will pop up in a mansion dream and jump me like there's no tomorrow. Heh. Fucking hell is her face ever a universe of gorgeous. Unique beauty, as I say. I need to get away from this for a while. As far back as the fiction took a break, it may need to continue now. I'll have to get into the story and feel it again in order to add. I was there but floated away on a boat filled with bad moods and then discovered the woman of my dreams again after all those years. Everything else was pushed aside, as you have read. The machines notwithstanding, I ran with her around and around until my head hurt. The robots left, returned, left again, and now are coming back with new faces. One of them is her, one is Jolene, one is the Mojo Girl, another might end up Nora (funny that I forgot her for so long), and still more are waiting. I can convert them to machinery in my head. Robots. Gynoids. Names, names, names and more fucking Goddamned names keep flying. Machines. Females. Mine. Controlled, absent of mind yet filled with love. If that makes me crazy... I am crazy. I will get worse, too. I need them and see no other way in existence to find what I must have. There will be nothing coming down the path toward me which has the power to change that statement. Nothing and no one. Don't even try. There is Nora again. Holy Christ in a makeup kit, batman. The face of the century? Hmm... More like the face of faces. Like Jaime. Ah, fuck it. I couldn't make sense right now if I were God. Almost time to begin the day. One entry was published just two hours ago and this is the following mess. I am going to try to keep it within three days for better continuity. The words became backed up there for a while. Too much, too quickly. If I can shorten each essay, there will be many more titles but easier to follow, and in addition will be aligned with the day to day schedule. That may be a tall order right now, but I will try. Oh, never fucking mind. I will not change anything at this point. If the entries are overly long, live with it. I don't care. In fact, this is longer than all of the other 'E' titles. Suck it. The sun is already shining. Maybe some outdoor work can be completed. I don't know yet. And now some unenlightened, greasy asshole of a guy is trying to take advantage of my girl. Get away, motherfucker. She's mine. If only. Another impossible machine dream that I must deal with like the whack job I have become. How many? Or... How many more? Fuck me. Fantasy women so far outside reality that I may as well be in a straitjacket. Medicated. Does Napa have any availability this weekend? Ah, fuck it anyway. Considering how fucked up I am about leaving the house, I doubt I could survive the drive. Believe it or not, I just now ordered prints of her images and they are being mailed to me. Yes, you read that correctly. The machinery I need in order to be happy does not exist, but I can at least look at her for the rest of my life as I scour the planet for a glimpse. I love her more each waking moment. The elimination of 'E'. She is out there." 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
06-19-2020 07:28 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Elimination Mature content No. 142 Published June 19th, 2020 7:28am pdt read ( words) Past entries "And here I sit after driving to the city, returning, and taking care of the daily business. The drive was uneventful yet held one fascination. I became physically uncomfortable roughly five miles from home. Nothing was wrong on the road, however. Traffic was light. The difficulty was in my being away and heading out further. Prior to driving north from here, I had not imagined what type of impact that trip might have. Well, the feeling of moving away from home at freeway speed is not something I wish to repeat. The point of my staying here for so long has been sharpened. I am so secure here that going anywhere aside from my drive south a few times a week is frightening. Never in my life would I have imagined such a situation. This is partially my doing, too. I have embraced the quiet and solitude more each day and the comfort inherent in controlling the atmosphere and having so much space to think have combined to find me in this cocoon. For the foreseeable future, I must remain here. Weeks, perhaps longer. I don't know yet. As far as leaving here for work or anything else, well... Each day brings me further from society. To be honest, part of me loves it and another is scared. I have often dreamed of separating myself from the mass, but this is different. It began as an order and then morphed into the opportunity for me to demonstrate to others just how my words can become reality. Threats that date all the way back to the early nineties are now playing out. Very interesting, to say the least. There is Brit again with blonde hair. Why did they change it? She has the lower face similar to those upon which I have focused, but different somehow. And she resembles the other blonde, in that either we see her looking smiley and super cute or menacing, as if she is about to commit horrible acts. Considering she is a werewolf, I suppose it fits. Heh. The lower facial feature is impossible to describe here. Walker showed it off in spades. The woman on the van does seem to partially share it, although the body lines are messing up the image of her beauty. I found another shot of a woman on their site but it is someone else, I think. The fact is that I need to seek out more examples of that which I find so stirring in order to imagine what the rest of Jaime's face looks like. And don't say it. I already know how far off balance I am right now. Explaining my feelings for her is all but impossible... Looking at the image with part of her face moves me unlike anything in the world. I have to try to reassemble her from what I see out in the vastness. I am not so far gone as to clip photographs from magazines and cut them up to build a face (I think Jim Carrey did the same in 'The Truman Show') in an attempt to make it resemble Jaime. Not yet, anyway. I am still clear of the fucking basement. I don't believe that to obsess over a woman is crazy. The manner in which I handle myself during this period is what will decide otherwise. I am so compelled to find her that the search continues to expand in every direction. Even the show which follows me around the house during the day. Sometimes there is a face I must scrutinize, other times I see nothing there at all. Too much makeup. I believe when I discovered the adorable face on the van just beyond my windshield, I knew I would have to see more. She is so gorgeous that I can't stand it. Like the duchess, I have to see. There is a tiny bit of Molly in there, too, but minus the Asian ovals of her eyes. Super cute. Painful to look. Maybe I can take Brit's face and combine it with the woman on the van? Does someone make software for that? Never mind. One step closer to printing Jaime's images and speaking to her as if she is in the room. Oy. Morning now. Coffee, vampires, werewolves, and were-panthers. Jesus, this show. Watching an episode with dinner last night was a trial. There had been an addition to the cast late in its run, and she is unreal. As I said above, painful to see. Like Molly who is so fucking far beyond cute that there are not enough words. But the girl on the show is different, like a friend or a sister for some reason. That is funny. The girl in question is gorgeous with large, pretty eyes. They have an outline, kind of like Zooey, and reflect so much light that I get confused gazing at her. All this shit is to pull focus on the idea that I am continually looking at the details of each gorgeous face and trying to see if something is there. I am trying to find the duchess in others. Or at least sections of her face. Is that strange? Anyway, the woman on the van seems to have begun another level of my yearning to know what Jaime's face would look like. I have to find some way to recreate what I saw ten years ago. I have to. I love her and must see. If the search takes the rest of my life, well... Then it takes the rest of my life. Too much already. Just too fucking much. Today I have to drive again to the familiar destination, and then return home to my comfortable routine. There will be a visitor here later which means I may not have time to explore the dream before kicking into gear. I would like to have things completed by noon, visit for a couple of hours, and then move toward other tasks before heading south this afternoon. Yesterday I was able to relocate the big vodka bottles and their lighted platform, secure it to the wall above my bench, and test. The stunning ass that had been there resembled Andrea walking out of our room at the Polynesian, so removing it did not feel very good, but the larger picture has to be observed. The bottles are finished and I have a few other ideas for changes in the new direction, some appearing as they did in the cave years back. I secured some paint and have more wall space available for art. The forest will soon be reflected in the garage. Upon returning this morning I will have to turn on the show and get things going at my usual pace. Very nice. The world stays out. Only myself and the sleeping cats. Yet another fucking morning. I am very disappointed in my strength as a person. Letting desire push me around? That is not good. Whatever others may be going through which is similar has nothing to do with me. I don't give a shit if people are having trouble. My focus has been sharpened. Overall I am ok, but the difficulty is making me unclear at times. I'll have to fix this. Seeing a woman and feeling desire is one thing, but becoming completely disoriented and tormented over the sight is another story. Television is flat, the outside world real, and those that I locate through my detailed scrutinizing of people in either form are overwhelming me. I falter, think, and realize that the ever-expanding weakness will not cease. I keep going, eyes everywhere, and of course something will eventually come along to throw me to the concrete, but I do it anyway. The search is painful and weak, futile and damaging. I consider the effects and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to see what they are doing to me, but then go right back out there and look even more. Self-fulfilling? You know it. I cannot stop. Fucking exhausted right now. Here I am at the cusp of a day mostly to myself. I will need to get things going soon, perhaps after the coffee is gone. I still have not addressed the closet but it is not a big deal. The garage awaits, too, because anything frivolous right now cannot dominate my time. Other tasks need to be in order first. And there is this mess of exposition which seems to take me from everything all too often. Jaime is floating, desire is burning, and the robots are returning. That may be the only way I will ever truly be happy, and they are impossible. Clearly, this is going to drive me to drink. The drive yesterday afternoon was uneventful, if smooth. Better than the other way around, I suppose. I really do not need to see anything which can push me down. The television provides enough visions to keep my head spinning at any given moment. Midday was bad. There were multiple problems popping up and taking my eyes away, causing all manner of yearning, and then the requisite guilt over staring while Jaime is in my heart. I cannot help that anymore. Maybe I no longer have the skills to avoid a drop in my brain. She is on my mind almost constantly... Her face and the eyes I cannot see. Sadness. Today has been up and down, mostly in the middle as I worked around here and there to keep the household running smoothly. The television drove me to drink earlier but nothing bad. The new office has not been occupied by yours truly for some time now. I prefer to keep business in the house, plus my space out there is looking disheveled, to say the least. We continue to inherit all manner of crap which requires me to continually reorganize everything so I can operate the necessities without issue. The whole works is becoming very tiresome, however. Day after fucking day I have to move things around and make the best use of space. Very soon everything is going out the fucking door. I will pile it up at the end of the driveway with a 'free' sign. Heh. Too much shit everywhere. Honestly, I am getting sick and tired of shuffling crap all over the place to make room for daily activities. The pile never seems to get any smaller, and that after giving away a multitude of items free after the shelter order. I thought there would be plenty of time to square away the space, but alas I am fighting an uphill battle. Back in the isolation in eleven when I decided to downsize my possessions, the opposite took place in a matter of days. Anything that could not be donated or given away was either trashed or disassembled