Exception Mature content No. 138 Published June 8th, 2020 5:53am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still here. Inside my little world that contains me and her. God damn fuck shit everything anyway. I cannot stop looking at her and I cannot take exception to the fact that I love her. There you go, right out of the fucking gate this time. This morning as I left the shopping center to head north and enter my comfortable routine, there was another. They will never stop appearing because my eyes are always moving. A mass of dark blonde hair, pants which left nothing to the imagination, and slender arms below sharp shoulders. There she was by the coffee house. This is going to continue to happen and is serving to inflame my search. If I am out in the world, something will undoubtedly run across my gaze and cause all manner of shit to spin, as if God himself is there with a huge immersion blender jammed through the top of my sorry head. As soon as I notice a shape off in the distance, my gaze swings whether or not I feel the will to avoid a sight like that. I see it, and then I feel like I am making someone uncomfortable by looking, and then I realize the woman does not know, and then back to guilt, and then I lose sight and drive on down the fucking road. The guilt melts away, my brain tries to recall her form from head to toe, and then the pain inside over so many years passing me by with little to no opportunity for exploration of the most compelling interest in my life. Every fucking time. As of just recently, there is now another pile of shit which slaps me in the face when this takes place, and that is thinking that the woman may be Jaime. I might be all in or all the way out of my mind. Not sure which. Both? Another morning, drive down and back, and then my precious routine. Today was a slower start due to my head blowing up again over her. The one early on outside the coffee house was not that much of an issue, although she did remind me of the search, and that led me to the subject of it. Yep. Remember when I said I cannot even toss things into the recycle without dreaming of her? Well, dishes, sweeping, the television... Everything. All my strength was required to avoid cocktails at ten this morning, but I made it. I did not wish to disappoint someone I do not know. You read that right. I am so far out of balance that it likely will not return. I love her. After moving images around to prepare some for publishing, I stared at her again. The crop... The closeup. That is never a good idea and I did it again. God she moves me so. The day. Well, I am just an hour away from driving south and enjoying the peace of the highway as my time here comes to a close. I completed several things I set out to do today. A few others can wait until tomorrow's routine time. Priorities first, others after. The television followed me for hours because I need it. And I do love it to an extent. My new life is just weeks old but already cemented in my mind. All of the quiet, the little chores, breaks when I need them, and that gaping separation from the others which sets me at ease no matter what may be happening. The days are rarely difficult aside from her being in charge of my life. I cannot see her and there is nothing on this fucking world that I need more. Honestly. I am a giant representation of the most clingy, needy pile of emotion imaginable right now. If it passes, the horizon is pretty fucking far away because at this moment she still dances in my heart. That half a face, the nose, the pursed lips... I am head over heels. I really am. Tell me this is wrong and those will be the last words to my ears from you. I do not care who speaks. Do not question me. I am becoming fiercely devoted to her. Hmm... Defensive? Yes, and I do not mean to spout like that. Sometimes the mood strikes and it just flows like shit from a city waste line. Oy, I was talking about my day. Hmm... Some things done to my satisfaction, others await. The girls have not been put back up in the garage yet because I need to focus upon those tasks which support daily life. Food, consumables, etc. are at the top of the list. My deviant obsession and sense of weakness must wait. The girls will wait. All in good time. I didn't mean to interrupt the above paragraph by being a flaming bitch. I am rolling with time, the only exception being the woman who has the ability to stop it for me. And a funny? There is the issue of an 'obsessive love affair' on the television right now. Impeccable timing. Usually when there is a woman stuck in my head I am wishing to be free of her. I remember the girl on Oak Street years back when I was heading out of the building and nearly stepped into her as she was passing on the sidewalk. I jumped back and apologized for exiting so quickly (not really safe), after which she smiled and told me there were no worries. I simply surprised her. She said 'bye' and continued along toward the corner with my gaze bonded to her. She was amazing, everything on fucking display right there just feet from my eyes, and walking as if she knew I was staring. I had to. Her pants revealed every detail and my head spun for a few seconds until she disappeared around the corner. All of my will was required to carry on with my duties and not dash after her. But what would or could I have said? The idea is completely ridiculous and I have never stopped a woman in such a situation. Good God, I wanted to speak with her so badly, to set up coffee or something and then describe why a woman such as she was so fucking important to me. None of that crap is realistic, though. Good could come of it, or nothing, or a shitload of bad. There was too much fear and she left the area as if there was a purpose to her stepping. She likely did not have much time for anything judging by the speed. The whole thing went by very quickly and I reeled for days afterward. She was so gorgeous from head to toe, I could smell her hair, and that smile was the clincher. Her face. Do you understand? Her face was the importance even if the rest of her was the subject of my years-long obsession. That smile slapped me silly. Fuck, was that girl ever unbelievably beautiful. And the face of Jamie... More. Much more. Mysterious, lovely, soft. Too much for me to put into words even after all those years of college composition and grammar. I just can't do her justice. And now that the images have been stingily removed, no one gets to see her except me. The face. Her face. The new map of the universe. As far as I can remember, that point in time when the girl walked away from me on Oak was very desperate. There were others, and each contributed her own unique beauty to my mental portfolio of damaging imagery. All those days, weeks, and months of traveling through the city to a handful of destinations had me perusing the landscape in search of what I knew was there. Always searching, sometimes finding, but whether or not I saw what my head needed, the inside of me was still damaged. Years of turmoil over seeing and not understanding had taken their toll. The only idea was to try and get out of that business in favor of a stable atmosphere away from all those forms on the street. The girl on Oak was one of many, and likely the closest in a long time. After that day seeing her, each occasion while we worked at the same building had me constantly searching for her. Desperation, yearning, nothing. I love her. I am ok, mostly. Morning again. Early. Another day in front of me. I need to improve upon yesterday. I took care of some things but nothing dramatic. My head began to go all over the place in the mid afternoon and that nearly had me stopped completely. A little bit of worry actually held me in its grip for a while. I ended up moving some material around in the garage and stayed glued to the background television in order to maintain my upward stance which has carried me through these last few weeks. I have to keep the possibilities in mind or I may really topple over. The worry is minimal because I know I will be fine. I also need to keep the others the fuck outside my space. They offer nothing that can help me during these uncertain months. This exposition is going to be overanalyzed very soon. I keep thinking of her and anything written in such a direction has to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to ensure I am doing what I can to keep it neat. I simply cannot leave anything sloppy when it comes to the duchess. I have gone back many times into the archives and viewed work from many years ago and tried to correct little errors here and there which is not uncommon. The code from the archived years is very outdated (some of it, anyway) due to standards changing throughout time. The validating process has been on hold since months