05-16-2020 05:53 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Exaltation read ( words) "The subject of control goes all the way back to that period of the drawings. I had control over the atmosphere, the television, the designs, and my comfort level, for the most part. Control. Sometimes an illusion, sometimes real. I suppose that depends upon a limitless number of internal and external factors, but still the word is there. Was there. Here? Hmm. The routine is partially a matter of control. The point is not control, the point is the tertiary situation. The chores, activities, breaks, whatever. All of the things that I do while alone and those that help me to feel as if I am accomplishing what I set out to do on a given day. Tomorrow will be like that. Today is haphazard due to circumstances that must remain out of view. Soon I will head in that direction, though, and enjoy as much as I am able. Again, I need it. The familiarity, the normalcy, the comfort that I went to decent lengths to build into home. Need. Not want, that is something else entirely and I do not have the words right now. I am still reeling from the realization that an issue in my head has no solution. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing. That is it. The main issue now is trying to maintain a day-to-day balance while keeping said realization at arm's length as best I can. Otherwise it may consume me. I am feeling old, but still too young to lose it completely. In fact, this feels as difficult as the fucking desire that had been spawned by that fucking girl and the Goddamned walnuts. Yes, that shit again. Suck it. Want me to bring up the thongs? I didn't think so. Wasn't I speaking of control? Wow, what a fucking mind right now. Sex and control? Don't get me started. Heh. Back to the drawings. They are important for more than one reason. Years before the Midwest, I began crafting very exotic floor plans after a visit to Disneyland. That may have been in the eighties -- for a start -- and into the early nineties I went twice with the woman with whom I was in a relationship. During the first trip we were out along the Rivers of America and awaiting our first viewing of 'Fantasmic!'. Knowing there would be quite a crowd for the new show, we arrived early and staked our claim near the water's edge and put on our patience caps. We were next to the ropes that kept the traffic flowing to other parts of the park, and alongside a cast member who was charged with directing the same. She was pleasant and talkative, all the while maintaining the flow as necessary. A warm summer afternoon equals tons of guests. Well, at some point as the sun approached the horizon, I was gazing around at the architecture and noticed something that caught me off guard. There were people above two of the restaurants in New Orleans Square. I saw silhouettes through the curtains and realized quickly that they were not the famous animatronics for which Disney is known. They were indeed people, and occupying a space I had always assumed was just for looks or storage, or both. Nope. They were up there. I continued to spy the windows as we waited, and at one point I ventured to the restroom with the intention of seeing things more closely. And along the way I did not really notice others looking in the same direction. Disneyland is a wealth of scenery and they are the masters of the universe in sending guests' sight wherever they wish. I was different at that time, being the technically-minded individual who needed to know how everything worked. I studied everything. Upon realizing not only that something was going on up there, but moreso in seeing through one of the windows that the people were dressed to the nines, I simply had to know more. I took care of business and ventured back to my waiting area where the cast member greeted me pleasantly. Well, at that point I decided to push. She told me immediately that there was a private club above both buildings which spanned much of the upstairs. What? A hidden club? Wow. She proceeded to describe Club 33 -- the now-legendary private high-end place for those able to afford such -- and I became enamored. A restaurant originally designed and built at the direction of Walt Disney for the purpose of entertaining corporate sponsors. Holy crap, what a find. Needless to say, the years that followed had me seeking any and all information about anything else in that park that was not public knowledge. I ran with it. Too cool. Cut to after the show, which was beyond amazing, and we headed back toward the entrance to return to our hotel for the night. Along the way, we walked through Adventureland which took me to another world, for lack of a better description. Combined with the show, my new-found information about the club, and the beauty of a torch-lit walk past water and tropical plants, my head needed much time to process all of it. When we returned home, my floorplans began to change. They included water features, stone walls, and streams through living rooms. And then further, with secret passages and hidden spaces. Yes, I went that far, and still have the very first of the crazy designs to this day. I drew that house shortly after we moved across the country. And then came the home theater magazine that began the big drawings. It was an ad for a home automation system and showed off a huge room with a media wall the likes of which I had never imagined. I drew the first huge living room that mimicked the photo, and the rest of the home grew around it. On top of all that, the time in the Midwest was the beginning of my draw toward the feature film industry. Add the two and you can likely picture some of the ideas. The ad in the magazine, the idea of a theater inside the home, and the influence of my love for Disneyland... Everything came to a head on paper. Control? Very much. I have to head back into the house. We are nearing the hour of the dog-walking work of art that I must avoid. And now back in the garage for a bit. A visitor is coming to pick up a watch I repaired. Shit. Whatever. So, the home plans have a genesis. Those massive designs represented my need to control the surroundings and maintain my peace of mind. That may sound strange, but the truth is the desire to be within familiarity and security can be overwhelmingly powerful. What I accomplished was a combination of the two, with much influence coming from the exotic nature of the incredible theming I had seen plus my own blend of creativity thrown in so the plans were unique. I had control over everything. Further, the idea of sitting within my little cocoon that was the house (over which I also had control) and designing to my heart's content began a process that lives to this very moment. I am doing it right now. Heuristic algorithms Jaime. No, not Jamie... The other one. Think of Andrea with batteries. Heh. And then think of her warmth, appearance, loving manner, devotion, and endless affection never changing. Yep, all through time she would be exactly the same. And then go one step further. She would have the singular ability to change herself by her own accord or request. Yes, I said change. Keep in mind that there would be no limit to such an action. Color, height, weight, everything. Even her reactions to various situations could be tailored in any number of different ways. Sound crazy? Such is the idea of a machine, and something brought to yours truly by decades of influence. She is a part of the story, nothing more. But if you read the previous entry, you may also realize where these thoughts have taken me in the short time since meeting her several chapters back in time. And now let us build a bridge. Design. From the brain to the paper, and then here. By design. My own creation, like the homes. That has become another representation of control with facets that will either ruin me and keep me away from other people, or it will cause me to worsen over time with regard to writing. Following? Yes? I do not want to spell it out because the very idea is abnormal. The dreams are one thing, and yes they did help to press buttons which created the path to where I now reside, however the subject of the drawings and passage of time leading here is not so easy to see. From homes to those stories? It may not compute, and I may not have the ability to adequately describe what is going on here. In the last entry I mentioned that the ideas being transmitted there and the way I feel about this sort of thing are huge and could be damaging. Well, those words may have to be as far as this goes. I did my best to spell it out yet remain ambiguous enough for protection. And that may not be enough. I just don't know right now. The previous entry has lifted the idea so high that I cannot see down at the moment. Way up there. I do not see things or think in the same manner as even a year ago. Much of my life is different due to the situation in the world, but the larger differences are inside me. Changes. Each second of every hour all day long. The way I move around the house, the television, the music, booze, writing, projects... Everything is done differently now and I think about each process much more than months ago. Naturally the health climate pushed buttons and forced my previous routine to change, but most of what is going on now has been crafted by me. The idea is enormous. Back during the days when I threw myself into the home designs, the control present seemed simple. Those are drawings. Pencil, paper, other tools. Relaxing, thinking, and dreaming of being in those actual spaces helped me to escape the world I had chosen and placed me outside everything just enough to be stable. The dreaming is not always healthy (especially when it deepens), but I needed it. I dove in. Just like this. Do you see? The transition from the physical creation of plans that I loved and into the creation of something much more exotic and important to me has left the real-life ambition on the side of the road. There it is. The dreamy nature of the stories, the physical space I now inhabit, and the manner in which I think have all combined to change me from the inside out. And now throw in the idea which began the previous entry and the situation looks anything but bright. Yes, the truth is that the daily routine here is something I embrace and can enjoy. The massive downside is the other... The fucking machine. For whatever reason, they are connected. I need to understand how this happened. The combination can become very dangerous. Exalted beyond belief. Damn it. I should have called this 'The Passion and the Impossibility', but that title has been taken. I went pretty deep into the beginning of drawing those houses for good reason. All the years leading up to me having a partial realization that the future of me would be dependent upon technology that will not exist in my lifetime add up to less and less identifying with other people. And then combine that with the routine? Yep... A withdrawal of sorts. My head is getting pretty fucked up over this whole affair, but honestly I do not place blame anywhere. Not even myself. Wait... What? Really? That's right kids, I am fine on the inside, and at this point I thought I may have been