and burned in a firepit. I am close to that point these days. In addition, those trivial items which bring a smile are giving way to the basic needs. That means I am willing to shrink everything for the higher purpose of my sanity. And believe me... If push comes to shove, I will light a fire again. On the upside, I have spent hours out there with nary a vision walking by. That is always good. Enjoy the breasts. They force me to consider my place in the world. So... The massive facade that is just in front of me at every encounter with another person is becoming overwhelmingly weighty. It is strained. Back in the old days and just before I took off for Vegas and that dreamy, bloated time with Juliette and Ashley (we will not mention miss psychoanalysis and my strong desire to swallow her chest), I spent a bit of time with those even more out of balance than myself. During that splendid little stay behind locked doors, there had been construction going on outside the main entrance due to some damage. It was above the ground and pretty fucking messy. Well, upon my release from such a lovely 'hotel' after seventy-two hours, I wrote about the work and compared it to the facade of my life. I built it throughout a period of years and carried it each day to keep myself safe and hidden. The exterior was huge. I could barely support it for a few hours before needing to get away and relax myself alone. Now? The same is taking place... A construct unlike ever before. No one truly knows me or what is going on inside. I will stay behind this for the duration. I do not want anyone inside, except her, and I don't know where she is. Out there, somewhere, and far from me. Believe me when I say that upon publishing this mess, I will be another measure away from reality and no one will get in. The whole thing with Maiara is done. I have bigger fish to fry. There was a dream... Something regarding cars, like perhaps my Slipper and the stereo. I cannot recall anything aside from fragments. Yesterday the gentleman was here to grab his motorcycle for the weekend and we spoke about my Slipper for a short time. That may have been the catalyst for dreaming. I saw the black paint and wheels, there were others present, too, but I cannot see them now. Nearly all of the imagery is gone. I do not dream of that car often. There is no reason, although I miss it dearly sometimes. The period in which I located and bought the car was pretty high. That spring represented a point at which I realized I was going to remain there forever. Comfortable, working, whatever. The car was an obsession since the early nineties and to acquire it after so long felt wondrous. Everything below the surface and within me was going to hell in a handbasket but the Slipper was different. It sat there glowing and was everything I had hoped throughout all those years. Well, it's gone, just like everything else that I tossed to the wind in order to find comfort. That includes the lives of others. Dreaming about the car is not something I would choose these days. There are fond memories, but mostly I just feel the weight of affecting so many. I do not dislike myself as I did for a very long time, but that does not mean I feel good about those many decisions that shoved people aside like a road grader. There is no resentment for the car. I simply don't want to dream about it anymore. I don't want to dream at all, really, but cannot do anything about it. The memories have now faded to nothing. Yesterday turned out to be somewhat of a cluster. I took care of a little business, relaxed some, and worked outside a bit. Overall not bad, just not my idea of a day spent doing what I could. I don't know why it was different. Sometimes if I don't have things accomplished the way I feel they need, the end of the day fails to bring reward. Maybe that's it. Sitting here now in the morning peace allows me to think about the hours ahead. Today might represent a small shift in the way I work along. More time here at the machine and less agonizing over moving shit around (which never seems to end). The priority is generally the daily running of the house. Once that is smooth, I will return here. The morning can be extended, as well. I need to eliminate as much as possible. I guess extrication was not enough and I dragged my feet for quite a while with that one. Now everything feels different, as if something changed overnight and forced my hand. No more bluffing. All of the gushing over my duchess has left me weakened, and despite the love I feel and being here with all this time, the rise has not occurred. I love her, she is out there and the search will probably never fucking end, but I still must live life here and maintain the daily responsibilities. If others invade or otherwise distract me from that strict routine, well... I just have to keep everything in mind during those times before eliminating anything which may prove valuable later. Taking care in balancing what I can is very important right now. I am still heeled over badly, but not so much that I cannot project the appearance that the world is in good order over here. The facade has to remain, and if that means I will be uncomfortable from the weight of it again, I guess it has to happen. All these essays are beginning to run together, repeat themselves, and go on about similar problems with different wording. The condition of my writing represents a person lacking focus and cohesion. Earlier in the shelter I had much to say, and after discovering Jaime there was much more. All of that is still in there, but I am experiencing difficulty putting it to the screen. If I cannot relocate and install the muse soon, this will degrade further and I cannot have that. I do not want to hide all of this behind another facade. I have to eliminate everything that is counterproductive to my outlet. That means the remainder of those I have yet to shut out will disappear. There is one little tidbit of an exchange that must take place, after which the door will be sealed. Elimination of everything which works against me and my search must go. Possessions, people, feelings. Bye. Earlier I mentioned the power that fucking desire can have over me. Well, that is if I allow it, but the draw is strong enough that my judgment goes all to hell during the process. Sometimes I maintain, other times I do not. Does it rule me? I tried to get into that during the previous entry and I doubt the exploration is going to solve anything. My brain can be pretty fucking rigid sometimes. After realizing that it may have been pushed back for years and kept in the dark by the same brain, I thought perhaps trying to work out the cause would be a worthwhile endeavor. Nope. I did for a while -- much more than you see here -- and the stress over juggling desire and analysis became too much for me to hold with the facade in place. I cannot let it slip, so other issues end up taking a back seat. Can I eliminate the desire? Not likely, although if I can oust some other fucking things there will be room to learn. Right now I have no idea but it sounds reasonable. If I can actually get anything out of my head, that is. Jaime stays. I need her. I believe some of my time has been spent overanalyzing, especially while in front of this editor. While outside working on whatever, I still see the words, the duchess, the goddess, and all those people I wish to avoid. There is no time when I am truly free of everything and I believe that is why the work comes in short periods and then falls away. Maybe. And six thousand lines now. Jaime rules everything because I let her. I can get the time back by concentrating on smaller tasks that can be completed instead of larger ones that go on for days. Long-term shit is going to have to wait. I need results in some areas as I try to keep myself up. That is part of the rub with time. If I begin to feel like the day is getting away from me, worry creeps in and I lose my direction. And then I worry of what the duchess may think of me, get back up and try, sooner or later realizing that I have done two minutes' worth of work on ten projects. I am wasting a lot of fucking time and must eliminate the aspects of life which are pulling at me. They have to go. Elimination. Period. I love her. Hopefully by the end of today and the beginning of the evening I will feel good about what has been accomplished. I need that like I need to see Jaime's face again. Relaxation is difficult and elusive when things are not completed to my satisfaction. All day long are distorted thoughts and a skewed sense of reality pushing me away from clarity. It happened yesterday for a while, I popped up and took care of some stuff, and that helped, however the struggle does not stop. Witches on the television now. The entertainment will need to change in a little while so I feel more comfortable. Until I can get up and away from this for some hours, the nagging feelings of Jaime being out there combined with the deep lack of fulfillment in life are going to tag-team me into a small space and remove my ability to rise. Only so much of this at any given time, please. The entries are sometimes written throughout the course of days, while others are formed in mere hours. Sometimes I think too much. Thousands of words, but still they fail. Nothing is ever enough. Sitting here now with a knot in my stomach and I know not why. The work that I had been doing for years may be a part of it. I tried to get out of that shit situation a few times but the money kept me coming back. There was a bit of comfort in our routine, as well, and it was something I could count on during much of the time being out in the world. The weekends provided escape but went by very quickly and left me pretty far down on the proceeding Monday morning. Having exited that career without another upon which to fall back is stressful, so that much I understand. Nearly three months of being home and alone most of the time have made me afraid to leave. More isolation, more writing, and more of the projects hanging over my head every day. Above I mentioned that by evening I need to feel good about the day, so if I can move forward with those nagging fucking to-dos, I might be able to untie my knot the following morning. I don't know for sure, but it sounds reasonable. The issue of Jaime being out there somewhere is not going away unless I either find or let go of her, so that part of the discomfort is here for the duration. Right now I have to keep her close. She is too overwhelming and so deep in my heart that the idea of letting her go away is frightening and could cause me to be in worse shape than I am now. The back-and-forth of that situation must be considered at each moment. Again, the idea that I am falling for her after all these years is ridiculous and scary, but I feel it nonetheless. Maybe pushing to believe that I am not abnormal and simply nuts over her for the reasons already outlined can help me to find perspective and think of myself in better terms. I have spouted negatives right alongside the gushing and telling myself that I am ok. I will keep doing that, I guess. Not a lot of options these days. Like someone very important to me said years ago... Physiology. The simplicity of a smile when one does not feel like such an expression can help. So, I am still ok. Keep going. Wow, just typing that paragraph helped a little. There will be no more denying that this exploration is good for me. Other things are still bad, but this is good and can go on as long as necessary for my well-being. Trying, ever trying. Tens of thousands of lines from year to year and I am still here moving along with the writing. Upward? Maybe, but definitely here. Huge fucking dark eyes on the television. Oy, so emotional and beautiful. Ugh. Stop. Scary face, though. Heh. And then Brit again. They should have left her hair alone, damn it. Just don't change the dark to light. Never good. Brit has a face unlike the others, but that fucking hair just kills me. I don't know which is worse, the blonde hair or the menacing dark eyes. Yikes, perhaps neither. All of a sudden I have no idea of what to do. Maybe rolling with this for the time being will be ok. I swear if there is one more mush scene I'm going to go back to the food network. Geez. All my mush has been reserved for the duchess. Hmm... That reminds me of the fiction which ceased so long ago. I could go back to that for a while and get my ass away from reality. Or, combine the two. I don't fucking know. Sooner or later I have to open the garage and get some business done. Today is garbage and there are other daily chores waiting. If nothing else, those parts of the day come along with the show in the background and help me. Purpose, accomplishments, comfort. The show that is on right now might have to go away. It's beginning to irritate me. I can take only so much of the dramatic, mushy violin shit