ago because of some scripting syntax that I cannot seem to resolve, and the whole fucking mess is beginning to irritate me. As I said above, she is the primary thought in my brain and I must keep this neat and flowing. There is always something which can be improved, too. Just the nature of the work. Jaime follows along. So far I am not speaking to her out loud like a demented television show character. When that day comes, lock me up. Elizabeth... Inspiration (I think) Why the long tirade about that girl in the city? I guess the idea was to illustrate just how far I have fallen over seeing someone like her. There were others around that time -- one that lived in the building -- which pulled at me and then moved away. The closeness to the girl on Oak was different. She looked right at my eyes as opposed to being across the street or something. She was right there in front of me, less than arm's length. I imploded because I am weak, the only exception to the ongoing issue of strength being a woman who appears at a distance and disappears just as quickly. That usually results in forgetting within minutes. Oak Street was prolonged and close. There is Arlene again, looking brainless as ever, and then Daphne and her slender nose. Chrissakes she was cute back then, but sometimes it's difficult to decide which of the two looks more dopey. Heh. Anyway, seeing the duchess across the courtyard was years before spending so much time in the big city. She was there, not far from me, and I flipped out and shot. Well, the terms in which I considered such beauty and unique appearance back then were different. I searched, but not like now. I mean before rediscovering her images, that is. The 'before' period. I searched all the time during those in-between years and saw what I saw. But the reaction was usually more linked to desire than it is now. I still feel that from time to time, although it is different. I am more understanding of the source. During the time of that now-fateful trip south, I looked everywhere in desperation and tried to find something which matched my dreams of form. And boy did I find her. I just didn't realize to what extent until days ago. I don't remember where I was going with this. Whatever. Deborah has big eyes. Funny, all of the women they attempt to glamorize seem to pale when compared to those in the background. She is two inches shy of six feet. Yikes. And the cat keeps walking across my keyboard. So cute. Fog outside again. Jaime has changed the way I see women while out and about. I am still searching for the same things as before discovering her, but now I also look for her. There are many exceptions to the way I see others -- women, that is -- most being ignored almost immediately upon realizing one trait or another is out of place or misaligned. The woman from the shopping center a few days ago was the pinnacle of what I have spied out in the world and immediately made me think of the beautiful Jaime and her dark hair. As soon as I realized that my eyes were not just appreciating another example of a picturesque form, but instead hoping that the woman was the duchess, everything pivoted on itself and left me wondering if I can look around anymore without that same hope. I don't know how well I am explaining this. I seem to be wavering quite a bit and I think Jaime is the reason. Several times I've gone back to those images, like this morning, and the sight of her face is making me lose track of everything I wished to place here. I am becoming confused as to the subject. Exception. Her beauty derails me in a hot second. It happens several times each day, believe it or not. Sometimes I can't get her out of my head to concentrate on work. She takes over. Again, and as I have likely said in many of these 'E' chapters, the weakness is the reason. I am strong in many ways, but the fact remains that the dire nature of my thinking and swooning over Jaime is out of a sense of need, and that translates to weakness. I need her. Have I mentioned that? Probably more than thrice. I really have to push when I need work done or while being asked to do something because mid-sentence she will appear out of nowhere and turn me into a pile of mush. Yes, she can do that. But I make it happen. Weak. Clingy. The exception to those terms and the way they are shaping me is I can still push to be ok. I do not worry anymore about making it through whatever because these last two-plus months have shown me that I can get up if need be. And I am still there, for the most part, despite loving a woman I cannot find. So, back to this day. It's new, fresh, and awaiting whatever I wish to complete. All of the usual chores first thing may be delayed a little while to continue here. I don't know yet. My drive will be in a little while -- hopefully the green pants will not show up and gazelle her way to the market again -- and then back here shortly thereafter for some comfort and security. Even with the garage doors wide open, I do not worry about anyone here. I believe by this point in time they have received the message that I am perpetually unavailable. Doors open, life closed. I will move along through the day and try to keep my head up and out of the din. I keep saying that I am ok, however that is not always true. Ups and downs. Right now? Up. I have the day before me, the duchess wrapped around my heart, and the time to explore or work as I see fit. The green pants really threw me the other day. I still see her a little... Ponytail, boots, tall as hell. She will fade like all the others, and sometime in the future if my schedule remains, another will come into view and derail me. Hopefully that woman will be you-know-who. I keep thinking about all this science fiction and fantasy television and the idea that if I believe it and think hard enough she will hear me out there somewhere. Nuts? Of course, but the feelings are so strong that any reach is what I will extend. The duchess is out there. As for the artwork on display so often at that shopping center, most likely I will see nothing of note and simply return north to my cocoon. Once I arrive here, the worry goes away for the most part. What I see on a regular basis on the street is different. The occasional woman, but usually not anything with which I need to be concerned. I might work on the garage a little bit, and there are a few items to move around in the house, so along with my usual business I have tasks and their subsequent rewards. The projects will again take a back seat to the higher priorities. There is that adorable wing nut of a blonde again. God damn she looks sweet, stupid, and menacing at the same time. Perhaps I just know the show too well by this point. Heh. Still cute, though. Tons of smile. Whoever added her to the cast did well. Another day. I saw her again... The one from the other morning, standing six feet and wearing tight pants and boots. She was parked across from the coffee house and went back and forth twice. She changed jackets, moved some items into the trunk of her car, and walked around quite a bit. She is not Jaime, God damn it all, but still captured my attention completely. The woman was present nearly the entire time I was in the parking lot. Fuck me. I saw plenty. The truth is, she is not the one for whom I constantly search, but the fact remains that the woman is stunning from head to toe. Button-down shirt, the smoothest pants possible, and again her hair was tied into a long ponytail. Up until she dropped her lanky self into the small car, she had a mask on due to our current health order. A few minutes passed and she returned to pick up three cups of coffee and then sat, removed the mask, and drove away. I glimpsed her face for a few seconds and that was that. Nothing else was in mind with the exception of Jaime. I needed to spot that woman again and see if she was the goddess of my focus. The answer is no, however the beauty is the closest I have seen to the real Jaime. Tall, thin, and walking on air. The coffee house may be a daily thing for her, I don't know, but twice in three days lends to the possibility. That means I may see her again, hopefully. Gorgeous, all of her. I will not be driving down there again until next week if the situation does not change. I am home in comfort, but the incident illuminates my desperation. Normally I would have gawked at her like any other incredible form. Now? Hoping she was the one in my dreams is all I have. There have been countless examples of my obsession throughout years but only one I thought might be her. Damn it. She is out there, and now I realize that my obsession has narrowed to a point which is all but impossible. It hurts. I love her. Andrea? Soon I am going to get into the routine. For now, I must place the words here while they are