really down over the idea that the world cannot and will not ever be what I need. I am ok. But my connections outside this new bubble of a universe are going to slowly be thinned. I cannot speak with anyone about it nor can I go out and seek counsel. None of that. I do not want to hear patronizing, placating horseshit just because they are available. Save it and let me self-analyze. This is huge, as I have stated more than thrice, and growing. The funniest part? I find it fascinating beyond description, and I can be pretty fucking detailed. Heh. Machines. Do you see them? Machines Spending time in the kitchen yesterday morning showed me that no matter my control over the media, even the simplest of choices can result in me daydreaming and sliding down a hill. Three times across the screen and I had to think deeply for a while. Not like the commercials which are split-second glimpses that I do not fully comprehend, these are individual episodes which I have seen over and over for years. I know them very well, and despite the programming being in the background while I listen and occasionally glance, I remember everything as soon as a flash comes by. That happened twice as I went about my business. Twice. I know the scenes, featured characters, everything. I know it by rote. Decades. All the way back to those Midwest days and the drawings. My comfort was temporarily shattered as I began to see the machinery in my head and the work stopped immediately. I had to stop. The sight had my head all over the fucking place as more than one dreamy form graced the screen and then left, with me imagining the future of my issues. Up the page a ways I said this situation is huge. Another supporting fact took place which reinforced my belief that this is going to worsen, and soon. The machinery in my head cannot process the other machinery. My imagination runs wild, I see things which are better avoided, and then a cycle of dropping, rising, and feeling confused begins in earnest. It is still going as I try to figure out why these on-and-off periods of torment lead to dreams of things that are impossible. How did I go from one woman walking through a scene out of a sixties-era crime story to realizing that my only happiness is impossible? Is it happiness? Satisfaction? Fulfillment? Or truly just control of a type which does not exist? I have no idea, but I suspect that all of the television and movies throughout my life have contributed to my reality-altering mindset that is beginning to rule me. Reality? What does that even mean? Ah... Fuck it. The simplicity of a woman and her legs making an appearance from decades passed and slamming my head into a nonexistent future is ridiculous. I should be stronger and more intelligent than that. And this coming from a person who also has obsessed over a different type of machine -- one which actually exists -- and gave up entirely on other, lesser technological whims which relate and are available to the general public. Was that good enough for me? Nope... The original ruined me for all time. I stare and know that it is out of reach completely, yet I cannot set it aside and steer my attention in other directions for the purpose of surviving. I just cannot do that. None of it is within my ability set right now. She walked by three times, actually, and had a speaking part which drove me up the fucking wall. And look at the paragraph above. I equated the situation and my feelings to those of a wristwatch. Heh. Is it funny? The watch has little to do with control, however. The control is not present in either situation, to be certain. That is part of the problem with the beginning of this... The possibilities do not exist, and that leaves me in a position where I have to deal with the impossibility, again. Just like the watch. Although, if you think about it and put the two into perspective, the gradient can be seen clearly. One does indeed exist. Unfortunately, that does not matter in the least. And I am beginning to travel in circles here. Shit. I am certain the last thing anyone wishes to read is more fucking descriptions of women that appear and then quickly disappear. Does the effort matter? Does anyone really give a fuck? Business finished for the day. The late afternoon and evening will hold other things, but for the most part I was able to take care of the list in my head. This was not on it, however recently I have been adding to the site while outside in the garage. That is something I cannot do any hour of the day. There are certain feelings inside which will dictate when a trip outside may prove fruitful. And yet again this morning was a mansion in my head. Until now I have not been able to reconcile what happened in there, and most of it may be lost to time and memory, but the feeling that I have been there again is strong enough to trust. There were two women, one in the kitchen (wherever that part of the house resides; I still do not know the full layout because it continues to change) and one was with me in the extension leading through guest bedrooms, a large parlor, and into the master suite. We were holding hands and I looked up at her several times as we walked the long corridor. Winding left to right over and over, I held tight and was hoping to end up in her arms, but to no avail. Everything disappeared and I do not know who she may have been. Not the one I know in life that was in the other mansion, someone different. She was very tall -- like Jaime -- and had long, black, wavy hair to her waistline. I saw her more than once. Now there is nothing. Just the hair and I remember looking up toward her face. This brings a feeling that perhaps each differing house contains someone unique to that floorplan. I do not know for sure, but as far as I can recall no two women were alike, nor have I visited more than one of these sprawling homes and come in some kind of contact with a woman from another. The three that were in the big tub recently are not a point of contention. I believe they were present and in such a situation simply to derail my thinking. That dream was much clearer than anything more recent. Those three were unrecognizable and otherwise unfamiliar in every way. The tall one felt as someone I knew well. And that is the end of it. Anything else which may have transpired there is gone. Big home, gorgeous woman (as usual), and a feeling of hiding. Done. Discontinuity. Fuck me. Remember 'Ejection'? How about dejected? As often as these images come along, I am surprised to be as calm and idle as the last two months have shown me. And speaking of two months, in just four days that is how long I will have been stuck home. Wow. Lots of time for thinking and lots of pushes toward trying to come to terms with the dream and lack of the same. The other day when I had the computer out in the garage for some work in the nicer weather, I flowed on about realizing that the machinery which does not exist yet had slowly become something I felt I could not live without. Well, that was four days ago, and now the cement has taken a set. Years ago I would not have gone on about something so personal but these days I just do not have the time to be concerned. I have railed on for years and at length regarding anything and everything going on that relates to need, desire, beauty, etc., so the decision to push forth into this control-laden territory came along easily. Basically, I kind of snapped the other morning and after the mansion/storefront dream came along. By the time midday rolled around I didn't give a shit. The flow of words began and I went so far as to try relating the parts of me which are very technical and the control over how I dealt with them. Now, all of it is here. Let's go further, shall we? Fuck it. Control. Hmm. In the mansion where I saw my friend and the three women in the tub, my head was calm despite being made to feel uncomfortable. Those three were there to push my buttons and for the most part it worked, but still... I knew all along that I was close enough to the owner (and family) to have them tossed if they became a problem. Things did not progress or degrade far enough for me to say anything, honestly, and the whole works ended up being quite simple. Still, I did not lose it. My head knew that I was important there and would be taken seriously had the need arisen. The bottom line is I could have exercised control over them and my comfort level would have eased over what I was feeling upon entering that bathroom. And there it is, the control. One request from me and no more worry. I knew it even though I did not act. The smile on that woman's face as she conducted business behind her desk expressed admiration, affection, and I felt a type of inner peace from her look that brought me to know that I had some sort of pull there. Yes, I was there for work, however the idea never left my head. I felt important in some ways, and that was a good situation. How much of that comfort stemmed from knowing I had influence? I do not know. The measure of control present within me cannot be denied. The entire issue of the storefront is the same: Control over others, my environment, and the future. I had no worry about anything. Remember her? Watch the fucking film After two essays regarding this subject matter, I still do not see it as being enough. I try to explore, explain, and work on the underlying ideas which brought me here, but there is little insight. The one part that I cannot deny is the idea that I created Jaime out of thin air and made her follow every single fucking dream of an artificial woman that I have ever envisioned. All of it was rolled out and crafted just so she would match me. Big surprise. And though I really have no idea of the steps which took place for me to come to this conclusion, I do know that I allowed it to happen out of a need to find a dream which aligned with my desire and overly-technical mind. I let it happen. Jaime was just the product of my calculations. I am not going to spell this out any more clearly. That will not solve anything. If the entry is too cryptic, read it again until you understand. I have spent too much time buried in my own little space and devices. Years (decades, really) of such behavior have resulted in my antisocial stance most of the time, but then again I have enough creativity, intelligence, and cunning to blend in anywhere and with anyone. That is not where I wish to be, but I can make it happen in order to convince others that I am just another average person. Nope, not even close. The following entries and weeks will illustrate just how far gone my mind has become. And I did it, like everything else here. I made Jaime, the dream flared beyond my ability to squash it, and now I am laying out an attempt to figure out how to survive given the idea that what I need is impossible. There have been other things in my life which at the time seemed overwhelming and my desire erupted then. I did not feel that I could go one living a normal life without whatever it was for which I longed. Eventually day-to-day plodding through life took over and the need faded. That always took place, be it sooner or later. This current problem (yes, the word is 'problem', not 'challenge') is