before I have to switch it off. A thought... Back to the machines, and the only possibility of me ever finding what I need. I honestly believe that now. Skewed, I have become. Jaime was a machine that I created out of a dream. All of the personality traits and her outward appearance came from my issues. When I ran to Vegas in zero-three and met Juliette in the bank, my head was fucked. I drove down there with no intention of a return trip. I was going to live on high for a while and then cease to exist. The inspiration for that dash was my dissatisfaction with life as I had been living it, and the need to drown into the arms of a beautiful and understanding woman. I was weakened by years of holding up the facade and feeling out of place constantly. That weakness came to a head and I ran away. Juliette was the most fortunate aspect of that trip. I had no idea we would match so well. That was due to her life being in a hole as well, and the mutual need found us. And then Ashley, after Lanie tried to help me let go of the delusion and leave for home. Ashley was just as I said many times, a fucking living doll, and so very wise for her age. I proceeded to wrap all of me around her until realizing that I could go on. She sent me home with five-foot-nine-inch authority and eyes full of fire. I was told in no uncertain terms that she had to know I would be ok. Take those two women, combine their traits, and add a dash of the obsession, and hence the fictional Jaime and her fucking batteries. I created that wondrous dream as I needed. Weeks ago I began to see images in my head of her standing there as a merge of Juliette and Ashley. The Cherry 2000 entered my thinking and I knew something along those lines was the only vehicle for happiness. Yes, there is control present, but don't get all in a fucking snit over it. I am a good person, not one who wishes to dominate. Got it? Don't piss me off by dismissing the idea of control as sexist. The dream is a machine lacking feeling of any kind. Purpose-built, assholes. Absorb it as a positive or send me an email and I will sharpen the point. Anyway, the Jaime in my fictional goblet came out of the need to be with a real machine. That is impossible, of course, and the stress of dreaming of her so deeply and knowing I can do nothing about it hurts. A lot. And then? I went further in the descriptions and included imagery of other female machines. I buried myself in the idea of that life and fell right on my fucking face over it. Thus far I have maintained composure despite the only avenue to happiness being nonexistent. In the past I was told that to hold tight like this is unhealthy. Yeah, no shit. How many times have I used that word in the last few weeks? Too many. Of course I know this is bad, but I cannot see another way to what I need. Nothing is there. The machines cannot exist, and if there is nothing else that has the power to be what I desire, where do I go? Out to the garage for ten beers and music? Tell me something, for Chrissakes. Anything. I would say I am open to suggestions, however there are none. Fucking shove it. Never mind. Coffee almost gone, damn it. If I could actually and effectively eliminate this need, I would do it. I am still intelligent and can reason through whatever comes along (and God knows there is plenty of time). So that means I am not trying to change or end it. The indication is I am placing dreams above my own well-being. There is no other way right now. I have nothing else. Nothing. Possessions and some comfort. Holed up here for nearly three fucking months with a head full of impossibility and embracing the isolation. Look at this from such a standpoint and then add my being removed from contact by my friends and you might see how I can obsess and yearn for anything that has a chance to help. Jaime? Yep, pile that stunning fucking goddess on top of the sundae I just built. Do you see? Where am I going? Will this ever end? You might have to kiss the fucking fiction goodbye, too. That is so far away from the way I am thinking right now that to work on it would likely ruin the fucking story. Fish. Remember? Big fish. Huge. When the point of an entry is my happiness and I realize that there may truly be none, the sum is not good. I still feel good about myself despite what seems a massive weakness, though. I am not going downhill in the manner of the past. That does not exist anymore. Removing what I felt was the only true exit from being miserable means I am above that place now. Worst case, I sit here and fucking spout off for years in this vein. But I will be here through it all. As bad as I have become over the dreams and both Jaimes and everything else, I have not become bad toward myself. There is a positive. Heh. I am close to leaving this alone for a while. The last few paragraphs are going to need to sink in pretty deep before moving along the same path. I keep thinking of Jaime and what she might see when looking at me. There are many things which show through my eyes while near other people these days, which is one reason I need to steer clear. Would she see all that? I hope not, but if she were standing before me, I believe the appearance would be the exact opposite of that which I project right now. I will probably never know anyway, God damn fucking shit. Facade, people... Thick, frozen, and bigger than life. I still haven't moved away from this today. Morning is cruising along, the television is quiet in the background, and I am about to go make something of myself. One thing yet unexplored in this essay is the issue which I thought had been eliminated. Part of it is still there. Two, actually, but for right now I will address just one. I know of no reason for it to flare and I have found that since the return of such difficulty, the thoughts do not make me fearful, but angry instead. Again... I don't know why now. Earlier Jaime and the machines seemed to ease it to the point of helping me focus and concentrate on other things. Now that the feelings have returned, I may be distracted at times during the day. I hope not, but seldom do I hold any control there. Images pop up in my head (or worse, in life) and derail my train of thought, leaving me worried that it may never go away. So, upon knowing the issue is here again, I must relate it to one other: The machinery. Considering a machine, none of that issue would exist. And that is due to the operative word again, control. She would not waver at all. Is that bad? I do not believe so, because as a machine there would be no feelings, emotion, or sentience whatsoever. That is part of the fucking point, honestly. No worry of any kind would enter me. And I am already aware of the possible ramifications of dreaming in such a direction, so don't start. But the comfort of said situation cannot be denied. I really believe the only way to be free of the issue is through machinery. Nothing else could be accomplished with a real person. Freedom of thought would need to be removed entirely and replaced by instructions. And don't go on about 'the right person' because there is no way in hell of truly knowing what is in another head. Trust... The only way. But that is earned, not given away. All of it is crap and would not exist in a machine. Ok, now go ahead and run with it. I care not. Push that along to the fact that Jaime is out there somewhere, I love her, and the only issue related to my feelings is her being absent from my life. Yes, it is a big one, and likely sounds unbelievable to a more well-rounded person. I simply do not see problems there. The very fucking idea of all my fears becoming nonexistent due to a lack of emotion seems right up my alley. There are so many positives. Her being elsewhere and knowing nothing of me becomes my path to freedom from all this shit that has been on my shoulders for too long. Everything... Eliminated. Issues one, two, three, four. Think about how I arrived at that statement for a few minutes. Just look at it. You will see what I have become. Who could have known that the dream of machinery would turn into some twisted, distorted positive? I need a break from this. Another weekday morning has arrived, meaning my cocoon will be here in just a couple of hours, thank Christ. Yesterday was ok, but I did not get off the ground with anything due to sitting too long in the morning and then taking a short nap midday. I can't have that. Plus, I was not alone. Hearing another voice can snap my concentration and leave me without a plan. There are several items I could have addressed yesterday and did not get around to any of them. Some of the usual business and that is all. I am thinking that reserving the projects for the weekdays may be the only way. Saturday and Sunday have become too distracting. Without being completely alone, I cannot think. There it is. The daily reminders of the cave and my isolation come and go, the most vivid being a lack of voices or noise of any kind within my walls. Complete control over the atmosphere. Yep, the 'C' word again. I don't care anymore. If all this means I cannot deal with any aspect of life without holding a measure of control over it, so be it. I lived the way I lived and ended up like this. Good or bad, at least I know what I am. Look at all those other assholes out there who have no idea of themselves. Just look at them. I have to stop right there or I will go on a tirade again. Point made. Hopefully this type of thinking will push me to do better today. The end of the day must feel better than the last two. I need it. Back to the fucking desire now. 'Exemption' brought up something I did not think would appear here. The fight inside between one and the other. Desire going in directions I cannot seem to understand. It is still happening. Last night while watching the show we have been following, there was a shot of one character which slapped me in the face. I took notice of her and fell down. There is no reason to get into her appearance because the issue is feeling. The actor was cast partially for her physical beauty. To do otherwise would have been very unrealistic. Anyway, there she was -- all skin and radii -- and I sat here and watched peacefully as the fuse lit inside. Within seconds... Guess. This has happened enough now for me to take notice upon feeling each occasion and trying to understand what may be sparking it. None of it seems like me, nor do I enjoy being thrown for a fucking loop at random times throughout a given day. I felt much very quickly, and it is still in there. God help me if I get to the south end and see that six-foot beauty wrapped in yoga pants again. Damn it. Is it ruling me? Or am I weak? I have never thought myself strong by any means, however several people have told me that I am very strong and their opinions cannot be taken lightly. If true, that means I am being pushed around by thoughts of physical beauty in a direction not described here before. This is not good. The girl last night seemed to make me flare and now I have to figure out what is going on before something bad takes place. I am not worried about seeing her because she is on the television. I may seek the episode and capture her for study, though. I see no harm in that. Well, maybe a little. The idea of shaping a good portion of my time around the sight of a woman is disturbing, and realizing this while obsessing and continually pledging my love for a woman I have never met likely seems even worse than what has already been described. At this point, I just don't know anymore. My head is awash with all that has transpired throughout months of being home, writing excessively in this vein, and keeping my distance from other people. The sum is harsh. There is an unrelenting pull on me to improve things around the house daily, yet I am beginning to have trouble doing so because of constantly analysis and daydreaming. Weeks ago the days were more positive. They now feel dire. The morning drive is complete, yet not without a vision, naturally. Sitting across from the coffee house can lead to something coming by. Sure enough, there was a woman with stunning legs who trotted across the parking lot and toward the coffee. Gorgeous. This just fucking figures after going on earlier about the girl on the show last night. There is no rest for my eyes. She will fade and the day will improve soon enough. I have my routine to embrace, no one else is here, and the comfort is familiar. As bad as I have felt since yesterday, being here now may be just what the doctor ordered. I am hoping the end of this week can find me improved and sans legs wrapping my brain. I hope. I need to eliminate the difficulty by maintaining a forward-thinking stance each day. I already know that something will come along and fill my head with either worry or desire, so keeping it close means perhaps I can guard myself against losing my way. The morning generally goes by