fresh. I listened to two of the three songs on the drive north again and pictured her standing in that courtyard over and over. Not even the beauty and solace of the ocean to the left could extract her from my tired brain. I am desperate, and with the exception of knowing my day will be comfortable, trouble is brewing deep inside over knowing she is out there, somewhere. The images again. I love them to no end. Her height, the jeans, almost seeing her fingers, and that glimpse of her beautiful face that I see everywhere... All of it adds up to my severely diminishing grip on reality. She is real -- I know because I saw her right over there -- she entered my mind and my lens, and then disappeared likely forever. It hurts, and no matter how many times I point that out nor how much I can reason my way through this newest obsession, the feelings continue to expand, like the search. Fruitless, futile, depressing. All of it. Spinning me over and over until I have to explore and gush. Mush. Mushy. Goo goo, still. I feel so weak. I need to see her, hug her, and tell her of my love. I cannot, but she is out there. Damn it all, anyway. The second song nearly had me in tears just before the tunnel. Not surprising. Switchtrack. I included an image of Elizabeth to illustrate that there is definitely something out of place when I see her. I can't put my finger on it, though. Her role on the show is short-lived, so she is gone quickly if I roll through the episodes in order. Her hair is beautiful, eyes are lovely and soft, mouth and lips shaped like a dream, and the rest of her is very attractive, right down to those little feet. The face, though... Something. When I think of Jaime and look at that shot of her face, there is nothing out of place, although I cannot see all of it. I know, too. I saw it while there. Jaime is Jaime. There are lots of reasons why I decided to point the camera at her, none of which are making me fall. I saw the mechanics of her beauty at a time when I was still reeling from the server in Pleasanton and the girl at the car wash and was compelled beyond belief. Now? Ten years later? I see much more and have gone into that in spades. I am not comparing Jaime to Elizabeth or vice versa. I am stating that though Elizabeth is stunning, there are no feelings attached. She is a person, but I am not goo goo. Jaime is three images and a memory, and I am sliding into a hole filled with love for her. Obsessed with the possibility, depressed by the minuscule amount of the same, but still falling. She is amazing, and her face is the key. Elizabeth is not the same at all, and I do not know why. Just an example. The other photo? Walker when she was on Star Trek a million years ago? Almost a match to Andrea, and that is an example of a face in which nothing at all is out of order. That face is unbelievable, just like the angel to whom I was glued for weeks. Faces. Indeed. Vanessa? I stood three feet from her last year. I cannot even begin to describe what I saw when she smiled. One of the most stunningly gorgeous and exotic forms I have ever seen. The posters in the garage do not do her justice. Not even close. I will probably never see her again. As expected. She is as real as Jaime, however the difference would not fit standing on end in the Mariana Trench. Heh. I love her. I really do, and more than yesterday. I am beginning to feel 'not ok'. Today. Here I go again with the little chores, dreaming of her, and then the garage, and then more dreaming of her. Wow, see a pattern? I do. The garage is going to be interesting. I began to remove the provocative imagery the other day, but now changed my mind. Not only am I going to return the two big prints to their previous locations, I fully intend to add two more that were not hanging out there before. I have been sitting on them as I tried to work everything out and make them fit. So, why the big change after going on about how Jaime may feel? Well, put simply, she will never see what I have done. I have hope that she will cross my path some time in the future -- somewhere -- but the odds are not in my favor. Not even close. And? Maybe after discussing everything with her, she might understand. I wish so much to be in that situation and I know how ridiculous all of this is sounding, but as I said many times now... I am screwed up. I can't help picturing us having a conversation as I take in the sight of her face. I need it as I need to throw myself at her. I really need it. Badly. In doing so, I honestly feel that she would find the subject interesting and there would be no issue with my decorating preferences. They are going back up and it will be a slow process. I have secured new, dynamic lighting for highlighting all of the forms out there and getting everything together and functioning is going to take time. Little steps when I can take them. I already miss Briana's face in mere days of her being rolled and out of view. I need her expression and big eyes back in place. Expect it. Such a project encompasses lots of work but I will get it done. I am hoping Jaime would understand. Just imagine her standing in my garage. I would not be staring at posters. The days are rolling by. Another entry published this morning (a day late because I agonized over some of the wording), and three more are complete and awaiting the same. I just keep going. There is a tally of lines dedicated to all of this recent analysis over that woman, the number continuing to rise steadily as each day passes by. More will come, too. I do not see an end to this material and that means the fiction is so far back that returning my head to the story is going to require much time. My exploration of the love I feel for Jaime has now surpassed the story length of the Train. Oof. Coffee refill. Outside for a few to look at my work today, and then who-knows-what. I love her. I really do. Well, the big poster is back on the chimney in the garage. Gawd... Briana's expression. Hmm... That would be a good entry title. I am pretty proud of the way it looks now. Before I took it down, the vision was irritating me because it was not leveled properly in the beginning. So, I removed the ladies and waited until such time as I felt Jaime would not mind them being replaced in all their nearly-nude glory. I pulled most of the screws out of the backing, leveled it and the stringer across the top, then nailed the girls up, even with the surrounding panel, and again installed the canopy which contains strips of lighting. Now when I look over there I see not only Briana and her incredible facial expression, but everything is even and straight. Much better. I will be on to the other images tomorrow. I am certain that once Jaime knows all about me, she would not mind them being on display once again. What the fuck did I just say? Holy fucking shit, Batman. I've lost it. All of my indoor chores were completed earlier. That left me time to sit with this machine and dream of the face of the ages. God damn it, I just want to see her. That's all. Even for a minute. My head is awash yet again. I have to try, though. I need this... And her. Ugh. Sitting out here right now and listening to a very atmospheric, incredibly deep and layered concept album has me even more emotional than just an hour ago while I rebuilt my poster display. As soon as the third track began, I realized that something I published prior to this included an enormous error on my part. A misstatement. A big one. The comments about the album I declared as the only one I ever really needed were not precise. I overlooked what I am hearing now, and that is a gross misrepresentation of both my taste and the depth of the music. There are two: The album I cannot identify and one that I can. I will. In fact, not only will I share the title and artist, but below you can find an excerpt from the Wikipedia on the impact of said album, dating back to 1997: 'OK Computer received critical acclaim and has been cited by listeners, critics and musicians as one of the greatest albums of all time. It was nominated for the Grammy Award for Album of the Year and won Best Alternative Music Album at the 40th Annual Grammy Awards in 1998. The album initiated a stylistic shift in British rock away from Britpop toward melancholic, atmospheric alternative rock that became more prevalent in the next decade. The album depicts a world fraught with rampant consumerism, social alienation, emotional isolation and political malaise; in this capacity, OK Computer has been said to have prescient insight into the mood of 21st-century life. In 2014, it was included by the Library of Congress in the National Recording Registry as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".' Yes, Radiohead. A composition of epic, gorgeous, sweeping music not to be taken