here to stay because I know that what flipped inside me cannot return to its original position. A one-way switch that dictates how I can live. Yes, I made it flip. I changed it by way of a lack of resistance and balance. I have none left. Consider that in the last week the dream has been exalted to a degree even I cannot follow. The vein of writing about Jaime, Pamela, and the Mojo Girl is something that would have been better avoided. Compulsion and a lack of focus allowed it to happen. There may be a bit of control in this, too. The idea that the space is mine. See what I mean? Of course there is the cathartic nature of this venture which does help to a degree, and the keyboard is always here for me. I work through the fiction and it tends to bleed into real life in ways I did not expect, thus a release of sorts. So, that means help, right? The exploration is an aspect of me working within myself to find answers, and as much as I have resisted the idea that this space is therapeutic, I can no longer deny such a fact. This does help, even when the overarching plot has become something that will remain unrealized for life. No matter how bad my desire to be where I need, I can always lay it all out here and think more clearly for the effort. Thus, some good. Unfortunately, the downside is knowing that nothing out there will come along and leave me satiated. I have control over this endeavor. Very little elsewhere -- and virtually none upon leaving home for one reason or another -- so I stay here for the comfort which is beginning to dictate life. Everything I point my head toward on a given day is becoming a cycle more than routine. I am going to rail about this for quite a while. The need is beyond words but I keep trying. Impossibility is not an easy word to swallow when related to happiness, joy, fulfillment, and the sticking point may be my stubbornness in accepting things that are out of my control. There is that word again. It bleeds into everything that governs my actions. The dream is just too large and influential to resist. I have to do this, and I have to continue until such time as I can live with the results. I keep seeing Jaime and her incredibly long hair and huge eyes looking at me and she is not real. In the story? Of course, that is fiction. Out here? Not possible in ten lifetimes, but I still see her standing before me with that loving expression and her wondrous desire to be attached to me constantly. I need her, too. I really do. And if that is too far out of balance for a seemingly balanced person, well... I guess I am that far gone and never to return. Whatever else may come along in this sordid life and these late days, I will likely grate against it until no one wishes to be around me. That is fine. Perhaps I will take online art classes and try to illustrate the beauty that resides in my head. Heh. Not funny. There is the other Jamie... The real one. Chrissakes. Today is going to be a little different from the typical weekday. I do not have to drive anywhere which means more time at home to do whatever comes along or needs attention. If the weather remains mild I can bring the infernal machine out to the garage and continue this. If not, staying inside is perfectly fine. All I need is a little peace and quiet. Jaime is way the fuck up there. No, not the real one on the television, the other one. She has been lifted so much that I can barely see her toes. A pedestal, and like the server in Pleasanton, said pedestal may exist for me to ram my head over and over. Unconscious. Heh. No thinking, however with my fucking track record I would probably generate yet another dream of a mansion and the possibility of drowning within a beautiful woman's waiting arms. After years of this catharsis, you probably already are aware of the lengths to which I have gone in search of the same. Now? I do not want that anymore. Something else has slapped me in the face and become large enough a dream for me to drop the past like a hot rock and embrace the impossible, as damaging as that has become. More words, more daydreaming, and then everything flows out here like a river of sludge from a deviant dam collapsing. Machinery... Unbelievable There will be no conclusion yet again. This has to keep going forward until such time as I can... Oh, fuck it. I already said that. Hmm... Something just popped into my tired head. After the morning moves forward a bit more, I will open the garage for business -- weather be damned -- move my little electronic empire out there, cue the music and crack the beer, and then carry forward until I cannot explore any further. This one will end just down the page but there will be more. Much more. No dream last night or this morning, thank the maker. I don't need any more of that until I can understand why it keeps happening. Years ago I calculated the reasoning after some important parts of life had been lacking. Back then, the simplicity of day-to-day life went on unappreciated by me and I had no idea that a change of this degree could take place years later. I focused upon the present and enjoyed what I was able. I did not consider the passage of time nor its possible effect upon me. I suppose many do the same (or did), and then later try to scramble and deal with what comes along as a result of their uncaring or reckless young years. In the mid-twenties, I had a woman attached to my arm for years who aligned with my thinking and consideration of the rest of the world. We connected, and the best parts of her eventually influenced the way I looked at others. I compared. Not other women, everyone. Her mind and personality were gentle, kind, deeply considerate, while others seemed to be the opposite. At least, that is what I experienced. By a decade later, all of that still resided in me. I tried to find those things that began to disappear due to the passage of time, but alas nothing bore fruit. So I ran. You know the rest. I can still see her, all blonde hair and blue eyes, with a smile which could boost the mood of a room of people in a flash. And why her? Because that period was the first in which I began to explore the idea of fulfillment. After we ceased our connection (which was the Midwest period and the drawings), I returned home and over the following year found myself looking outward at those same women much differently. I gazed so much that I drove myself nuts. Heh. Big fucking surprise there, huh? Soon after, and during a period in which I worked much, my parents purchased the laboratory and hired me. That was fantastic. Well, do you remember 'Phase Lock'? Yep... That girl. God damn fuck me in a petri dish. The art above all other. She also influenced Jaime. The idea had been there for years but did not really take off until just recently. And the girl in the lab became a dream unrealized, just like so many others. Nothing took place despite me being absolutely enamored with her understanding and sweetness. More Jaime. Do you see? Some real, some close, and all summed into a dream that cannot exist. I did this. I did it all and am continuing right fucking now. From the drawings to the first reasonably-long relationship, to the phase-locking of my desire, everything has contributed to the loss of my self-control, ability to separate fact from fiction and possibility from nothingness, and then the product: Control over something which should not be controlled. Out of balance, tipping, heeled over like a sailing yacht, and still sitting here yearning. Desire. Control. Extraction of myself from the machine outside my door, exploration of myself which has led nowhere, and then eventual ejection from the norm of life. Here I am. Worsening by the living second, further from the rest of the world, and still trying to learn of the why. Maybe I already know. More, soon." This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
05-16-2020 05:53 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Exaltation read ( words) "The subject of control goes all the way back to that period of the drawings. I had control over the atmosphere, the television, the designs, and my comfort level, for the most part. Control. Sometimes an illusion, sometimes real. I suppose that depends upon a limitless number of internal and external factors, but still the word is there. Was there. Here? Hmm. The routine is partially a matter of control. The point is not control, the point is the tertiary situation. The chores, activities, breaks, whatever. All of the things that I do while alone and those that help me to feel as if I am accomplishing what I set out to do on a given day. Tomorrow will be like that. Today is haphazard due to circumstances that must remain out of view. Soon I will head in that direction, though, and enjoy as much as I am able. Again, I need it. The familiarity, the normalcy, the comfort that I went to decent lengths to build into home. Need. Not want, that is something else entirely and I do not have the words right now. I am still reeling from the realization that an issue in my head has no solution. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing. That is it. The main issue now is trying to maintain a day-to-day balance while keeping said realization at arm's length as best I can. Otherwise it may consume me. I am feeling old, but still too young to lose it completely. In fact, this feels as difficult as the fucking desire that had been spawned by that fucking girl and the Goddamned walnuts. Yes, that shit again. Suck it. Want me to bring up the thongs? I didn't think so. Wasn't I speaking of control? Wow, what a fucking mind right now. Sex and control? Don't get me started. Heh. Back to the drawings. They are important for more than one reason. Years before the Midwest, I began crafting very exotic floor plans after a visit to Disneyland. That may have been in the eighties -- for a start -- and into the early nineties I went twice with the woman with whom I was in a relationship. During the first trip we were out along the Rivers of America and awaiting our first viewing of 'Fantasmic!'