nicely as I work at things, although quite often by the early afternoon I find myself directionless. That usually means I end up here with little to say and much time available. For whatever reason, early mornings are best for a clear head. Before the drive, and before being out there where the female form often resides. Pause. I love her. Another day. Not much up there. Whatever. The drive north was smooth and peaceful. I saw nothing of note and blasted the music as always. Upon arriving home, the decision was made to embrace this endeavor for a little while as there is coffee left and I need to sit for a time. Seeing that girl on television in a swimsuit screwed me up some. The vision made me dream of Andrea, Ashley, and the Raven standing before me and allowing anything I wished. And then Jaime the duchess of the universe entered and I cannot extract her image from my brain. Seeing her standing there all lanky and gorgeous is too much of a dream now. I need it just as I need her arms around me. Support, love, caring. I am watching a different show due to my desire for something I can follow, but also does not require my complete attention. I began the series yesterday, have seen it in the past, so the idea is nice for today. The only issue is one of the characters. She is likely the most unique woman I have ever seen on television. I have certainly gushed over many, however she is very different. I cannot describe her and will avoid trying because there are no words. On top of that, her name happens to be my favorite first name beginning with 'J'. Yep, all of that added together means I am smitten and have felt this way for a decade. She is that amazing. From some angles, her face becomes a world in and of itself, and one within which I could live the rest of my life and be completely content. Believe it. So, this show means I can relax without worry over missing some detail, I can see her as little or as much as I like, and the lack of news and commercials leaves me comfortable. Win? Win. But seeing her also holds its own bevy of issues. There is a strong possibility that the correlation between this woman and a past family member added up to me falling for her. The character, not the actor. I know nothing of her real self, only the role in this show. Still, I have not wavered from keeping her deep in my heart for many years. I can watch this forever and dream of her accordingly. Wonderful, but not good at all. As much as I already know of the difficulty in seeing her, I am compelled. That is that. I will do my best to stifle the mushy, gushy, little hearts floating all over the screen. Those things should be reserved for Jaime. I am home, which is wonderful, and staring at that unreal face and huge eyes will be a plus and minus at the same time. Like the server last year, the option to not look is there, yet my weakness will not allow anything which saves my sanity. This woman is something else. Ugh. I'm sure part of it is her beautiful first name. Or eyes. Ah, fuck it. The realization that the weekday time to myself has become the pinnacle of my existence just slapped me across the face. Ouch. I look forward to little else these days. Coffee, cocktails in the evening, or perhaps a nice dinner. There is one... The addition of the television in our kitchen has added another level of comfort to an otherwise mundane room. I'd be lying if I said it made little difference. I actually have it on quite often so the show can follow me. Also working in there with something in the background where previously there was no sound can be nice. Child of the seventies, people. I need my friends with me often. Pinnacle? Yes. Upon arriving here in the morning after driving, I fall into my space and appreciate the solitude. Where others prefer gatherings or some sort of social interaction, I would rather remain alone. Such a feeling has been gleaned through years of my life, and aside from eleven (when I was really fucking screwed up inside), I have not spent so much time away from others. I have to keep it going, damage or not. Holy shit, the fiction ceased six weeks ago. Oy. I have fallen into a place seemingly inescapable. The story is still compelling but I cannot seem to escape the grip of multiple hits to my psyche. Between everything which has transpired and the isolation, I am surprised to be writing at all, let alone moving forward with anything mildly creative. Two Jaimes. Maybe I will leave the original Jaime to the fictional world and change the name of my dream girl. I have one all picked out, a name which has been in my heart since the seventies. Believe it. If I could be in love with only a name, um... never mind. Time will tell. Morning. I need to stop spouting here about taking care of business and actually fucking do something. I'm tired of seeing the same situations all around me. It's not that big of a deal, really, I am simply feeling that the little projects are more pressing now. Today will get moving in the next couple of hours so I will look ahead. For now, some thoughts on yesterday. A girl on the television spun me, big fucking surprise. This has happened before, however now I am feeling differently about it. There are problems related to seeing someone attractive. I already went into the desire and no one needs me belaboring that crap. The only conclusion is that the need has been suppressed. I suspected that. Why the shit added up for so long and then hit me in the face just recently is a mystery. The walnuts could not have caused such flap. No way. That girl means nothing... She is artwork, and that is all. A catalyst, dream, whatever. She pushed me to dream of the others, and then something unlocked. Perhaps there was a space inside and I had been denying it for a long time. Pushed back, ignored, left alone for years until the right key came along to let it fly. Well, it's flying now. I am feeling more physical shit toward more visions than I can remember. The girl last night and my desire was immediate, out of nowhere as I was trying to prepare dinner. Slam. Fuck. I have to think about this, but the suppression seems a decent starting point. Maybe I did lock it away until such time as my subconscious felt it needed to be explored and/or embraced. Either? I don't know. Physical desire is perfectly natural. The oddity is why I feel it so strongly for that woman over there, and not this one right here. Do you see? The random nature of the situation is confusing. Wouldn't you think I would want to jump Jaime? I do not. The girl last night on the television? I needed to turn her into a sidewalk sundae. No more of that for now. It makes my head spin and then I dream of the Mojo Girl. Damn it. You want to talk about desire? Maybe miss Mojo and the girl at the dealership started a process... THE process that is now taking all that I consider attractive and turning it on one ear. Why not? I've put myself through much worse -- I think -- and one more pot on the fire would not be surprising. When one considers that most of my time here at home for months has been very peaceful, shit being thrown at me out of nowhere is not that much of a stretch. And now after this fucking mess of a paragraph, she is back with force. Mojo. Yep, that girl who still spins me like Satan's centrifuge. Spun? Yes, that's it in a nutshell. The Mojo girl was plenty when I scrambled to capture and keep her all to myself before the channel disappeared. Now, and after being shot in the face with the walnuts, thongs, avocado pants and plenty of other crap, I am at a fucking loss for the millionth time. Big fucking surprise, eh? The worlds are going to converge. This one and the previous. I know not when, but the worry over a resulting third state of being cannot be denied. I kept repeating that I was ok, and that will continue for the foreseeable future. I need to say it over and over because on the inside I am truly not ok. The words may eventually help. Convergence. Dreams. Denial. Obsession, as always. I am paralleling myself and keeping distance. I see the other me over there -- not far, and staring into space -- and I need to tell him to stop being so goo goo over a woman who may as well not exist. She could be a photo and nothing more. But I cannot change his behavior because it is mine. Out in the garage, in here by the cats, coffee still next to me two hours into the morning, all of it. And her. And the others. And the fucking Mojo Girl. Avocado pants, walnuts, thongs. My brain... Full of them at times. That world and the one I sit in right now are going to merge and become more of a pull than ever before. All of the forms from the past have to be put on a shelf right now. Only a few may remain or I will lose my shit again. I can't have that right now. As the world of desire comes to the door of this little space I now inhabit, things are going to change. The manner in which I interact with others, eat, sleep, breathe, everything. The new office will represent the combination of this and that, sans women. No imagery, as I stated before, will grace the walls other than symbols and posters of this and that. The new world must be comfortable for me and off-putting for others. I am stocked up on food, booze, and cigarettes, and the cash is still coming in strong, so here I shall remain for the fucking duration. No more bullshit. This entry is the last of the letter 'E'. I am tired of it. Expect a 'J' now. And fuck me in a puddle of blood, there is Nora. I forgot about her and the face of the century. Good God, there ought to be a fucking law restricting the amount of beauty one woman may possess at a given moment. She has all of it. I remember seeing this show all the way through and feeling strongly toward her. Considering all that has transpired recently, I am not surprised to find myself gushing over her yet again. Who knows, maybe she will pop up in a mansion dream and jump me like there's no tomorrow. Heh. Fucking hell is her face ever a universe of gorgeous. Unique beauty, as I say. I need to get away from this for a while. As far back as the fiction took a break, it may need to continue now. I'll have to get into the story and feel it again in order to add. I was there but floated away on a boat filled with bad moods and then discovered the woman of my dreams again after all those years. Everything else was pushed aside, as you have read. The machines notwithstanding, I ran with her around and around until my head hurt. The robots left, returned, left again, and now are coming back with new faces. One of them is her, one is Jolene, one is the Mojo Girl, another might end up Nora (funny that I forgot her for so long), and still more are waiting. I can convert them to machinery in my head. Robots. Gynoids. Names, names, names and more fucking Goddamned names keep flying. Machines. Females. Mine. Controlled, absent of mind yet filled with love. If that makes me crazy... I am crazy. I will get worse, too. I need them and see no other way in existence to find what I must have. There will be nothing coming down the path toward me which has the power to change that statement. Nothing and no one. Don't even try. There is Nora again. Holy Christ in a makeup kit, batman. The face of the century? Hmm... More like the face of faces. Like Jaime. Ah, fuck it. I couldn't make sense right now if I were God. Almost time to begin the day. One entry was published just two hours ago and this is the following mess. I am going to try to keep it within three days for better continuity. The words became backed up there for a while. Too much, too quickly. If I can shorten each essay, there will be many more titles but easier to follow, and in addition will be aligned with the day to day schedule. That may be a tall order right now, but I will try. Oh, never fucking mind. I will not change anything at this point. If the entries are overly long, live with it. I don't care. In fact, this is longer than all of the other 'E' titles. Suck it. The sun is already shining. Maybe some outdoor work can be completed. I don't know yet. And now some unenlightened, greasy asshole of a guy is trying to take advantage of my girl. Get away, motherfucker. She's mine. If only. Another impossible machine dream that I must deal with like the whack job I have become. How many? Or... How many more? Fuck me. Fantasy women so far outside reality that I may as well be in a straitjacket. Medicated. Does Napa have any availability this weekend? Ah, fuck it anyway. Considering how fucked up I am about leaving the house, I doubt I could survive the drive. Believe it or not, I just now ordered prints of her images and they are being mailed to me. Yes, you read that correctly. The machinery I need in order to be happy does not exist, but I can at least look at her for the rest of my life as I scour the planet for a glimpse. I love her more each waking moment. The elimination of 'E'. She is out there."