lightly. The highlights are many. I will not get into a massive review or long dissertation about this album. I will only say that nothing else in the world can swing my mood to and fro as quickly, frightfully, or dramatically. The other album I have not identified is something else entirely. Radiohead's beautiful recordings of these songs put me in a place I cannot even describe. It is beyond everything, and I am in love with the journey from beginning to end. That's right folks. The music makes me gush over Jaime. Everything makes me gush over Jaime. Each step of the day I feel her in my waiting heart and the need surges like water over sand in a wind storm. I cannot even move from place to place on this small property without her following along, all gentle and loving. Her face is right there before my eyes, constantly. Every now and again something comes along and pulls me from deep thoughts of her and takes priority, and then whatever it is that needs attention falls away and I return to her. All her. The duchess. Oy God, she is in there so deeply now. Maybe Jaime resembles Vanessa Morning. Coffee. Vampires. Heh. Yesterday turned out to be alright, I guess, although I feel I could have done more. Thoughts of her continue to derail me at times. I am trying, still. She gets in there and I can do nothing about it at all, even when I need to push forward and work through a problem or project. At the same time, I want her swirling around my heart at each step. I need her there. And now I am reminded of two dreams early this morning. While lately I have not seen much at night, nor have I been inundated with visions of mansions and mysterious women, the occasional blurb of a memory has popped up in the morning, made me think briefly, and then disappeared before I could even begin to analyze. This morning I do remember two differing scenes, other people (I knew them), and my parents. Someone else, too. I am not going to go into a ton of detail because neither was really anything to write home about, but the inclusion of my parents kind of threw me for a loop. A warehouse, the brother of one of my friends from the bar with a huge truck or RV of some kind, and another person trying to learn about the vehicle. And then a bathroom with some of my friends there speaking about some problem. I was joking around. After, I was in a living room (I think) and with someone else, a male. We were talking about another truck that was parked on what appeared to be where the stairs should have been. I was trying to control the truck from the rear bumper -- as if it was not for driving and more like a huge toy -- and I overheard comments regarding traction, like the truck was in the mud. I tried to make it drive forward and it ended up flipping over backwards and taking some of the sheetrock with it. I climbed the incline to inform my parents that everything was fine despite the noise. It was like they were asleep in the master bedroom of our house in Livermore. The crashing truck was not terribly noisy, nor did it make a big mess. The whole of my worry when it began to roll backwards kind of went away suddenly. And... Morning. Oh boy, Hoyt is talking with Jessica (Deborah). He's all mushy over her big eyes and red hair. I can understand that. They cast her well. So the dreams are rather stupid, did not include anything I am trying to deal with at the moment, and left me thinking that my mind is really not doing what it needs to work out issues. Maybe just relaxed, maybe trying to let things go, I have no idea. The dream in the bathroom reminded me of recent flap over me leaving my job, but it was not uncomfortable at all. We were joking around. I do not understand where this shit came from, and I do not like more information being shoved into my brain at a time when I have much to work through. Much. Her. The routine. The issue of being here all this time, nearly all alone. There is plenty I have to lift off my shoulders and the silly, stupid dreams that accomplish nothing are not welcomed. I have no wish to see more mansions or those women I am constantly after, and just a regular dream is off the table these days. My head works overtime constantly and I suppose after dark everything turns into a giant mixing bowl with my brain between the beaters. One thing is certain, however. Even though the recent dreams left me without any insight and I do not understand the circumstances of each place, I know that if the mansions return I will do nothing to push them away. For whatever reason, I believe that while inside and searching, I am excited and hopeful. Upon accepting the knowledge that there is someone there that I need to locate, my head typically opens a bit and I know the end result is going to be comfort. I never find it, but at the time I do not feel cynical. Just hopeful and longing in a good way. This morning? Those were crap. And I'm done with them. Let's talk about today since my head is already swimming in mush over Jaime. Like any other day, I will take care of those little things that are always on my list before lunch. After, I need to move into the new office and set this up to be ready for whatever flood of loving words needs to be put down when I begin to dream of that goddess standing there in the courtyard looking like she could control the world with a glance. That is going to happen at some point, so I will be ready to gush. And the organization will continue, posters, and a bit of cleaning. I have piled up some things that normally would have been donated by now. Those services were halted some weeks ago in light of the virus, so everything has sat. I can compact things, move other stuff around to take up less space, and then I am going to try more shelving above the door. Time will tell. I have to improve myself for her. And I already know how crazy I am so shut up. I had to drop the windows so one of the cats could walk across the keyboard without disturbing this code. And there was the wallpaper of the passion. Oy. The only thing more beautiful is Jaime. With the correct turn of events and a shitload of resources I could probably acquire the watch, but the other one? Not so much. I have yearned to see her face every minute of every day, she affects me unlike anyone or anything else in this world, and I popped open the images of her again. That is being done against my better judgment but I am weakened by the sight. I can't help it, I have to see her sometimes. When I am away from this machine, I miss her. When I am in front of it, I will look. Every time I look at her I am partially reminded of that day. I still don't remember where that place is. Maybe it was similar to the DeYoung museum or the Academy of Sciences in the city. Both of those attractions have restaurants of a sort. We crossed the courtyard where I saw Jaime and I think through part of the building to the left of what can be seen in the photos, and the restaurant was on the opposite side. We may have gone there directly after me shooting the duchess outside, or perhaps we went elsewhere first. Ten fucking years and no data have left me guessing, but I must figure it out. I have to know where we were, I want to visit again and stand in that place while I dream of her right there. One of these days I am going to find it. I need her. A visit there may help. I don't know. Until then, I will sit tight, yearn, hurt, work, and breathe my way through each fucking day. I will carry on loving her from afar. I am glad we do not see Daphne's breasts. I am a believer that it is not necessary for the role. Some allow it, others do not. And from what I have read, Elizabeth had to be pretty fucking drunk before she could relax enough to shoot the scenes sans clothing and all over Ryan. That's funny, but she did it. I would say I could show more respect for her keeping the skin covered, but the truth is the work is up to her, and I respect her either way. As gorgeous as her body is in those scenes, I still would be enamored with her character after seeing less. And as I said before, there is something wrong with her face. Still can't put my finger on it. Whatever. Just a show. The day. Today. After publishing yesterday, I am still sitting on just shy of two-thousand lines yet to be placed with the rest. Unreal. She brings the emotion out of me like nothing else in the world. Marina with the fangs. She is like the devil incarnate, mysterious, frightening, but still oh so gorgeous. Oy... Stay away. Her gaze could wipe out millions. The woman near the coffee house leads me to believe that I will keep searching no matter what takes place in my life now or in the future. I do not think that can reach an end, finding Jaime notwithstanding. Am I ever going to change that behavior? Or does the partial realization the other day mean