. Knowing there would be quite a crowd for the new show, we arrived early and staked our claim near the water's edge and put on our patience caps. We were next to the ropes that kept the traffic flowing to other parts of the park, and alongside a cast member who was charged with directing the same. She was pleasant and talkative, all the while maintaining the flow as necessary. A warm summer afternoon equals tons of guests. Well, at some point as the sun approached the horizon, I was gazing around at the architecture and noticed something that caught me off guard. There were people above two of the restaurants in New Orleans Square. I saw silhouettes through the curtains and realized quickly that they were not the famous animatronics for which Disney is known. They were indeed people, and occupying a space I had always assumed was just for looks or storage, or both. Nope. They were up there. I continued to spy the windows as we waited, and at one point I ventured to the restroom with the intention of seeing things more closely. And along the way I did not really notice others looking in the same direction. Disneyland is a wealth of scenery and they are the masters of the universe in sending guests' sight wherever they wish. I was different at that time, being the technically-minded individual who needed to know how everything worked. I studied everything. Upon realizing not only that something was going on up there, but moreso in seeing through one of the windows that the people were dressed to the nines, I simply had to know more. I took care of business and ventured back to my waiting area where the cast member greeted me pleasantly. Well, at that point I decided to push. She told me immediately that there was a private club above both buildings which spanned much of the upstairs. What? A hidden club? Wow. She proceeded to describe Club 33 -- the now-legendary private high-end place for those able to afford such -- and I became enamored. A restaurant originally designed and built at the direction of Walt Disney for the purpose of entertaining corporate sponsors. Holy crap, what a find. Needless to say, the years that followed had me seeking any and all information about anything else in that park that was not public knowledge. I ran with it. Too cool. Cut to after the show, which was beyond amazing, and we headed back toward the entrance to return to our hotel for the night. Along the way, we walked through Adventureland which took me to another world, for lack of a better description. Combined with the show, my new-found information about the club, and the beauty of a torch-lit walk past water and tropical plants, my head needed much time to process all of it. When we returned home, my floorplans began to change. They included water features, stone walls, and streams through living rooms. And then further, with secret passages and hidden spaces. Yes, I went that far, and still have the very first of the crazy designs to this day. I drew that house shortly after we moved across the country. And then came the home theater magazine that began the big drawings. It was an ad for a home automation system and showed off a huge room with a media wall the likes of which I had never imagined. I drew the first huge living room that mimicked the photo, and the rest of the home grew around it. On top of all that, the time in the Midwest was the beginning of my draw toward the feature film industry. Add the two and you can likely picture some of the ideas. The ad in the magazine, the idea of a theater inside the home, and the influence of my love for Disneyland... Everything came to a head on paper. Control? Very much. I have to head back into the house. We are nearing the hour of the dog-walking work of art that I must avoid. And now back in the garage for a bit. A visitor is coming to pick up a watch I repaired. Shit. Whatever. So, the home plans have a genesis. Those massive designs represented my need to control the surroundings and maintain my peace of mind. That may sound strange, but the truth is the desire to be within familiarity and security can be overwhelmingly powerful. What I accomplished was a combination of the two, with much influence coming from the exotic nature of the incredible theming I had seen plus my own blend of creativity thrown in so the plans were unique. I had control over everything. Further, the idea of sitting within my little cocoon that was the house (over which I also had control) and designing to my heart's content began a process that lives to this very moment. I am doing it right now. Heuristic algorithms Jaime. No, not Jamie... The other one. Think of Andrea with batteries. Heh. And then think of her warmth, appearance, loving manner, devotion, and endless affection never changing. Yep, all through time she would be exactly the same. And then go one step further. She would have the singular ability to change herself by her own accord or request. Yes, I said change. Keep in mind that there would be no limit to such an action. Color, height, weight, everything. Even her reactions to various situations could be tailored in any number of different ways. Sound crazy? Such is the idea of a machine, and something brought to yours truly by decades of influence. She is a part of the story, nothing more. But if you read the previous entry, you may also realize where these thoughts have taken me in the short time since meeting her several chapters back in time. And now let us build a bridge. Design. From the brain to the paper, and then here. By design. My own creation, like the homes. That has become another representation of control with facets that will either ruin me and keep me away from other people, or it will cause me to worsen over time with regard to writing. Following? Yes? I do not want to spell it out because the very idea is abnormal. The dreams are one thing, and yes they did help to press buttons which created the path to where I now reside, however the subject of the drawings and passage of time leading here is not so easy to see. From homes to those stories? It may not compute, and I may not have the ability to adequately describe what is going on here. In the last entry I mentioned that the ideas being transmitted there and the way I feel about this sort of thing are huge and could be damaging. Well, those words may have to be as far as this goes. I did my best to spell it out yet remain ambiguous enough for protection. And that may not be enough. I just don't know right now. The previous entry has lifted the idea so high that I cannot see down at the moment. Way up there. I do not see things or think in the same manner as even a year ago. Much of my life is different due to the situation in the world, but the larger differences are inside me. Changes. Each second of every hour all day long. The way I move around the house, the television, the music, booze, writing, projects... Everything is done differently now and I think about each process much more than months ago. Naturally the health climate pushed buttons and forced my previous routine to change, but most of what is going on now has been crafted by me. The idea is enormous. Back during the days when I threw myself into the home designs, the control present seemed simple. Those are drawings. Pencil, paper, other tools. Relaxing, thinking, and dreaming of being in those actual spaces helped me to escape the world I had chosen and placed me outside everything just enough to be stable. The dreaming is not always healthy (especially when it deepens), but I needed it. I dove in. Just like this. Do you see? The transition from the physical creation of plans that I loved and into the creation of something much more exotic and important to me has left the real-life ambition on the side of the road. There it is. The dreamy nature of the stories, the physical space I now inhabit, and the manner in which I think have all combined to change me from the inside out. And now throw in the idea which began the previous entry and the situation looks anything but bright. Yes, the truth is that the daily routine here is something I embrace and can enjoy. The massive downside is the other... The fucking machine. For whatever reason, they are connected. I need to understand how this happened. The combination can become very dangerous. Exalted beyond belief. Damn it. I should have called this 'The Passion and the Impossibility', but that title has been taken. I went pretty deep into the beginning of drawing those houses for good reason. All the years leading up to me having a partial realization that the future of me would be dependent upon technology that will not exist in my lifetime add up to less and less identifying with other people. And then combine that with the routine? Yep... A withdrawal of sorts. My head is getting pretty fucked up over this whole affair, but honestly I do not place blame anywhere. Not even myself. Wait... What? Really? That's right kids, I am fine on the inside, and at this point I thought I may have been really down over the idea that the world cannot and will not ever be what I need. I am ok. But my connections outside this new bubble of a universe are going to slowly be thinned. I cannot speak with anyone about it nor can I go out and seek counsel. None of that. I do not want to hear patronizing, placating horseshit just because they are available. Save it and let me self-analyze. This is huge, as I have stated more than thrice, and growing. The funniest part? I find it fascinating beyond description, and I can be pretty fucking detailed. Heh. Machines. Do you see them? Machines Spending time in the kitchen yesterday morning showed me that no matter my control over the media, even the simplest of choices can result in me daydreaming and sliding down a hill. Three times across the screen and I had to think deeply for a while. Not like the commercials which are split-second glimpses that I do not fully comprehend, these are individual episodes which I have seen over and over for years. I know them very well, and despite the programming being in the background while I listen and occasionally glance, I remember everything as soon as a flash comes by. That happened twice as I went about my business. Twice. I know the scenes, featured characters, everything. I know it by rote. Decades. All the way back to those Midwest days and the drawings. My comfort was temporarily shattered as I began to see the machinery in my head and the work stopped immediately. I had to stop. The sight had my head all over the fucking place as more than one dreamy form graced the screen and then left, with me imagining the future of my issues. Up the page a ways I said this situation is huge. Another supporting fact took place which reinforced my belief that this is going to worsen, and soon. The machinery in my head cannot process the other machinery. My imagination runs wild, I see things which are better avoided, and then a cycle of dropping, rising, and feeling confused begins in earnest. It is still going as I try to figure out why these on-and-off periods of torment lead to dreams of things that are impossible. How did I go from one woman walking through a scene out of a sixties-era crime story to realizing that my only happiness is impossible? Is it happiness? Satisfaction? Fulfillment? Or truly just control of a type which does not exist? I have no idea, but I suspect that all of the television and movies throughout my life have contributed to my reality-altering mindset that is beginning to rule me. Reality? What does that even mean? Ah... Fuck it. The simplicity of a woman and her legs making an appearance from decades passed and slamming my head into a nonexistent future is ridiculous. I should be stronger and more intelligent than that. And this coming from a person who also has obsessed over a different type of machine -- one which actually exists -- and gave up entirely on other, lesser technological whims which relate and are available to the general public. Was that good enough for me? Nope... The original ruined me for all time. I stare and know that it is out of reach completely, yet I cannot set it aside and steer my attention in other directions for the purpose of surviving. I just cannot do that. None of it is within my ability set right now. She walked by three times, actually, and had a speaking part which drove me up the