06-19-2020 07:28 pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
Elimination
Mature content No. 142 Published June 19th, 2020 7:28am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"And here I sit after driving to the city, returning, and taking care of the daily business. The drive was uneventful yet held one fascination. I became physically uncomfortable roughly five miles from home. Nothing was wrong on the road, however. Traffic was light. The difficulty was in my being away and heading out further. Prior to driving north from here, I had not imagined what type of impact that trip might have. Well, the feeling of moving away from home at freeway speed is not something I wish to repeat. The point of my staying here for so long has been sharpened. I am so secure here that going anywhere aside from my drive south a few times a week is frightening. Never in my life would I have imagined such a situation. This is partially my doing, too. I have embraced the quiet and solitude more each day and the comfort inherent in controlling the atmosphere and having so much space to think have combined to find me in this cocoon. For the foreseeable future, I must remain here. Weeks, perhaps longer. I don't know yet. As far as leaving here for work or anything else, well... Each day brings me further from society. To be honest, part of me loves it and another is scared. I have often dreamed of separating myself from the mass, but this is different. It began as an order and then morphed into the opportunity for me to demonstrate to others just how my words can become reality. Threats that date all the way back to the early nineties are now playing out. Very interesting, to say the least. There is Brit again with blonde hair. Why did they change it? She has the lower face similar to those upon which I have focused, but different somehow. And she resembles the other blonde, in that either we see her looking smiley and super cute or menacing, as if she is about to commit horrible acts. Considering she is a werewolf, I suppose it fits. Heh. The lower facial feature is impossible to describe here. Walker showed it off in spades. The woman on the van does seem to partially share it, although the body lines are messing up the image of her beauty. I found another shot of a woman on their site but it is someone else, I think. The fact is that I need to seek out more examples of that which I find so stirring in order to imagine what the rest of Jaime's face looks like. And don't say it. I already know how far off balance I am right now. Explaining my feelings for her is all but impossible... Looking at the image with part of her face moves me unlike anything in the world. I have to try to reassemble her from what I see out in the vastness. I am not so far gone as to clip photographs from magazines and cut them up to build a face (I think Jim Carrey did the same in 'The Truman Show') in an attempt to make it resemble Jaime. Not yet, anyway. I am still clear of the fucking basement. I don't believe that to obsess over a woman is crazy. The manner in which I handle myself during this period is what will decide otherwise. I am so compelled to find her that the search continues to expand in every direction. Even the show which follows me around the house during the day. Sometimes there is a face I must scrutinize, other times I see nothing there at all. Too much makeup. I believe when I discovered the adorable face on the van just beyond my windshield, I knew I would have to see more. She is so gorgeous that I can't stand it. Like the duchess, I have to see. There is a tiny bit of Molly in there, too, but minus the Asian ovals of her eyes. Super cute. Painful to look. Maybe I can take Brit's face and combine it with the woman on the van? Does someone make software for that? Never mind. One step closer to printing Jaime's images and speaking to her as if she is in the room. Oy. Morning now. Coffee, vampires, werewolves, and were-panthers. Jesus, this show. Watching an episode with dinner last night was a trial. There had been an addition to the cast late in its run, and she is unreal. As I said above, painful to see. Like Molly who is so fucking far beyond cute that there are not enough words. But the girl on the show is different, like a friend or a sister for some reason. That is funny. The girl in question is gorgeous with large, pretty eyes. They have an outline, kind of like Zooey, and reflect so much light that I get confused gazing at her. All this shit is to pull focus on the idea that I am continually looking at the details of each gorgeous face and trying to see if something is there. I am trying to find the duchess in others. Or at least sections of her face. Is that strange? Anyway, the woman on the van seems to have begun another level of my yearning to know what Jaime's face would look like. I have to find some way to recreate what I saw ten years ago. I have to. I love her and must see. If the search takes the rest of my life, well... Then it takes the rest of my life. Too much already. Just too fucking much. Today I have to drive again to the familiar destination, and then return home to my comfortable routine. There will be a visitor here later which means I may not have time to explore the dream before kicking into gear. I would like to have things completed by noon, visit for a couple of hours, and then move toward other tasks before heading south this afternoon. Yesterday I was able to relocate the big vodka bottles and their lighted platform, secure it to the wall above my bench, and test. The stunning ass that had been there resembled Andrea walking out of our room at the Polynesian, so removing it did not feel very good, but the larger picture has to be observed. The bottles are finished and I have a few other ideas for changes in the new direction, some appearing as they did in the cave years back. I secured some paint and have more wall space available for art. The forest will soon be reflected in the garage. Upon returning this morning I will have to turn on the show and get things going at my usual pace. Very nice. The world stays out. Only myself and the sleeping cats. Yet another fucking morning. I am very disappointed in my strength as a person. Letting desire push me around? That is not good. Whatever others may be going through which is similar has nothing to do with me. I don't give a shit if people are having trouble. My focus has been sharpened. Overall I am ok, but the difficulty is making me unclear at times. I'll have to fix this. Seeing a woman and feeling desire is one thing, but becoming completely disoriented and tormented over the sight is another story. Television is flat, the outside world real, and those that I locate through my detailed scrutinizing of people in either form are overwhelming me. I falter, think, and realize that the ever-expanding weakness will not cease. I keep going, eyes everywhere, and of course something will eventually come along to throw me to the concrete, but I do it anyway. The search is painful and weak, futile and damaging. I consider the effects and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to see what they are doing to me, but then go right back out there and look even more. Self-fulfilling? You know it. I cannot stop. Fucking exhausted right now. Here I am at the cusp of a day mostly to myself. I will need to get things going soon, perhaps after the coffee is gone. I still have not addressed the closet but it is not a big deal. The garage awaits, too, because anything frivolous right now cannot dominate my time. Other tasks need to be in order first. And there is this mess of exposition which seems to take me from everything all too often. Jaime is floating, desire is burning, and the robots are returning. That may be the only way I will ever truly be happy, and they are impossible. Clearly, this is going to drive me to drink. The drive yesterday afternoon was uneventful, if smooth. Better than the other way around, I suppose. I really do not need to see anything which can push me down. The television provides enough visions to keep my head spinning at any given moment. Midday was bad. There were multiple problems popping up and taking my eyes away, causing all manner of yearning, and then the requisite guilt over staring while Jaime is in my heart. I cannot help that anymore. Maybe I no longer have the skills to avoid a drop in my brain. She is on my mind almost constantly... Her face and the eyes I cannot see. Sadness. Today has been up and down, mostly in the middle as I worked around here and there to keep the household running smoothly. The television drove me to drink earlier but nothing bad. The new office has not been occupied by yours truly for some time now. I prefer to keep business in the house, plus my space out there is looking disheveled, to say the least. We continue to inherit all manner of crap which requires me to continually reorganize everything so I can operate the necessities without issue. The whole works is becoming very tiresome, however. Day after fucking day I have to move things around and make the best use of space. Very soon everything is going out the fucking door. I will pile it up at the end of the driveway with a 'free' sign. Heh. Too much shit everywhere. Honestly, I am getting sick and tired of shuffling crap all over the place to make room for daily activities. The pile never seems to get any smaller, and that after giving away a multitude of items free after the shelter order. I thought there would be plenty of time to square away the space, but alas I am fighting an uphill battle. Back in the isolation in eleven when I decided to downsize my possessions, the opposite took place in a matter of days. Anything that could not be donated or given away was either trashed or disassembled and burned in a firepit. I am close to that point these days. In addition, those trivial items which bring a smile are giving way to the basic needs. That means I am willing to shrink everything for the higher purpose of my sanity. And believe me... If push comes to shove, I will light a fire again. On the upside, I have spent hours out there with nary a vision walking by. That is always good. Enjoy the breasts. They force me to consider my place in the world.