that the instinct cannot be extracted? I don't fucking know. I have to search for her, though. If that means I will never relax or be at peace, well... I have little choice in the matter. My feelings for Jaime keep growing out of control. Searching is just not a choice right now, it is necessary for my daily living. If I do change in the future and the compulsion eases up? That is hard to imagine. Right now I am right in the middle of this so perhaps looking to an end or any type of resolution is ill-advised. Jaime is out there, somewhere. If I cease searching, I may miss her, and that would be the end of my world, but only if I knew it. Hmm... Is that a paradox? Whatever. Fuck that. I look before even thinking about it. Instinctive, as I said before. The only exception is while around certain people, at which time I either keep my gaze close or force myself to look away and focus upon others. When I am alone? I look until I feel guilty. Rarely am I able to see for very long, anyway. The world keeps moving despite my deviant yearning. I have to keep moving, as well. Maybe not I wanted that woman all over me immediately. Wait until the last paragraph. Fuck me, anyway. The images here are becoming less and less important as I dream of the duchess. She has taken nearly all of my ambition and rolled it into a ball of turmoil and worry. Said worry used to be the images displayed down each entry. I needed them to illustrate my feelings regarding the obsession and make a big statement at the same time. That would be my control over the atmosphere I've worked so hard to create. Years of very provocative imagery have left me at a loss over what to display now. I do not feel the dire necessity to illustrate my control over this space, nor do I need to continue glancing a woman's labia in hopes of adding visual detail to the words. True, the compound curves over which I have broken my back to research are all over the place, but honestly do not need to be so dramatically shown. I think readers have gotten the idea. Some have come very close to showing a little more than they should (and believe me when I say the closeup images of those nether regions have already been captured, edited, scrutinized, and are awaiting publishing) and I had to be careful in avoiding crossing a very intimate line. I have not. Close, but I have not. And now? Expect to see more faces and more clothing. Oh, I'm sure the occasional slip will show up, though. The images are often too compelling to avoid displaying here. More faces, more captions, more covered skin. And they depend upon the subject of each entry most of the time. Other times I just don't care. Jaime's image will never be here again. Ever. I placed them just long enough to have a complete reverse of heart and now I wish I had never included them. Hopefully they went no further than that page. And the tall beauty that I spoke with at the bar is gone, as well. I had to eliminate them. Just a matter of time. Those images of the duchess are mine and only mine, and that makes me feel a little more comfortable about capturing her at the time. Years later, I still get to see her frozen for eternity. I love it, and I love her more now than I did at the top of the page. Believe it. I am ok, but not well at all. Mushy. Goo goo ga ga. Her face. God help me. One facet of her pull upon me is disturbing. Ever since 'Extraction' I have been moving myself away from others and truncating the electronic contact. It still continues and I am further away than before seeing my love in those images. Each day has me thinking how comfortable I have become here without others around me. One recent weekend -- three weeks back, maybe -- there were a few out in my garage visiting (one being the owner of the motorcycle), and after less than thirty minutes I began to feel their voices grating against my hearing. I could not stand it after a while and all my effort was required to extricate the noise and work myself past it. The experience was as that of a party when the mood is joyous and outgoing but a person feels none of it and simply needs to leave. All of my time alone has narrowed me so much that I do not wish to see anyone or hear them speaking. The phone messages are fine because I can control them. I can also shut the thing off, block contacts, whatever. That little machine allows me options and I hold it close. No one visits the house unless I initiate such. Overall, I have complete command over the entire situation. The issue is that I am now concerned of what I am becoming as a result. When the time comes for me to get out there and among the mass, I may find it very uncomfortable which can drive me to drastic measures, or I could come across as very abrasive. Either is bad, but only part of me gives a fuck. Through all of the time since being closed off, only one thing has lifted me, and that is Jaime. Not a thing. Scratch that. The woman, the dream that is the duchess has been in my head and heart for days on end and has the ability to keep me company during those times while physically alone. And this... The never-ending, compelling exposition and exploration that maintains my sanity as much as possible while dreaming of that woman in my heart. Everything adds up to a situation in life that I have never imagined. Not like this. Eventually I will need to go out there for work. One way or another, that time will come. When it arrives, I have no fucking idea of who I may be. The only exception would be working from home, but that is as likely as the limo full of models. This day is just beginning. I am still in pajamas in front of the vampires with coffee. Soon, though, I must get out there and move things along. Garbage day, some items for donation, I need to get food together for the local bank, and then perhaps this machine on the bench later. I might work on putting more girls back up but right now they are not a priority. I keep thinking of Jaime keeping me company -- warm thoughts of her soft eyes -- and the idea that I will continue in this vein for quite some time. I have to keep going without pause. She is in there and bringing it out of me like never before. How this happened I may never know, however I am so deep within the soup at this point that imagining the before period is really difficult. I have things to do that will occupy the mind for the most part, so I am thankful. Too much dwelling upon the duchess will have me all melted on the floor and useless. Heh. She can do that. Along with the gushy, mushy crap that no one needs to hear, there is turmoil over searching and not finding. The woman out there the other day spun me into a whipped fucking worthless pile of person for a time and I need to analyze her pull. It happened so quickly that my head did not stop spinning until two episodes into the housework. Damn, she did that. She really did, and I still see her walking her long legs across the parking lot thrice. Not Jaime. And that is illustrated below. I will not need to drive down there for a few days which is good. I have the sinking feeling that she is there quite often and right around the same time. If I see her again, I will drop a bit further. The woman is not the duchess, but still I am intrigued. Two parts of me that remain disparate yet relate once in a while and split me in half. Lots to explore, lots of time right now, and I fully intend to take advantage of it in hopes of understanding the woman of my dreams and the dreams of women. The gazelle in the parking lot is an exception. That one I fully understand. It is rare, but I already know why. You may not like this next paragraph, but it is short. The enormous gradient between Jaime and the woman at the coffee house? Well, those pants lifted me and dropped my sorry self into a vat of molten desire. Whereas I immediately and strongly wished to plant my lips to her soft labia for an entire afternoon, what I wish with Jamie is to stare at her eyes and reveal all that is in my heart. I am falling for her as quickly and dramatically as I am falling apart. Falling. She is out there." 