fucking wall. And look at the paragraph above. I equated the situation and my feelings to those of a wristwatch. Heh. Is it funny? The watch has little to do with control, however. The control is not present in either situation, to be certain. That is part of the problem with the beginning of this... The possibilities do not exist, and that leaves me in a position where I have to deal with the impossibility, again. Just like the watch. Although, if you think about it and put the two into perspective, the gradient can be seen clearly. One does indeed exist. Unfortunately, that does not matter in the least. And I am beginning to travel in circles here. Shit. I am certain the last thing anyone wishes to read is more fucking descriptions of women that appear and then quickly disappear. Does the effort matter? Does anyone really give a fuck? Business finished for the day. The late afternoon and evening will hold other things, but for the most part I was able to take care of the list in my head. This was not on it, however recently I have been adding to the site while outside in the garage. That is something I cannot do any hour of the day. There are certain feelings inside which will dictate when a trip outside may prove fruitful. And yet again this morning was a mansion in my head. Until now I have not been able to reconcile what happened in there, and most of it may be lost to time and memory, but the feeling that I have been there again is strong enough to trust. There were two women, one in the kitchen (wherever that part of the house resides; I still do not know the full layout because it continues to change) and one was with me in the extension leading through guest bedrooms, a large parlor, and into the master suite. We were holding hands and I looked up at her several times as we walked the long corridor. Winding left to right over and over, I held tight and was hoping to end up in her arms, but to no avail. Everything disappeared and I do not know who she may have been. Not the one I know in life that was in the other mansion, someone different. She was very tall -- like Jaime -- and had long, black, wavy hair to her waistline. I saw her more than once. Now there is nothing. Just the hair and I remember looking up toward her face. This brings a feeling that perhaps each differing house contains someone unique to that floorplan. I do not know for sure, but as far as I can recall no two women were alike, nor have I visited more than one of these sprawling homes and come in some kind of contact with a woman from another. The three that were in the big tub recently are not a point of contention. I believe they were present and in such a situation simply to derail my thinking. That dream was much clearer than anything more recent. Those three were unrecognizable and otherwise unfamiliar in every way. The tall one felt as someone I knew well. And that is the end of it. Anything else which may have transpired there is gone. Big home, gorgeous woman (as usual), and a feeling of hiding. Done. Discontinuity. Fuck me. Remember 'Ejection'? How about dejected? As often as these images come along, I am surprised to be as calm and idle as the last two months have shown me. And speaking of two months, in just four days that is how long I will have been stuck home. Wow. Lots of time for thinking and lots of pushes toward trying to come to terms with the dream and lack of the same. The other day when I had the computer out in the garage for some work in the nicer weather, I flowed on about realizing that the machinery which does not exist yet had slowly become something I felt I could not live without. Well, that was four days ago, and now the cement has taken a set. Years ago I would not have gone on about something so personal but these days I just do not have the time to be concerned. I have railed on for years and at length regarding anything and everything going on that relates to need, desire, beauty, etc., so the decision to push forth into this control-laden territory came along easily. Basically, I kind of snapped the other morning and after the mansion/storefront dream came along. By the time midday rolled around I didn't give a shit. The flow of words began and I went so far as to try relating the parts of me which are very technical and the control over how I dealt with them. Now, all of it is here. Let's go further, shall we? Fuck it. Control. Hmm. In the mansion where I saw my friend and the three women in the tub, my head was calm despite being made to feel uncomfortable. Those three were there to push my buttons and for the most part it worked, but still... I knew all along that I was close enough to the owner (and family) to have them tossed if they became a problem. Things did not progress or degrade far enough for me to say anything, honestly, and the whole works ended up being quite simple. Still, I did not lose it. My head knew that I was important there and would be taken seriously had the need arisen. The bottom line is I could have exercised control over them and my comfort level would have eased over what I was feeling upon entering that bathroom. And there it is, the control. One request from me and no more worry. I knew it even though I did not act. The smile on that woman's face as she conducted business behind her desk expressed admiration, affection, and I felt a type of inner peace from her look that brought me to know that I had some sort of pull there. Yes, I was there for work, however the idea never left my head. I felt important in some ways, and that was a good situation. How much of that comfort stemmed from knowing I had influence? I do not know. The measure of control present within me cannot be denied. The entire issue of the storefront is the same: Control over others, my environment, and the future. I had no worry about anything. Remember her? Watch the fucking film After two essays regarding this subject matter, I still do not see it as being enough. I try to explore, explain, and work on the underlying ideas which brought me here, but there is little insight. The one part that I cannot deny is the idea that I created Jaime out of thin air and made her follow every single fucking dream of an artificial woman that I have ever envisioned. All of it was rolled out and crafted just so she would match me. Big surprise. And though I really have no idea of the steps which took place for me to come to this conclusion, I do know that I allowed it to happen out of a need to find a dream which aligned with my desire and overly-technical mind. I let it happen. Jaime was just the product of my calculations. I am not going to spell this out any more clearly. That will not solve anything. If the entry is too cryptic, read it again until you understand. I have spent too much time buried in my own little space and devices. Years (decades, really) of such behavior have resulted in my antisocial stance most of the time, but then again I have enough creativity, intelligence, and cunning to blend in anywhere and with anyone. That is not where I wish to be, but I can make it happen in order to convince others that I am just another average person. Nope, not even close. The following entries and weeks will illustrate just how far gone my mind has become. And I did it, like everything else here. I made Jaime, the dream flared beyond my ability to squash it, and now I am laying out an attempt to figure out how to survive given the idea that what I need is impossible. There have been other things in my life which at the time seemed overwhelming and my desire erupted then. I did not feel that I could go one living a normal life without whatever it was for which I longed. Eventually day-to-day plodding through life took over and the need faded. That always took place, be it sooner or later. This current problem (yes, the word is 'problem', not 'challenge') is here to stay because I know that what flipped inside me cannot return to its original position. A one-way switch that dictates how I can live. Yes, I made it flip. I changed it by way of a lack of resistance and balance. I have none left. Consider that in the last week the dream has been exalted to a degree even I cannot follow. The vein of writing about Jaime, Pamela, and the Mojo Girl is something that would have been better avoided. Compulsion and a lack of focus allowed it to happen. There may be a bit of control in this, too. The idea that the space is mine. See what I mean? Of course there is the cathartic nature of this venture which does help to a degree, and the keyboard is always here for me. I work through the fiction and it tends to bleed into real life in ways I did not expect, thus a release of sorts. So, that means help, right? The exploration is an aspect of me working within myself to find answers, and as much as I have resisted the idea that this space is therapeutic, I can no longer deny such a fact. This does help, even when the overarching plot has become something that will remain unrealized for life. No matter how bad my desire to be where I need, I can always lay it all out here and think more clearly for the effort. Thus, some good. Unfortunately, the downside is knowing that nothing out there will come along and leave me satiated. I have control over this endeavor. Very little elsewhere -- and virtually none upon leaving home for one reason or another -- so I stay here for the comfort which is beginning to dictate life. Everything I point my head toward on a given day is becoming a cycle more than routine. I am going to rail about this for quite a while. The need is beyond words but I keep trying. Impossibility is not an easy word to swallow when related to happiness, joy, fulfillment, and the sticking point may be my stubbornness in accepting things that are out of my control. There is that word again. It bleeds into everything that governs my actions. The dream is just too large and influential to resist. I have to do this, and I have to continue until such time as I can live with the results. I keep seeing Jaime and her incredibly long hair and huge eyes looking at me and she is not real. In the story? Of course, that is fiction. Out here? Not possible in ten lifetimes, but I still see her standing before me with that loving expression and her wondrous desire to be attached to me constantly. I need her, too. I really do. And if that is too far out of balance for a seemingly balanced person, well... I guess I am that far gone and never to return. Whatever else may come along in this sordid life and these late days, I will likely grate against it until no one wishes to be around me. That is fine. Perhaps I will take online art classes and try to illustrate the beauty that resides in my head. Heh. Not funny. There is the other Jamie... The real one. Chrissakes. Today is going to be a little different from the typical weekday. I do not have to drive anywhere which means more time at home to do whatever comes along or needs attention. If the weather remains mild I can bring the infernal machine out to the garage and continue this. If not, staying inside is perfectly fine. All I need is a little peace and quiet. Jaime is way the fuck up there. No, not the real one on the television, the other