So... The massive facade that is just in front of me at every encounter with another person is becoming overwhelmingly weighty. It is strained. Back in the old days and just before I took off for Vegas and that dreamy, bloated time with Juliette and Ashley (we will not mention miss psychoanalysis and my strong desire to swallow her chest), I spent a bit of time with those even more out of balance than myself. During that splendid little stay behind locked doors, there had been construction going on outside the main entrance due to some damage. It was above the ground and pretty fucking messy. Well, upon my release from such a lovely 'hotel' after seventy-two hours, I wrote about the work and compared it to the facade of my life. I built it throughout a period of years and carried it each day to keep myself safe and hidden. The exterior was huge. I could barely support it for a few hours before needing to get away and relax myself alone. Now? The same is taking place... A construct unlike ever before. No one truly knows me or what is going on inside. I will stay behind this for the duration. I do not want anyone inside, except her, and I don't know where she is. Out there, somewhere, and far from me. Believe me when I say that upon publishing this mess, I will be another measure away from reality and no one will get in. The whole thing with Maiara is done. I have bigger fish to fry. There was a dream... Something regarding cars, like perhaps my Slipper and the stereo. I cannot recall anything aside from fragments. Yesterday the gentleman was here to grab his motorcycle for the weekend and we spoke about my Slipper for a short time. That may have been the catalyst for dreaming. I saw the black paint and wheels, there were others present, too, but I cannot see them now. Nearly all of the imagery is gone. I do not dream of that car often. There is no reason, although I miss it dearly sometimes. The period in which I located and bought the car was pretty high. That spring represented a point at which I realized I was going to remain there forever. Comfortable, working, whatever. The car was an obsession since the early nineties and to acquire it after so long felt wondrous. Everything below the surface and within me was going to hell in a handbasket but the Slipper was different. It sat there glowing and was everything I had hoped throughout all those years. Well, it's gone, just like everything else that I tossed to the wind in order to find comfort. That includes the lives of others. Dreaming about the car is not something I would choose these days. There are fond memories, but mostly I just feel the weight of affecting so many. I do not dislike myself as I did for a very long time, but that does not mean I feel good about those many decisions that shoved people aside like a road grader. There is no resentment for the car. I simply don't want to dream about it anymore. I don't want to dream at all, really, but cannot do anything about it. The memories have now faded to nothing. Yesterday turned out to be somewhat of a cluster. I took care of a little business, relaxed some, and worked outside a bit. Overall not bad, just not my idea of a day spent doing what I could. I don't know why it was different. Sometimes if I don't have things accomplished the way I feel they need, the end of the day fails to bring reward. Maybe that's it. Sitting here now in the morning peace allows me to think about the hours ahead. Today might represent a small shift in the way I work along. More time here at the machine and less agonizing over moving shit around (which never seems to end). The priority is generally the daily running of the house. Once that is smooth, I will return here. The morning can be extended, as well. I need to eliminate as much as possible. I guess extrication was not enough and I dragged my feet for quite a while with that one. Now everything feels different, as if something changed overnight and forced my hand. No more bluffing. All of the gushing over my duchess has left me weakened, and despite the love I feel and being here with all this time, the rise has not occurred. I love her, she is out there and the search will probably never fucking end, but I still must live life here and maintain the daily responsibilities. If others invade or otherwise distract me from that strict routine, well... I just have to keep everything in mind during those times before eliminating anything which may prove valuable later. Taking care in balancing what I can is very important right now. I am still heeled over badly, but not so much that I cannot project the appearance that the world is in good order over here. The facade has to remain, and if that means I will be uncomfortable from the weight of it again, I guess it has to happen. All these essays are beginning to run together, repeat themselves, and go on about similar problems with different wording. The condition of my writing represents a person lacking focus and cohesion. Earlier in the shelter I had much to say, and after discovering Jaime there was much more. All of that is still in there, but I am experiencing difficulty putting it to the screen. If I cannot relocate and install the muse soon, this will degrade further and I cannot have that. I do not want to hide all of this behind another facade. I have to eliminate everything that is counterproductive to my outlet. That means the remainder of those I have yet to shut out will disappear. There is one little tidbit of an exchange that must take place, after which the door will be sealed. Elimination of everything which works against me and my search must go. Possessions, people, feelings. Bye. Earlier I mentioned the power that fucking desire can have over me. Well, that is if I allow it, but the draw is strong enough that my judgment goes all to hell during the process. Sometimes I maintain, other times I do not. Does it rule me? I tried to get into that during the previous entry and I doubt the exploration is going to solve anything. My brain can be pretty fucking rigid sometimes. After realizing that it may have been pushed back for years and kept in the dark by the same brain, I thought perhaps trying to work out the cause would be a worthwhile endeavor. Nope. I did for a while -- much more than you see here -- and the stress over juggling desire and analysis became too much for me to hold with the facade in place. I cannot let it slip, so other issues end up taking a back seat. Can I eliminate the desire? Not likely, although if I can oust some other fucking things there will be room to learn. Right now I have no idea but it sounds reasonable. If I can actually get anything out of my head, that is. Jaime stays. I need her. I believe some of my time has been spent overanalyzing, especially while in front of this editor. While outside working on whatever, I still see the words, the duchess, the goddess, and all those people I wish to avoid. There is no time when I am truly free of everything and I believe that is why the work comes in short periods and then falls away. Maybe. And six thousand lines now. Jaime rules everything because I let her. I can get the time back by concentrating on smaller tasks that can be completed instead of larger ones that go on for days. Long-term shit is going to have to wait. I need results in some areas as I try to keep myself up. That is part of the rub with time. If I begin to feel like the day is getting away from me, worry creeps in and I lose my direction. And then I worry of what the duchess may think of me, get back up and try, sooner or later realizing that I have done two minutes' worth of work on ten projects. I am wasting a lot of fucking time and must eliminate the aspects of life which are pulling at me. They have to go. Elimination. Period. I love her. Hopefully by the end of today and the beginning of the evening I will feel good about what has been accomplished. I need that like I need to see Jaime's face again. Relaxation is difficult and elusive when things are not completed to my satisfaction. All day long are distorted thoughts and a skewed sense of reality pushing me away from clarity. It happened yesterday for a while, I popped up and took care of some stuff, and that helped, however the struggle does not stop. Witches on the television now. The entertainment will need to change in a little while so I feel more comfortable. Until I can get up and away from this for some hours, the nagging feelings of Jaime being out there combined with the deep lack of fulfillment in life are going to tag-team me into a small space and remove my ability to rise. Only so much of this at any given time, please. The entries are sometimes written throughout the course of days, while others are formed in mere hours. Sometimes I think too much. Thousands of words, but still they fail. Nothing is ever enough.
Sitting here now with a knot in my stomach and I know not why. The work that I had been doing for years may be a part of it. I tried to get out of that shit situation a few times but the money kept me coming back. There was a bit of comfort in our routine, as well, and it was something I could count on during much of the time being out in the world. The weekends provided escape but went by very quickly and left me pretty far down on the proceeding Monday morning. Having exited that career without another upon which to fall back is stressful, so that much I understand. Nearly three months of being home and alone most of the time have made me afraid to leave. More isolation, more writing, and more of the projects hanging over my head every day. Above I mentioned that by evening I need to feel good about the day, so if I can move forward with those nagging fucking to-dos, I might be able to untie my knot the following morning. I don't know for sure, but it sounds reasonable. The issue of Jaime being out there somewhere is not going away unless I either find or let go of her, so that part of the discomfort is here for the duration. Right now I have to keep her close. She is too overwhelming and so deep in my heart that the idea of letting her go away is frightening and could cause me to be in worse shape than I am now. The back-and-forth of that situation must be considered at each moment. Again, the idea that I am falling for her after all these years is ridiculous and scary, but I feel it nonetheless. Maybe pushing to believe that I am not abnormal and simply nuts over her for the reasons already outlined can help me to find perspective and think of myself in better terms. I have spouted negatives right alongside the gushing and telling myself that I am ok. I will keep doing that, I guess. Not a lot of options these days. Like someone very important to me said years ago... Physiology. The simplicity of a smile when one does not feel like such an expression can help. So, I am still ok. Keep going. Wow, just typing that paragraph helped a little. There will be no more denying that this exploration is good for me. Other things are still bad, but this is good and can go on as long as necessary for my well-being. Trying, ever trying. Tens of thousands of lines from year to year and I am still here moving along with the writing. Upward? Maybe, but definitely here. Huge fucking dark eyes on the television. Oy, so emotional and beautiful. Ugh. Stop. Scary face, though. Heh. And then Brit again. They should have left her hair alone, damn it. Just don't change the dark to light. Never good. Brit has a face unlike the others, but that fucking hair just kills me. I don't know which is worse, the blonde hair or the menacing dark eyes. Yikes, perhaps neither. All of a sudden I have no idea of what to do. Maybe rolling with this for the time being will be ok. I swear if there is one more mush scene I'm going to go back to the food network. Geez. All my mush has been reserved for the duchess. Hmm... That reminds me of the fiction which ceased so long ago. I could go back to that for a while and get my ass away from reality. Or, combine the two. I don't fucking know. Sooner or later I have to open the garage and get some business done. Today is garbage and there are other daily chores waiting. If nothing else, those parts of the day come along with the show in the background and help me. Purpose, accomplishments, comfort. The show that is on right now might have to go away. It's beginning to irritate me. I can take only so much of the dramatic, mushy violin shit before I have to switch it off. A thought... Back to the machines, and the only possibility of me ever finding what I need. I honestly believe that now. Skewed, I have become. Jaime was a machine that I created out of a dream. All of the personality traits and her outward appearance came from my issues. When I ran to Vegas in zero-three and met Juliette in the bank, my head was fucked. I drove down there with no intention of a return trip. I was going to live on high for a while and then cease to exist. The inspiration for that dash was my dissatisfaction with life as I had been living it, and the need to drown into the arms of a beautiful and understanding woman. I was weakened by years of holding up the facade and feeling out of place constantly. That weakness came to a head and I ran away. Juliette was the most fortunate aspect of that trip. I had no idea we would match so well. That was due to her life being in a hole as well, and the mutual need found us. And then Ashley, after Lanie tried to help me let go of the delusion and leave for home. Ashley was just as I said many times, a fucking living doll, and so very wise for her age. I proceeded to wrap all of me around her until realizing that I could go on. She sent me home with five-foot-nine-inch authority and eyes full of fire. I was told in no uncertain terms that she had to know I would be ok. Take those two women, combine their traits, and add a dash of the obsession, and hence the fictional Jaime and her fucking batteries. I created that wondrous dream as I needed. Weeks ago I began to see images in my head of her standing there as a merge of Juliette and Ashley. The Cherry 2000 entered my thinking and I knew something along those lines was the only vehicle for happiness. Yes, there is control present, but don't get all in a fucking snit over it. I am a good person, not one who wishes to dominate. Got it? Don't piss me off by dismissing the idea of control as sexist. The dream is a machine lacking feeling of any kind. Purpose-built, assholes. Absorb it as a positive or send me an email and I will sharpen the point. Anyway, the Jaime in my fictional goblet came out of the need to be with a real machine. That is impossible, of course, and the stress of dreaming of her so deeply