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Exception Mature content No. 138 Published June 8th, 2020 5:53am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still here. Inside my little world that contains me and her. God damn fuck shit everything anyway. I cannot stop looking at her and I cannot take exception to the fact that I love her. There you go, right out of the fucking gate this time. This morning as I left the shopping center to head north and enter my comfortable routine, there was another. They will never stop appearing because my eyes are always moving. A mass of dark blonde hair, pants which left nothing to the imagination, and slender arms below sharp shoulders. There she was by the coffee house. This is going to continue to happen and is serving to inflame my search. If I am out in the world, something will undoubtedly run across my gaze and cause all manner of shit to spin, as if God himself is there with a huge immersion blender jammed through the top of my sorry head. As soon as I notice a shape off in the distance, my gaze swings whether or not I feel the will to avoid a sight like that. I see it, and then I feel like I am making someone uncomfortable by looking, and then I realize the woman does not know, and then back to guilt, and then I lose sight and drive on down the fucking road. The guilt melts away, my brain tries to recall her form from head to toe, and then the pain inside over so many years passing me by with little to no opportunity for exploration of the most compelling interest in my life. Every fucking time. As of just recently, there is now another pile of shit which slaps me in the face when this takes place, and that is thinking that the woman may be Jaime. I might be all in or all the way out of my mind. Not sure which. Both? Another morning, drive down and back, and then my precious routine. Today was a slower start due to my head blowing up again over her. The one early on outside the coffee house was not that much of an issue, although she did remind me of the search, and that led me to the subject of it. Yep. Remember when I said I cannot even toss things into the recycle without dreaming of her? Well, dishes, sweeping, the television... Everything. All my strength was required to avoid cocktails at ten this morning, but I made it. I did not wish to disappoint someone I do not know. You read that right. I am so far out of balance that it likely will not return. I love her. After moving images around to prepare some for publishing, I stared at her again. The crop... The closeup. That is never a good idea and I did it again. God she moves me so. The day. Well, I am just an hour away from driving south and enjoying the peace of the highway as my time here comes to a close. I completed several things I set out to do today. A few others can wait until tomorrow's routine time. Priorities first, others after. The television followed me for hours because I need it. And I do love it to an extent. My new life is just weeks old but already cemented in my mind. All of the quiet, the little chores, breaks when I need them, and that gaping separation from the others which sets me at ease no matter what may be happening. The days are rarely difficult aside from her being in charge of my life. I cannot see her and there is nothing on this fucking world that I need more. Honestly. I am a giant representation of the most clingy, needy pile of emotion imaginable right now. If it passes, the horizon is pretty fucking far away because at this moment she still dances in my heart. That half a face, the nose, the pursed lips... I am head over heels. I really am. Tell me this is wrong and those will be the last words to my ears from you. I do not care who speaks. Do not question me. I am becoming fiercely devoted to her. Hmm... Defensive? Yes, and I do not mean to spout like that. Sometimes the mood strikes and it just flows like shit from a city waste line. Oy, I was talking about my day. Hmm... Some things done to my satisfaction, others await. The girls have not been put back up in the garage yet because I need to focus upon those tasks which support daily life. Food, consumables, etc. are at the top of the list. My deviant obsession and sense of weakness must wait. The girls will wait. All in good time. I didn't mean to interrupt the above paragraph by being a flaming bitch. I am rolling with time, the only exception being the woman who has the ability to stop it for me. And a funny? There is the issue of an 'obsessive love affair' on the television right now. Impeccable timing. Usually when there is a woman stuck in my head I am wishing to be free of her. I remember the girl on Oak Street years back when I was heading out of the building and nearly stepped into her as she was passing on the sidewalk. I jumped back and apologized for exiting so quickly (not really safe), after which she smiled and told me there were no worries. I simply surprised her. She said 'bye' and continued along toward the corner with my gaze bonded to her. She was amazing, everything on fucking display right there just feet from my eyes, and walking as if she knew I was staring. I had to. Her pants revealed every detail and my head spun for a few seconds until she disappeared around the corner. All of my will was required to carry on with my duties and not dash after her. But what would or could I have said? The idea is completely ridiculous and I have never stopped a woman in such a situation. Good God, I wanted to speak with her so badly, to set up coffee or something and then describe why a woman such as she was so fucking important to me. None of that crap is realistic, though. Good could come of it, or nothing, or a shitload of bad. There was too much fear and she left the area as if there was a purpose to her stepping. She likely did not have much time for anything judging by the speed. The whole thing went by very quickly and I reeled for days afterward. She was so gorgeous from head to toe, I could smell her hair, and that smile was the clincher. Her face. Do you understand? Her face was the importance even if the rest of her was the subject of my years-long obsession. That smile slapped me silly. Fuck, was that girl ever unbelievably beautiful. And the face of Jamie... More. Much more. Mysterious, lovely, soft. Too much for me to put into words even after all those years of college composition and grammar. I just can't do her justice. And now that the images have been stingily removed, no one gets to see her except me. The face. Her face. The new map of the universe. As far as I can remember, that point in time when the girl walked away from me on Oak was very desperate. There were others, and each contributed her own unique beauty to my mental portfolio of damaging imagery. All those days, weeks, and months of traveling through the city to a handful of destinations had me perusing the landscape in search of what I knew was there. Always searching, sometimes finding, but whether or not I saw what my head needed, the inside of me was still damaged. Years of turmoil over seeing and not understanding had taken their toll. The only idea was to try and get out of that business in favor of a stable atmosphere away from all those forms on the street. The girl on Oak was one of many, and likely the closest in a long time. After that day seeing her, each occasion while we worked at the same building had me constantly searching for her. Desperation, yearning, nothing. I love her. I am ok, mostly. Morning again. Early. Another day in front of me. I need to improve upon yesterday. I took care of some things but nothing dramatic. My head began to go all over the place in the mid afternoon and that nearly had me stopped completely. A little bit of worry actually held me in its grip for a while. I ended up moving some material around in the garage and stayed glued to the background television in order to maintain my upward stance which has carried me through these last few weeks. I have to keep the possibilities in mind or I may really topple over. The worry is minimal because I know I will be fine. I also need to keep the others the fuck outside my space. They offer nothing that can help me during these uncertain months. This exposition is going to be overanalyzed very soon. I keep thinking of her and anything written in such a direction has to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to ensure I am doing what I can to keep it neat. I simply cannot leave anything sloppy when it comes to the duchess. I have gone back many times into the archives and viewed work from many years ago and tried to correct little errors here and there which is not uncommon. The code from the archived years is very outdated (some of it, anyway) due to standards changing throughout time. The validating process has been on hold since months ago because of some scripting syntax that I cannot seem to resolve, and the whole fucking mess is beginning to irritate me. As I said above, she is the primary thought in my brain and I must keep this neat and flowing. There is always something which can be improved, too. Just the nature of the work. Jaime follows along. So far I am not speaking to her out loud like a demented television show character. When that day comes, lock me up. Elizabeth... Inspiration (I think) Why the long tirade about that girl in the city? I guess the idea was to illustrate just how far I have fallen over seeing someone like her. There were others around that time -- one that