one. She has been lifted so much that I can barely see her toes. A pedestal, and like the server in Pleasanton, said pedestal may exist for me to ram my head over and over. Unconscious. Heh. No thinking, however with my fucking track record I would probably generate yet another dream of a mansion and the possibility of drowning within a beautiful woman's waiting arms. After years of this catharsis, you probably already are aware of the lengths to which I have gone in search of the same. Now? I do not want that anymore. Something else has slapped me in the face and become large enough a dream for me to drop the past like a hot rock and embrace the impossible, as damaging as that has become. More words, more daydreaming, and then everything flows out here like a river of sludge from a deviant dam collapsing. Machinery... Unbelievable There will be no conclusion yet again. This has to keep going forward until such time as I can... Oh, fuck it. I already said that. Hmm... Something just popped into my tired head. After the morning moves forward a bit more, I will open the garage for business -- weather be damned -- move my little electronic empire out there, cue the music and crack the beer, and then carry forward until I cannot explore any further. This one will end just down the page but there will be more. Much more. No dream last night or this morning, thank the maker. I don't need any more of that until I can understand why it keeps happening. Years ago I calculated the reasoning after some important parts of life had been lacking. Back then, the simplicity of day-to-day life went on unappreciated by me and I had no idea that a change of this degree could take place years later. I focused upon the present and enjoyed what I was able. I did not consider the passage of time nor its possible effect upon me. I suppose many do the same (or did), and then later try to scramble and deal with what comes along as a result of their uncaring or reckless young years. In the mid-twenties, I had a woman attached to my arm for years who aligned with my thinking and consideration of the rest of the world. We connected, and the best parts of her eventually influenced the way I looked at others. I compared. Not other women, everyone. Her mind and personality were gentle, kind, deeply considerate, while others seemed to be the opposite. At least, that is what I experienced. By a decade later, all of that still resided in me. I tried to find those things that began to disappear due to the passage of time, but alas nothing bore fruit. So I ran. You know the rest. I can still see her, all blonde hair and blue eyes, with a smile which could boost the mood of a room of people in a flash. And why her? Because that period was the first in which I began to explore the idea of fulfillment. After we ceased our connection (which was the Midwest period and the drawings), I returned home and over the following year found myself looking outward at those same women much differently. I gazed so much that I drove myself nuts. Heh. Big fucking surprise there, huh? Soon after, and during a period in which I worked much, my parents purchased the laboratory and hired me. That was fantastic. Well, do you remember 'Phase Lock'? Yep... That girl. God damn fuck me in a petri dish. The art above all other. She also influenced Jaime. The idea had been there for years but did not really take off until just recently. And the girl in the lab became a dream unrealized, just like so many others. Nothing took place despite me being absolutely enamored with her understanding and sweetness. More Jaime. Do you see? Some real, some close, and all summed into a dream that cannot exist. I did this. I did it all and am continuing right fucking now. From the drawings to the first reasonably-long relationship, to the phase-locking of my desire, everything has contributed to the loss of my self-control, ability to separate fact from fiction and possibility from nothingness, and then the product: Control over something which should not be controlled. Out of balance, tipping, heeled over like a sailing yacht, and still sitting here yearning. Desire. Control. Extraction of myself from the machine outside my door, exploration of myself which has led nowhere, and then eventual ejection from the norm of life. Here I am. Worsening by the living second, further from the rest of the world, and still trying to learn of the why. Maybe I already know. More, soon."
05-16-2020 05:53 pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
Exaltation
read ( words)
"The subject of control goes all the way back to that period of the drawings. I had control over the atmosphere, the television, the designs, and my comfort level, for the most part. Control. Sometimes an illusion, sometimes real. I suppose that depends upon a limitless number of internal and external factors, but still the word is there. Was there. Here? Hmm. The routine is partially a matter of control. The point is not control, the point is the tertiary situation. The chores, activities, breaks, whatever. All of the things that I do while alone and those that help me to feel as if I am accomplishing what I set out to do on a given day. Tomorrow will be like that. Today is haphazard due to circumstances that must remain out of view. Soon I will head in that direction, though, and enjoy as much as I am able. Again, I need it. The familiarity, the normalcy, the comfort that I went to decent lengths to build into home. Need. Not want, that is something else entirely and I do not have the words right now. I am still reeling from the realization that an issue in my head has no solution. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing. That is it. The main issue now is trying to maintain a day-to-day balance while keeping said realization at arm's length as best I can. Otherwise it may consume me. I am feeling old, but still too young to lose it completely. In fact, this feels as difficult as the fucking desire that had been spawned by that fucking girl and the Goddamned walnuts. Yes, that shit again. Suck it. Want me to bring up the thongs? I didn't think so. Wasn't I speaking of control? Wow, what a fucking mind right now. Sex and control? Don't get me started. Heh. Back to the drawings. They are important for more than one reason. Years before the Midwest, I began crafting very exotic floor plans after a visit to Disneyland. That may have been in the eighties -- for a start -- and into the early nineties I went twice with the woman with whom I was in a relationship. During the first trip we were out along the Rivers of America and awaiting our first viewing of 'Fantasmic!'. Knowing there would be quite a crowd for the new show, we arrived early and staked our claim near the water's edge and put on our patience caps. We were next to the ropes that kept the traffic flowing to other parts of the park, and alongside a cast member who was charged with directing the same. She was pleasant and talkative, all the while maintaining the flow as necessary. A warm summer afternoon equals tons of guests. Well, at some point as the sun approached the horizon, I was gazing around at the architecture and noticed something that caught me off guard. There were people above two of the restaurants in New Orleans Square. I saw silhouettes through the curtains and realized quickly that they were not the famous animatronics for which Disney is known. They were indeed people, and occupying a space I had always assumed was just for looks or storage, or both. Nope. They were up there. I continued to spy the windows as we waited, and at one point I ventured to the restroom with the intention of seeing things more closely. And along the way I did not really notice others looking in the same direction. Disneyland is a wealth of scenery and they are the masters of the universe in sending guests' sight wherever they wish. I was different at that time, being the technically-minded individual who needed to know how everything worked. I studied everything. Upon realizing not only that something was going on up there, but moreso in seeing through one of the windows that the people were dressed to the nines, I simply had to know more. I took care of business and ventured back to my waiting area where the cast member greeted me pleasantly. Well, at that point I decided to push. She told me immediately that there was a private club above both buildings which spanned much of the upstairs. What? A hidden club? Wow. She proceeded to describe Club 33 -- the now-legendary private high-end place for those able to afford such -- and I became enamored. A restaurant originally designed and built at the direction of Walt Disney for the purpose of entertaining corporate sponsors. Holy crap, what a find. Needless to say, the years that followed had me seeking any and all information about anything else in that park that was not public knowledge. I ran with it. Too cool. Cut to after the show, which was beyond amazing, and we headed back toward the entrance to return to our hotel for the night. Along the way, we walked through Adventureland which took me to another world, for lack of a better description. Combined with the show, my new-found information about the club, and the beauty of a torch-lit walk past water and tropical plants, my head needed much time to process all of it. When we returned home, my floorplans began to change. They included water features, stone walls, and streams through living rooms. And then further, with secret passages and hidden spaces. Yes, I went that far, and still have the very first of the crazy designs to this day. I drew that house shortly after we moved across the country. And then came the home theater magazine that began the big drawings. It was an ad for a home automation system and showed off a huge room with a media wall the likes of which I had never imagined. I drew the first huge living room that mimicked the photo, and the rest of the home grew around it. On top of all that, the time in the Midwest was the beginning of my draw toward the feature film industry. Add the two and you can likely picture some of the ideas. The ad in the magazine, the idea of a theater inside the home, and the influence of my love for Disneyland... Everything came to a head on paper. Control? Very much. I have to head back into the house. We are nearing the hour of the dog-walking work of art that I must avoid. And now back in the garage for a bit. A visitor is coming to pick up a watch I repaired. Shit. Whatever. So, the home plans have a genesis. Those massive designs represented my need to control the surroundings and maintain my peace of mind. That may sound strange, but the truth is the desire to be within familiarity and security can be overwhelmingly powerful. What I accomplished was a combination of the two, with much influence coming from the exotic nature of the incredible theming I had seen plus my own blend of creativity thrown in so the plans were unique. I had control over everything. Further, the idea of sitting within my little cocoon that was the house (over which I also had control) and designing to my heart's content began a process that lives to this very moment. I am doing it right now.