and knowing I can do nothing about it hurts. A lot. And then? I went further in the descriptions and included imagery of other female machines. I buried myself in the idea of that life and fell right on my fucking face over it. Thus far I have maintained composure despite the only avenue to happiness being nonexistent. In the past I was told that to hold tight like this is unhealthy. Yeah, no shit. How many times have I used that word in the last few weeks? Too many. Of course I know this is bad, but I cannot see another way to what I need. Nothing is there. The machines cannot exist, and if there is nothing else that has the power to be what I desire, where do I go? Out to the garage for ten beers and music? Tell me something, for Chrissakes. Anything. I would say I am open to suggestions, however there are none. Fucking shove it. Never mind. Coffee almost gone, damn it. If I could actually and effectively eliminate this need, I would do it. I am still intelligent and can reason through whatever comes along (and God knows there is plenty of time). So that means I am not trying to change or end it. The indication is I am placing dreams above my own well-being. There is no other way right now. I have nothing else. Nothing. Possessions and some comfort. Holed up here for nearly three fucking months with a head full of impossibility and embracing the isolation. Look at this from such a standpoint and then add my being removed from contact by my friends and you might see how I can obsess and yearn for anything that has a chance to help. Jaime? Yep, pile that stunning fucking goddess on top of the sundae I just built. Do you see? Where am I going? Will this ever end? You might have to kiss the fucking fiction goodbye, too. That is so far away from the way I am thinking right now that to work on it would likely ruin the fucking story. Fish. Remember? Big fish. Huge. When the point of an entry is my happiness and I realize that there may truly be none, the sum is not good. I still feel good about myself despite what seems a massive weakness, though. I am not going downhill in the manner of the past. That does not exist anymore. Removing what I felt was the only true exit from being miserable means I am above that place now. Worst case, I sit here and fucking spout off for years in this vein. But I will be here through it all. As bad as I have become over the dreams and both Jaimes and everything else, I have not become bad toward myself. There is a positive. Heh. I am close to leaving this alone for a while. The last few paragraphs are going to need to sink in pretty deep before moving along the same path. I keep thinking of Jaime and what she might see when looking at me. There are many things which show through my eyes while near other people these days, which is one reason I need to steer clear. Would she see all that? I hope not, but if she were standing before me, I believe the appearance would be the exact opposite of that which I project right now. I will probably never know anyway, God damn fucking shit. Facade, people... Thick, frozen, and bigger than life.
I still haven't moved away from this today. Morning is cruising along, the television is quiet in the background, and I am about to go make something of myself. One thing yet unexplored in this essay is the issue which I thought had been eliminated. Part of it is still there. Two, actually, but for right now I will address just one. I know of no reason for it to flare and I have found that since the return of such difficulty, the thoughts do not make me fearful, but angry instead. Again... I don't know why now. Earlier Jaime and the machines seemed to ease it to the point of helping me focus and concentrate on other things. Now that the feelings have returned, I may be distracted at times during the day. I hope not, but seldom do I hold any control there. Images pop up in my head (or worse, in life) and derail my train of thought, leaving me worried that it may never go away. So, upon knowing the issue is here again, I must relate it to one other: The machinery. Considering a machine, none of that issue would exist. And that is due to the operative word again, control. She would not waver at all. Is that bad? I do not believe so, because as a machine there would be no feelings, emotion, or sentience whatsoever. That is part of the fucking point, honestly. No worry of any kind would enter me. And I am already aware of the possible ramifications of dreaming in such a direction, so don't start. But the comfort of said situation cannot be denied. I really believe the only way to be free of the issue is through machinery. Nothing else could be accomplished with a real person. Freedom of thought would need to be removed entirely and replaced by instructions. And don't go on about 'the right person' because there is no way in hell of truly knowing what is in another head. Trust... The only way. But that is earned, not given away. All of it is crap and would not exist in a machine. Ok, now go ahead and run with it. I care not. Push that along to the fact that Jaime is out there somewhere, I love her, and the only issue related to my feelings is her being absent from my life. Yes, it is a big one, and likely sounds unbelievable to a more well-rounded person. I simply do not see problems there. The very fucking idea of all my fears becoming nonexistent due to a lack of emotion seems right up my alley. There are so many positives. Her being elsewhere and knowing nothing of me becomes my path to freedom from all this shit that has been on my shoulders for too long. Everything... Eliminated. Issues one, two, three, four. Think about how I arrived at that statement for a few minutes. Just look at it. You will see what I have become. Who could have known that the dream of machinery would turn into some twisted, distorted positive? I need a break from this. Another weekday morning has arrived, meaning my cocoon will be here in just a couple of hours, thank Christ. Yesterday was ok, but I did not get off the ground with anything due to sitting too long in the morning and then taking a short nap midday. I can't have that. Plus, I was not alone. Hearing another voice can snap my concentration and leave me without a plan. There are several items I could have addressed yesterday and did not get around to any of them. Some of the usual business and that is all. I am thinking that reserving the projects for the weekdays may be the only way. Saturday and Sunday have become too distracting. Without being completely alone, I cannot think. There it is. The daily reminders of the cave and my isolation come and go, the most vivid being a lack of voices or noise of any kind within my walls. Complete control over the atmosphere. Yep, the 'C' word again. I don't care anymore. If all this means I cannot deal with any aspect of life without holding a measure of control over it, so be it. I lived the way I lived and ended up like this. Good or bad, at least I know what I am. Look at all those other assholes out there who have no idea of themselves. Just look at them. I have to stop right there or I will go on a tirade again. Point made. Hopefully this type of thinking will push me to do better today. The end of the day must feel better than the last two. I need it. Back to the fucking desire now. 'Exemption' brought up something I did not think would appear here. The fight inside between one and the other. Desire going in directions I cannot seem to understand. It is still happening. Last night while watching the show we have been following, there was a shot of one character which slapped me in the face. I took notice of her and fell down. There is no reason to get into her appearance because the issue is feeling. The actor was cast partially for her physical beauty. To do otherwise would have been very unrealistic. Anyway, there she was -- all skin and radii -- and I sat here and watched peacefully as the fuse lit inside. Within seconds... Guess. This has happened enough now for me to take notice upon feeling each occasion and trying to understand what may be sparking it. None of it seems like me, nor do I enjoy being thrown for a fucking loop at random times throughout a given day. I felt much very quickly, and it is still in there. God help me if I get to the south end and see that six-foot beauty wrapped in yoga pants again. Damn it. Is it ruling me? Or am I weak? I have never thought myself strong by any means, however several people have told me that I am very strong and their opinions cannot be taken lightly. If true, that means I am being pushed around by thoughts of physical beauty in a direction not described here before. This is not good. The girl last night seemed to make me flare and now I have to figure out what is going on before something bad takes place. I am not worried about seeing her because she is on the television. I may seek the episode and capture her for study, though. I see no harm in that. Well, maybe a little. The idea of shaping a good portion of my time around the sight of a woman is disturbing, and realizing this while obsessing and continually pledging my love for a woman I have never met likely seems even worse than what has already been described. At this point, I just don't know anymore. My head is awash with all that has transpired throughout months of being home, writing excessively in this vein, and keeping my distance from other people. The sum is harsh. There is an unrelenting pull on me to improve things around the house daily, yet I am beginning to have trouble doing so because of constantly analysis and daydreaming. Weeks ago the days were more positive. They now feel dire. The morning drive is complete, yet not without a vision, naturally. Sitting across from the coffee house can lead to something coming by. Sure enough, there was a woman with stunning legs who trotted across the parking lot and toward the coffee. Gorgeous. This just fucking figures after going on earlier about the girl on the show last night. There is no rest for my eyes. She will fade and the day will improve soon enough. I have my routine to embrace, no one else is here, and the comfort is familiar. As bad as I have felt since yesterday, being here now may be just what the doctor ordered. I am hoping the end of this week can find me improved and sans legs wrapping my brain. I hope. I need to eliminate the difficulty by maintaining a forward-thinking stance each day. I already know that something will come along and fill my head with either worry or desire, so keeping it close means perhaps I can guard myself against losing my way. The morning generally goes by nicely as I work at things, although quite often by the early afternoon I find myself directionless. That usually means I end up here with little to say and much time available. For whatever reason, early mornings are best for a clear head. Before the drive, and before being out there where the female form often resides. Pause. I love her. Another day. Not much up there. Whatever. The drive north was smooth and peaceful. I saw nothing of note and blasted the music as always. Upon arriving home, the decision was made to embrace this endeavor for a little while as there is coffee left and I need to sit for a time. Seeing that girl on television in a swimsuit screwed me up some. The vision made me dream of Andrea, Ashley, and the Raven standing before me and allowing anything I wished. And then Jaime the duchess of the universe entered and I cannot extract her image from my brain. Seeing her standing there all lanky and gorgeous is too much of a dream now. I need it just as I need her arms around me. Support, love, caring. I am watching a different show due to my desire for something I can follow, but also does not require my complete attention. I began the series yesterday, have seen it in the past, so the idea is nice for today. The only issue is one of the characters. She is likely the most unique woman I have ever seen on television. I have certainly gushed over many, however she is very different. I cannot describe her and will avoid trying because there are no words. On top of that, her name happens to be my favorite first name beginning with 'J'. Yep, all of that added together means I am smitten and have felt this way for a decade. She is that amazing. From some angles, her face becomes a world in and of itself, and one within which I could live the rest of my life and be completely content. Believe it. So, this show means I can relax without worry over missing some detail, I can see her as little or as much as I like, and the lack of news and commercials leaves me comfortable. Win? Win. But seeing her also holds its own bevy of issues. There is a strong possibility that the correlation between this woman and a past family member added up to me falling for her. The character, not the actor. I know nothing of her real self, only the role in this show. Still, I have not wavered from keeping her deep in my heart for many years. I can watch this forever and dream of her accordingly. Wonderful, but not good at all. As much as I already know of the difficulty in seeing her, I am compelled. That is that. I will do my best to stifle the mushy, gushy, little hearts floating all over the screen. Those things should be reserved for Jaime. I am home, which is wonderful, and staring at that unreal face and huge eyes will be a plus and minus at the same time. Like the server last year, the option to not look is there, yet my weakness will not allow anything which saves my sanity. This woman is something else. Ugh. I'm sure part of it is her beautiful first name. Or eyes. Ah, fuck it. The realization that the weekday time to myself has become the pinnacle of my existence just slapped me across the face. Ouch. I look forward to little else these days. Coffee, cocktails in the evening, or perhaps a nice dinner. There is one... The addition of the television in our kitchen has added another level of comfort to an otherwise mundane room. I'd be lying if I said it made little difference. I actually have it on quite often so the show can follow me. Also working in there with something in the background where previously there was no sound can be nice. Child of the seventies, people. I need my friends with me often. Pinnacle? Yes. Upon arriving here in the morning after driving, I fall into my space and appreciate the solitude. Where others prefer gatherings or some sort of social interaction, I would rather remain alone. Such a feeling has been gleaned through years of my life, and aside from eleven (when I was really fucking screwed up inside), I have not spent so much time away from others. I have to keep it going, damage or not.