lived in the building -- which pulled at me and then moved away. The closeness to the girl on Oak was different. She looked right at my eyes as opposed to being across the street or something. She was right there in front of me, less than arm's length. I imploded because I am weak, the only exception to the ongoing issue of strength being a woman who appears at a distance and disappears just as quickly. That usually results in forgetting within minutes. Oak Street was prolonged and close. There is Arlene again, looking brainless as ever, and then Daphne and her slender nose. Chrissakes she was cute back then, but sometimes it's difficult to decide which of the two looks more dopey. Heh. Anyway, seeing the duchess across the courtyard was years before spending so much time in the big city. She was there, not far from me, and I flipped out and shot. Well, the terms in which I considered such beauty and unique appearance back then were different. I searched, but not like now. I mean before rediscovering her images, that is. The 'before' period. I searched all the time during those in-between years and saw what I saw. But the reaction was usually more linked to desire than it is now. I still feel that from time to time, although it is different. I am more understanding of the source. During the time of that now-fateful trip south, I looked everywhere in desperation and tried to find something which matched my dreams of form. And boy did I find her. I just didn't realize to what extent until days ago. I don't remember where I was going with this. Whatever. Deborah has big eyes. Funny, all of the women they attempt to glamorize seem to pale when compared to those in the background. She is two inches shy of six feet. Yikes. And the cat keeps walking across my keyboard. So cute. Fog outside again. Jaime has changed the way I see women while out and about. I am still searching for the same things as before discovering her, but now I also look for her. There are many exceptions to the way I see others -- women, that is -- most being ignored almost immediately upon realizing one trait or another is out of place or misaligned. The woman from the shopping center a few days ago was the pinnacle of what I have spied out in the world and immediately made me think of the beautiful Jaime and her dark hair. As soon as I realized that my eyes were not just appreciating another example of a picturesque form, but instead hoping that the woman was the duchess, everything pivoted on itself and left me wondering if I can look around anymore without that same hope. I don't know how well I am explaining this. I seem to be wavering quite a bit and I think Jaime is the reason. Several times I've gone back to those images, like this morning, and the sight of her face is making me lose track of everything I wished to place here. I am becoming confused as to the subject. Exception. Her beauty derails me in a hot second. It happens several times each day, believe it or not. Sometimes I can't get her out of my head to concentrate on work. She takes over. Again, and as I have likely said in many of these 'E' chapters, the weakness is the reason. I am strong in many ways, but the fact remains that the dire nature of my thinking and swooning over Jaime is out of a sense of need, and that translates to weakness. I need her. Have I mentioned that? Probably more than thrice. I really have to push when I need work done or while being asked to do something because mid-sentence she will appear out of nowhere and turn me into a pile of mush. Yes, she can do that. But I make it happen. Weak. Clingy. The exception to those terms and the way they are shaping me is I can still push to be ok. I do not worry anymore about making it through whatever because these last two-plus months have shown me that I can get up if need be. And I am still there, for the most part, despite loving a woman I cannot find. So, back to this day. It's new, fresh, and awaiting whatever I wish to complete. All of the usual chores first thing may be delayed a little while to continue here. I don't know yet. My drive will be in a little while -- hopefully the green pants will not show up and gazelle her way to the market again -- and then back here shortly thereafter for some comfort and security. Even with the garage doors wide open, I do not worry about anyone here. I believe by this point in time they have received the message that I am perpetually unavailable. Doors open, life closed. I will move along through the day and try to keep my head up and out of the din. I keep saying that I am ok, however that is not always true. Ups and downs. Right now? Up. I have the day before me, the duchess wrapped around my heart, and the time to explore or work as I see fit. The green pants really threw me the other day. I still see her a little... Ponytail, boots, tall as hell. She will fade like all the others, and sometime in the future if my schedule remains, another will come into view and derail me. Hopefully that woman will be you-know-who. I keep thinking about all this science fiction and fantasy television and the idea that if I believe it and think hard enough she will hear me out there somewhere. Nuts? Of course, but the feelings are so strong that any reach is what I will extend. The duchess is out there. As for the artwork on display so often at that shopping center, most likely I will see nothing of note and simply return north to my cocoon. Once I arrive here, the worry goes away for the most part. What I see on a regular basis on the street is different. The occasional woman, but usually not anything with which I need to be concerned. I might work on the garage a little bit, and there are a few items to move around in the house, so along with my usual business I have tasks and their subsequent rewards. The projects will again take a back seat to the higher priorities. There is that adorable wing nut of a blonde again. God damn she looks sweet, stupid, and menacing at the same time. Perhaps I just know the show too well by this point. Heh. Still cute, though. Tons of smile. Whoever added her to the cast did well. Another day. I saw her again... The one from the other morning, standing six feet and wearing tight pants and boots. She was parked across from the coffee house and went back and forth twice. She changed jackets, moved some items into the trunk of her car, and walked around quite a bit. She is not Jaime, God damn it all, but still captured my attention completely. The woman was present nearly the entire time I was in the parking lot. Fuck me. I saw plenty. The truth is, she is not the one for whom I constantly search, but the fact remains that the woman is stunning from head to toe. Button-down shirt, the smoothest pants possible, and again her hair was tied into a long ponytail. Up until she dropped her lanky self into the small car, she had a mask on due to our current health order. A few minutes passed and she returned to pick up three cups of coffee and then sat, removed the mask, and drove away. I glimpsed her face for a few seconds and that was that. Nothing else was in mind with the exception of Jaime. I needed to spot that woman again and see if she was the goddess of my focus. The answer is no, however the beauty is the closest I have seen to the real Jaime. Tall, thin, and walking on air. The coffee house may be a daily thing for her, I don't know, but twice in three days lends to the possibility. That means I may see her again, hopefully. Gorgeous, all of her. I will not be driving down there again until next week if the situation does not change. I am home in comfort, but the incident illuminates my desperation. Normally I would have gawked at her like any other incredible form. Now? Hoping she was the one in my dreams is all I have. There have been countless examples of my obsession throughout years but only one I thought might be her. Damn it. She is out there, and now I realize that my obsession has narrowed to a point which is all but impossible. It hurts. I love her. Andrea? Soon I am going to get into the routine. For now, I must place the words here while they are fresh. I listened to two of the three songs on the drive north again and pictured her standing in that courtyard over and over. Not even the beauty and solace of the ocean to the left could extract her from my tired brain. I am desperate, and with the exception of knowing my day will be comfortable, trouble is brewing deep inside over knowing she is out there, somewhere. The images again. I love them to no end. Her height, the jeans, almost seeing her fingers, and that glimpse of her beautiful face that I see everywhere... All of it adds up to my severely diminishing grip on reality. She is real -- I know because I saw her right over there -- she entered my mind