Heuristic algorithms
Jaime. No, not Jamie... The other one. Think of Andrea with batteries. Heh. And then think of her warmth, appearance, loving manner, devotion, and endless affection never changing. Yep, all through time she would be exactly the same. And then go one step further. She would have the singular ability to change herself by her own accord or request. Yes, I said change. Keep in mind that there would be no limit to such an action. Color, height, weight, everything. Even her reactions to various situations could be tailored in any number of different ways. Sound crazy? Such is the idea of a machine, and something brought to yours truly by decades of influence. She is a part of the story, nothing more. But if you read the previous entry, you may also realize where these thoughts have taken me in the short time since meeting her several chapters back in time. And now let us build a bridge. Design. From the brain to the paper, and then here. By design. My own creation, like the homes. That has become another representation of control with facets that will either ruin me and keep me away from other people, or it will cause me to worsen over time with regard to writing. Following? Yes? I do not want to spell it out because the very idea is abnormal. The dreams are one thing, and yes they did help to press buttons which created the path to where I now reside, however the subject of the drawings and passage of time leading here is not so easy to see. From homes to those stories? It may not compute, and I may not have the ability to adequately describe what is going on here. In the last entry I mentioned that the ideas being transmitted there and the way I feel about this sort of thing are huge and could be damaging. Well, those words may have to be as far as this goes. I did my best to spell it out yet remain ambiguous enough for protection. And that may not be enough. I just don't know right now. The previous entry has lifted the idea so high that I cannot see down at the moment. Way up there. I do not see things or think in the same manner as even a year ago. Much of my life is different due to the situation in the world, but the larger differences are inside me. Changes. Each second of every hour all day long. The way I move around the house, the television, the music, booze, writing, projects... Everything is done differently now and I think about each process much more than months ago. Naturally the health climate pushed buttons and forced my previous routine to change, but most of what is going on now has been crafted by me. The idea is enormous. Back during the days when I threw myself into the home designs, the control present seemed simple. Those are drawings. Pencil, paper, other tools. Relaxing, thinking, and dreaming of being in those actual spaces helped me to escape the world I had chosen and placed me outside everything just enough to be stable. The dreaming is not always healthy (especially when it deepens), but I needed it. I dove in. Just like this. Do you see? The transition from the physical creation of plans that I loved and into the creation of something much more exotic and important to me has left the real-life ambition on the side of the road. There it is. The dreamy nature of the stories, the physical space I now inhabit, and the manner in which I think have all combined to change me from the inside out. And now throw in the idea which began the previous entry and the situation looks anything but bright. Yes, the truth is that the daily routine here is something I embrace and can enjoy. The massive downside is the other... The fucking machine. For whatever reason, they are connected. I need to understand how this happened. The combination can become very dangerous. Exalted beyond belief. Damn it. I should have called this 'The Passion and the Impossibility', but that title has been taken. I went pretty deep into the beginning of drawing those houses for good reason. All the years leading up to me having a partial realization that the future of me would be dependent upon technology that will not exist in my lifetime add up to less and less identifying with other people. And then combine that with the routine? Yep... A withdrawal of sorts. My head is getting pretty fucked up over this whole affair, but honestly I do not place blame anywhere. Not even myself. Wait... What? Really? That's right kids, I am fine on the inside, and at this point I thought I may have been really down over the idea that the world cannot and will not ever be what I need. I am ok. But my connections outside this new bubble of a universe are going to slowly be thinned. I cannot speak with anyone about it nor can I go out and seek counsel. None of that. I do not want to hear patronizing, placating horseshit just because they are available. Save it and let me self-analyze. This is huge, as I have stated more than thrice, and growing. The funniest part? I find it fascinating beyond description, and I can be pretty fucking detailed. Heh. Machines. Do you see them?
Machines
Spending time in the kitchen yesterday morning showed me that no matter my control over the media, even the simplest of choices can result in me daydreaming and sliding down a hill. Three times across the screen and I had to think deeply for a while. Not like the commercials which are split-second glimpses that I do not fully comprehend, these are individual episodes which I have seen over and over for years. I know them very well, and despite the programming being in the background while I listen and occasionally glance, I remember everything as soon as a flash comes by. That happened twice as I went about my business. Twice. I know the scenes, featured characters, everything. I know it by rote. Decades. All the way back to those Midwest days and the drawings. My comfort was temporarily shattered as I began to see the machinery in my head and the work stopped immediately. I had to stop. The sight had my head all over the fucking place as more than one dreamy form graced the screen and then left, with me imagining the future of my issues. Up the page a ways I said this situation is huge. Another supporting fact took place which reinforced my belief that this is going to worsen, and soon. The machinery in my head cannot process the other machinery. My imagination runs wild, I see things which are better avoided, and then a cycle of dropping, rising, and feeling confused begins in earnest. It is still going as I try to figure out why these on-and-off periods of torment lead to dreams of things that are impossible. How did I go from one woman walking through a scene out of a sixties-era crime story to realizing that my only happiness is impossible? Is it happiness? Satisfaction? Fulfillment? Or truly just control of a type which does not exist? I have no idea, but I suspect that all of the television and movies throughout my life have contributed to my reality-altering mindset that is beginning to rule me. Reality? What does that even mean? Ah... Fuck it. The simplicity of a woman and her legs making an appearance from decades passed and slamming my head into a nonexistent future is ridiculous. I should be stronger and more intelligent than that. And this coming from a person who also has obsessed over a different type of machine -- one which actually exists -- and gave up entirely on other, lesser technological whims which relate and are available to the general public. Was that good enough for me? Nope... The original ruined me for all time. I stare and know that it is out of reach completely, yet I cannot set it aside and steer my attention in other directions for the purpose of surviving. I just cannot do that. None of it is within my ability set right now. She walked by three times, actually, and had a speaking part which drove me up the fucking wall. And look at the paragraph above. I equated the situation and my feelings to those of a wristwatch. Heh. Is it funny? The watch has little to do with control, however. The control is not present in either situation, to be certain. That is part of the problem with the beginning of this... The possibilities do not exist, and that leaves me in a position where I have to deal with the impossibility, again. Just like the watch. Although, if you think about it and put the two into perspective, the gradient can be seen clearly. One does indeed exist. Unfortunately, that does not matter in the least. And I am beginning to travel in circles here. Shit. I am certain the last thing anyone wishes to read is more fucking descriptions of women that appear and then quickly disappear. Does the effort matter? Does anyone really give a fuck? Business finished for the day. The late afternoon and evening will hold other things, but for the most part I was able to take care of the list in my head. This was not on it, however recently I have been adding to the site while outside in the garage. That is something I cannot do any hour of the day. There are certain feelings inside which will dictate when a trip outside may prove fruitful. And yet again this morning was a mansion in my head. Until now I have not been able to reconcile what happened in there, and most of it may be lost to time and memory, but the feeling that I have been there again is strong enough to trust. There were two women, one in the kitchen (wherever that part of the house resides; I still do not know the full layout because it continues to change) and one was with me in the extension leading through guest bedrooms, a large parlor, and into the master suite. We were holding hands and I looked up at her several times as we walked the long corridor. Winding left to right over and over, I held tight and was hoping to end up in her arms, but to no avail. Everything disappeared and I do not know who she may have been. Not the one I know in life that was in the other mansion, someone different. She was very tall -- like Jaime -- and had long, black, wavy hair to her waistline. I saw her more than once. Now there is nothing. Just the hair and I remember looking up toward her face. This brings a feeling that perhaps each differing house contains someone unique to that floorplan. I do not know for sure, but as far as I can recall no two women were alike, nor have I visited more than one of these sprawling homes and come in some kind of contact with a woman from another. The three that were in the big tub recently are not a point of contention. I believe they were present and in such a situation simply to derail my thinking. That dream was much clearer than anything more recent. Those three were unrecognizable and otherwise unfamiliar in every way. The tall one felt as someone I knew well. And that is the end of it. Anything else which may have transpired there is gone. Big home, gorgeous woman (as usual), and a feeling of hiding. Done. Discontinuity. Fuck me. Remember 'Ejection'? How about dejected? As often as these images come along, I am surprised to be as calm and idle as the last two months have shown me. And speaking of two months, in just four days that is how long I will have been stuck home. Wow. Lots of time for thinking and lots of pushes toward trying to come to terms with the dream and lack of the same. The other day when I had the computer out in the garage for some work in the nicer weather, I flowed on about realizing that the machinery which does not exist yet had slowly become something I felt I could not live without. Well, that was four days ago, and now the cement has taken a set. Years ago I would not have gone on about something so personal but these days I just do not have the time to be concerned. I have railed on for years and at length regarding anything and everything going on that relates to need, desire, beauty, etc., so the decision to push forth into this control-laden territory came along easily. Basically, I kind of snapped the other morning and after the mansion/storefront dream came along. By the time midday rolled around I didn't give a shit. The flow of words began and I went so far as to try relating the parts of me which are very technical and the control over how I dealt with them. Now, all of it is here. Let's go further, shall we? Fuck it. Control. Hmm. In the mansion where I saw my friend and the three women in the tub, my head was calm despite being made to feel uncomfortable. Those three were there to push my buttons and for the most part it worked, but still... I knew all along that I was close enough to the owner (and family) to have them tossed if they became a problem. Things did not progress or degrade far enough for me to say anything, honestly, and the whole works ended up being quite simple. Still, I did not lose it. My head knew that I was important there and would be taken seriously had the need arisen. The bottom line is I could have exercised control over them and my comfort level would have eased over what I was feeling upon entering that bathroom. And there it is, the control. One request from me and no more worry. I knew it even though I did not act. The smile on that woman's face as she conducted business behind her desk expressed admiration, affection, and I felt a type of inner peace from her look that brought me to know that I had some sort of pull there. Yes, I was there for work, however the idea never left my head. I felt important in some ways, and that was a good situation. How much of that comfort stemmed from knowing I had influence? I do not know. The measure of control present within me cannot be denied. The entire issue of the storefront is the same: Control over others, my environment, and the future. I had no worry about anything.