Holy shit, the fiction ceased six weeks ago. Oy. I have fallen into a place seemingly inescapable. The story is still compelling but I cannot seem to escape the grip of multiple hits to my psyche. Between everything which has transpired and the isolation, I am surprised to be writing at all, let alone moving forward with anything mildly creative. Two Jaimes. Maybe I will leave the original Jaime to the fictional world and change the name of my dream girl. I have one all picked out, a name which has been in my heart since the seventies. Believe it. If I could be in love with only a name, um... never mind. Time will tell. Morning. I need to stop spouting here about taking care of business and actually fucking do something. I'm tired of seeing the same situations all around me. It's not that big of a deal, really, I am simply feeling that the little projects are more pressing now. Today will get moving in the next couple of hours so I will look ahead. For now, some thoughts on yesterday. A girl on the television spun me, big fucking surprise. This has happened before, however now I am feeling differently about it. There are problems related to seeing someone attractive. I already went into the desire and no one needs me belaboring that crap. The only conclusion is that the need has been suppressed. I suspected that. Why the shit added up for so long and then hit me in the face just recently is a mystery. The walnuts could not have caused such flap. No way. That girl means nothing... She is artwork, and that is all. A catalyst, dream, whatever. She pushed me to dream of the others, and then something unlocked. Perhaps there was a space inside and I had been denying it for a long time. Pushed back, ignored, left alone for years until the right key came along to let it fly. Well, it's flying now. I am feeling more physical shit toward more visions than I can remember. The girl last night and my desire was immediate, out of nowhere as I was trying to prepare dinner. Slam. Fuck. I have to think about this, but the suppression seems a decent starting point. Maybe I did lock it away until such time as my subconscious felt it needed to be explored and/or embraced. Either? I don't know. Physical desire is perfectly natural. The oddity is why I feel it so strongly for that woman over there, and not this one right here. Do you see? The random nature of the situation is confusing. Wouldn't you think I would want to jump Jaime? I do not. The girl last night on the television? I needed to turn her into a sidewalk sundae. No more of that for now. It makes my head spin and then I dream of the Mojo Girl. Damn it. You want to talk about desire? Maybe miss Mojo and the girl at the dealership started a process... THE process that is now taking all that I consider attractive and turning it on one ear. Why not? I've put myself through much worse -- I think -- and one more pot on the fire would not be surprising. When one considers that most of my time here at home for months has been very peaceful, shit being thrown at me out of nowhere is not that much of a stretch. And now after this fucking mess of a paragraph, she is back with force. Mojo. Yep, that girl who still spins me like Satan's centrifuge. Spun? Yes, that's it in a nutshell. The Mojo girl was plenty when I scrambled to capture and keep her all to myself before the channel disappeared. Now, and after being shot in the face with the walnuts, thongs, avocado pants and plenty of other crap, I am at a fucking loss for the millionth time. Big fucking surprise, eh? The worlds are going to converge. This one and the previous. I know not when, but the worry over a resulting third state of being cannot be denied. I kept repeating that I was ok, and that will continue for the foreseeable future. I need to say it over and over because on the inside I am truly not ok. The words may eventually help. Convergence. Dreams. Denial. Obsession, as always. I am paralleling myself and keeping distance. I see the other me over there -- not far, and staring into space -- and I need to tell him to stop being so goo goo over a woman who may as well not exist. She could be a photo and nothing more. But I cannot change his behavior because it is mine. Out in the garage, in here by the cats, coffee still next to me two hours into the morning, all of it. And her. And the others. And the fucking Mojo Girl. Avocado pants, walnuts, thongs. My brain... Full of them at times. That world and the one I sit in right now are going to merge and become more of a pull than ever before. All of the forms from the past have to be put on a shelf right now. Only a few may remain or I will lose my shit again. I can't have that right now. As the world of desire comes to the door of this little space I now inhabit, things are going to change. The manner in which I interact with others, eat, sleep, breathe, everything. The new office will represent the combination of this and that, sans women. No imagery, as I stated before, will grace the walls other than symbols and posters of this and that. The new world must be comfortable for me and off-putting for others. I am stocked up on food, booze, and cigarettes, and the cash is still coming in strong, so here I shall remain for the fucking duration. No more bullshit. This entry is the last of the letter 'E'. I am tired of it. Expect a 'J' now. And fuck me in a puddle of blood, there is Nora. I forgot about her and the face of the century. Good God, there ought to be a fucking law restricting the amount of beauty one woman may possess at a given moment. She has all of it. I remember seeing this show all the way through and feeling strongly toward her. Considering all that has transpired recently, I am not surprised to find myself gushing over her yet again. Who knows, maybe she will pop up in a mansion dream and jump me like there's no tomorrow. Heh. Fucking hell is her face ever a universe of gorgeous. Unique beauty, as I say. I need to get away from this for a while. As far back as the fiction took a break, it may need to continue now. I'll have to get into the story and feel it again in order to add. I was there but floated away on a boat filled with bad moods and then discovered the woman of my dreams again after all those years. Everything else was pushed aside, as you have read. The machines notwithstanding, I ran with her around and around until my head hurt. The robots left, returned, left again, and now are coming back with new faces. One of them is her, one is Jolene, one is the Mojo Girl, another might end up Nora (funny that I forgot her for so long), and still more are waiting. I can convert them to machinery in my head. Robots. Gynoids. Names, names, names and more fucking Goddamned names keep flying. Machines. Females. Mine. Controlled, absent of mind yet filled with love. If that makes me crazy... I am crazy. I will get worse, too. I need them and see no other way in existence to find what I must have. There will be nothing coming down the path toward me which has the power to change that statement. Nothing and no one. Don't even try. There is Nora again. Holy Christ in a makeup kit, batman. The face of the century? Hmm... More like the face of faces. Like Jaime. Ah, fuck it. I couldn't make sense right now if I were God. Almost time to begin the day. One entry was published just two hours ago and this is the following mess. I am going to try to keep it within three days for better continuity. The words became backed up there for a while. Too much, too quickly. If I can shorten each essay, there will be many more titles but easier to follow, and in addition will be aligned with the day to day schedule. That may be a tall order right now, but I will try. Oh, never fucking mind. I will not change anything at this point. If the entries are overly long, live with it. I don't care. In fact, this is longer than all of the other 'E' titles. Suck it. The sun is already shining. Maybe some outdoor work can be completed. I don't know yet. And now some unenlightened, greasy asshole of a guy is trying to take advantage of my girl. Get away, motherfucker. She's mine. If only. Another impossible machine dream that I must deal with like the whack job I have become. How many? Or... How many more? Fuck me. Fantasy women so far outside reality that I may as well be in a straitjacket. Medicated. Does Napa have any availability this weekend? Ah, fuck it anyway. Considering how fucked up I am about leaving the house, I doubt I could survive the drive. Believe it or not, I just now ordered prints of her images and they are being mailed to me. Yes, you read that correctly. The machinery I need in order to be happy does not exist, but I can at least look at her for the rest of my life as I scour the planet for a glimpse. I love her more each waking moment. The elimination of 'E'. She is out there."
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