Remember her? Watch the fucking film
After two essays regarding this subject matter, I still do not see it as being enough. I try to explore, explain, and work on the underlying ideas which brought me here, but there is little insight. The one part that I cannot deny is the idea that I created Jaime out of thin air and made her follow every single fucking dream of an artificial woman that I have ever envisioned. All of it was rolled out and crafted just so she would match me. Big surprise. And though I really have no idea of the steps which took place for me to come to this conclusion, I do know that I allowed it to happen out of a need to find a dream which aligned with my desire and overly-technical mind. I let it happen. Jaime was just the product of my calculations. I am not going to spell this out any more clearly. That will not solve anything. If the entry is too cryptic, read it again until you understand. I have spent too much time buried in my own little space and devices. Years (decades, really) of such behavior have resulted in my antisocial stance most of the time, but then again I have enough creativity, intelligence, and cunning to blend in anywhere and with anyone. That is not where I wish to be, but I can make it happen in order to convince others that I am just another average person. Nope, not even close. The following entries and weeks will illustrate just how far gone my mind has become. And I did it, like everything else here. I made Jaime, the dream flared beyond my ability to squash it, and now I am laying out an attempt to figure out how to survive given the idea that what I need is impossible. There have been other things in my life which at the time seemed overwhelming and my desire erupted then. I did not feel that I could go one living a normal life without whatever it was for which I longed. Eventually day-to-day plodding through life took over and the need faded. That always took place, be it sooner or later. This current problem (yes, the word is 'problem', not 'challenge') is here to stay because I know that what flipped inside me cannot return to its original position. A one-way switch that dictates how I can live. Yes, I made it flip. I changed it by way of a lack of resistance and balance. I have none left. Consider that in the last week the dream has been exalted to a degree even I cannot follow. The vein of writing about Jaime, Pamela, and the Mojo Girl is something that would have been better avoided. Compulsion and a lack of focus allowed it to happen. There may be a bit of control in this, too. The idea that the space is mine. See what I mean? Of course there is the cathartic nature of this venture which does help to a degree, and the keyboard is always here for me. I work through the fiction and it tends to bleed into real life in ways I did not expect, thus a release of sorts. So, that means help, right? The exploration is an aspect of me working within myself to find answers, and as much as I have resisted the idea that this space is therapeutic, I can no longer deny such a fact. This does help, even when the overarching plot has become something that will remain unrealized for life. No matter how bad my desire to be where I need, I can always lay it all out here and think more clearly for the effort. Thus, some good. Unfortunately, the downside is knowing that nothing out there will come along and leave me satiated. I have control over this endeavor. Very little elsewhere -- and virtually none upon leaving home for one reason or another -- so I stay here for the comfort which is beginning to dictate life. Everything I point my head toward on a given day is becoming a cycle more than routine. I am going to rail about this for quite a while. The need is beyond words but I keep trying. Impossibility is not an easy word to swallow when related to happiness, joy, fulfillment, and the sticking point may be my stubbornness in accepting things that are out of my control. There is that word again. It bleeds into everything that governs my actions. The dream is just too large and influential to resist. I have to do this, and I have to continue until such time as I can live with the results. I keep seeing Jaime and her incredibly long hair and huge eyes looking at me and she is not real. In the story? Of course, that is fiction. Out here? Not possible in ten lifetimes, but I still see her standing before me with that loving expression and her wondrous desire to be attached to me constantly. I need her, too. I really do. And if that is too far out of balance for a seemingly balanced person, well... I guess I am that far gone and never to return. Whatever else may come along in this sordid life and these late days, I will likely grate against it until no one wishes to be around me. That is fine. Perhaps I will take online art classes and try to illustrate the beauty that resides in my head. Heh. Not funny. There is the other Jamie... The real one. Chrissakes. Today is going to be a little different from the typical weekday. I do not have to drive anywhere which means more time at home to do whatever comes along or needs attention. If the weather remains mild I can bring the infernal machine out to the garage and continue this. If not, staying inside is perfectly fine. All I need is a little peace and quiet. Jaime is way the fuck up there. No, not the real one on the television, the other one. She has been lifted so much that I can barely see her toes. A pedestal, and like the server in Pleasanton, said pedestal may exist for me to ram my head over and over. Unconscious. Heh. No thinking, however with my fucking track record I would probably generate yet another dream of a mansion and the possibility of drowning within a beautiful woman's waiting arms. After years of this catharsis, you probably already are aware of the lengths to which I have gone in search of the same. Now? I do not want that anymore. Something else has slapped me in the face and become large enough a dream for me to drop the past like a hot rock and embrace the impossible, as damaging as that has become. More words, more daydreaming, and then everything flows out here like a river of sludge from a deviant dam collapsing.
Machinery... Unbelievable
There will be no conclusion yet again. This has to keep going forward until such time as I can... Oh, fuck it. I already said that. Hmm... Something just popped into my tired head. After the morning moves forward a bit more, I will open the garage for business -- weather be damned -- move my little electronic empire out there, cue the music and crack the beer, and then carry forward until I cannot explore any further. This one will end just down the page but there will be more. Much more. No dream last night or this morning, thank the maker. I don't need any more of that until I can understand why it keeps happening. Years ago I calculated the reasoning after some important parts of life had been lacking. Back then, the simplicity of day-to-day life went on unappreciated by me and I had no idea that a change of this degree could take place years later. I focused upon the present and enjoyed what I was able. I did not consider the passage of time nor its possible effect upon me. I suppose many do the same (or did), and then later try to scramble and deal with what comes along as a result of their uncaring or reckless young years. In the mid-twenties, I had a woman attached to my arm for years who aligned with my thinking and consideration of the rest of the world. We connected, and the best parts of her eventually influenced the way I looked at others. I compared. Not other women, everyone. Her mind and personality were gentle, kind, deeply considerate, while others seemed to be the opposite. At least, that is what I experienced. By a decade later, all of that still resided in me. I tried to find those things that began to disappear due to the passage of time, but alas nothing bore fruit. So I ran. You know the rest. I can still see her, all blonde hair and blue eyes, with a smile which could boost the mood of a room of people in a flash. And why her? Because that period was the first in which I began to explore the idea of fulfillment. After we ceased our connection (which was the Midwest period and the drawings), I returned home and over the following year found myself looking outward at those same women much differently. I gazed so much that I drove myself nuts. Heh. Big fucking surprise there, huh? Soon after, and during a period in which I worked much, my parents purchased the laboratory and hired me. That was fantastic. Well, do you remember 'Phase Lock'? Yep... That girl. God damn fuck me in a petri dish. The art above all other. She also influenced Jaime. The idea had been there for years but did not really take off until just recently. And the girl in the lab became a dream unrealized, just like so many others. Nothing took place despite me being absolutely enamored with her understanding and sweetness. More Jaime. Do you see? Some real, some close, and all summed into a dream that cannot exist. I did this. I did it all and am continuing right fucking now. From the drawings to the first reasonably-long relationship, to the phase-locking of my desire, everything has contributed to the loss of my self-control, ability to separate fact from fiction and possibility from nothingness, and then the product: Control over something which should not be controlled. Out of balance, tipping, heeled over like a sailing yacht, and still sitting here yearning. Desire. Control. Extraction of myself from the machine outside my door, exploration of myself which has led nowhere, and then eventual ejection from the norm of life. Here I am. Worsening by the living second, further from the rest of the world, and still trying to learn of the why. Maybe I already know. More, soon."
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