and my lens, and then disappeared likely forever. It hurts, and no matter how many times I point that out nor how much I can reason my way through this newest obsession, the feelings continue to expand, like the search. Fruitless, futile, depressing. All of it. Spinning me over and over until I have to explore and gush. Mush. Mushy. Goo goo, still. I feel so weak. I need to see her, hug her, and tell her of my love. I cannot, but she is out there. Damn it all, anyway. The second song nearly had me in tears just before the tunnel. Not surprising. Switchtrack. I included an image of Elizabeth to illustrate that there is definitely something out of place when I see her. I can't put my finger on it, though. Her role on the show is short-lived, so she is gone quickly if I roll through the episodes in order. Her hair is beautiful, eyes are lovely and soft, mouth and lips shaped like a dream, and the rest of her is very attractive, right down to those little feet. The face, though... Something. When I think of Jaime and look at that shot of her face, there is nothing out of place, although I cannot see all of it. I know, too. I saw it while there. Jaime is Jaime. There are lots of reasons why I decided to point the camera at her, none of which are making me fall. I saw the mechanics of her beauty at a time when I was still reeling from the server in Pleasanton and the girl at the car wash and was compelled beyond belief. Now? Ten years later? I see much more and have gone into that in spades. I am not comparing Jaime to Elizabeth or vice versa. I am stating that though Elizabeth is stunning, there are no feelings attached. She is a person, but I am not goo goo. Jaime is three images and a memory, and I am sliding into a hole filled with love for her. Obsessed with the possibility, depressed by the minuscule amount of the same, but still falling. She is amazing, and her face is the key. Elizabeth is not the same at all, and I do not know why. Just an example. The other photo? Walker when she was on Star Trek a million years ago? Almost a match to Andrea, and that is an example of a face in which nothing at all is out of order. That face is unbelievable, just like the angel to whom I was glued for weeks. Faces. Indeed. Vanessa? I stood three feet from her last year. I cannot even begin to describe what I saw when she smiled. One of the most stunningly gorgeous and exotic forms I have ever seen. The posters in the garage do not do her justice. Not even close. I will probably never see her again. As expected. She is as real as Jaime, however the difference would not fit standing on end in the Mariana Trench. Heh. I love her. I really do, and more than yesterday. I am beginning to feel 'not ok'. Today. Here I go again with the little chores, dreaming of her, and then the garage, and then more dreaming of her. Wow, see a pattern? I do. The garage is going to be interesting. I began to remove the provocative imagery the other day, but now changed my mind. Not only am I going to return the two big prints to their previous locations, I fully intend to add two more that were not hanging out there before. I have been sitting on them as I tried to work everything out and make them fit. So, why the big change after going on about how Jaime may feel? Well, put simply, she will never see what I have done. I have hope that she will cross my path some time in the future -- somewhere -- but the odds are not in my favor. Not even close. And? Maybe after discussing everything with her, she might understand. I wish so much to be in that situation and I know how ridiculous all of this is sounding, but as I said many times now... I am screwed up. I can't help picturing us having a conversation as I take in the sight of her face. I need it as I need to throw myself at her. I really need it. Badly. In doing so, I honestly feel that she would find the subject interesting and there would be no issue with my decorating preferences. They are going back up and it will be a slow process. I have secured new, dynamic lighting for highlighting all of the forms out there and getting everything together and functioning is going to take time. Little steps when I can take them. I already miss Briana's face in mere days of her being rolled and out of view. I need her expression and big eyes back in place. Expect it. Such a project encompasses lots of work but I will get it done. I am hoping Jaime would understand. Just imagine her standing in my garage. I would not be staring at posters. The days are rolling by. Another entry published this morning (a day late because I agonized over some of the wording), and three more are complete and awaiting the same. I just keep going. There is a tally of lines dedicated to all of this recent analysis over that woman, the number continuing to rise steadily as each day passes by. More will come, too. I do not see an end to this material and that means the fiction is so far back that returning my head to the story is going to require much time. My exploration of the love I feel for Jaime has now surpassed the story length of the Train. Oof. Coffee refill. Outside for a few to look at my work today, and then who-knows-what. I love her. I really do. Well, the big poster is back on the chimney in the garage. Gawd... Briana's expression. Hmm... That would be a good entry title. I am pretty proud of the way it looks now. Before I took it down, the vision was irritating me because it was not leveled properly in the beginning. So, I removed the ladies and waited until such time as I felt Jaime would not mind them being replaced in all their nearly-nude glory. I pulled most of the screws out of the backing, leveled it and the stringer across the top, then nailed the girls up, even with the surrounding panel, and again installed the canopy which contains strips of lighting. Now when I look over there I see not only Briana and her incredible facial expression, but everything is even and straight. Much better. I will be on to the other images tomorrow. I am certain that once Jaime knows all about me, she would not mind them being on display once again. What the fuck did I just say? Holy fucking shit, Batman. I've lost it. All of my indoor chores were completed earlier. That left me time to sit with this machine and dream of the face of the ages. God damn it, I just want to see her. That's all. Even for a minute. My head is awash yet again. I have to try, though. I need this... And her. Ugh. Sitting out here right now and listening to a very atmospheric, incredibly deep and layered concept album has me even more emotional than just an hour ago while I rebuilt my poster display. As soon as the third track began, I realized that something I published prior to this included an enormous error on my part. A misstatement. A big one. The comments about the album I declared as the only one I ever really needed were not precise. I overlooked what I am hearing now, and that is a gross misrepresentation of both my taste and the depth of the music. There are two: The album I cannot identify and one that I can. I will. In fact, not only will I share the title and artist, but below you can find an excerpt from the Wikipedia on the impact of said album, dating back to 1997: 'OK Computer received critical acclaim and has been cited by listeners, critics and musicians as one of the greatest albums of all time. It was nominated for the Grammy Award for Album of the Year and won Best Alternative Music Album at the 40th Annual Grammy Awards in 1998. The album initiated a stylistic shift in British rock away from Britpop toward melancholic, atmospheric alternative rock that became more prevalent in the next decade. The album depicts a world fraught with rampant consumerism, social alienation, emotional isolation and political malaise; in this capacity, OK Computer has been said to have prescient insight into the mood of 21st-century life. In 2014, it was included by the Library of Congress in the National Recording Registry as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".' Yes, Radiohead. A composition of epic, gorgeous, sweeping music not to be taken lightly. The highlights are many. I will not get into a massive review or long dissertation about this album. I will only say that nothing else in the world can swing my mood to and fro as quickly, frightfully, or dramatically. The other album I have not identified is something else entirely. Radiohead's beautiful recordings of these songs put me in a place I cannot even describe. It is beyond everything, and I am in love with the journey from beginning to end. That's right folks. The music makes me gush over Jaime. Everything makes me gush over Jaime. Each step of the day I feel her in my waiting heart and the need surges like water over sand in a wind storm. I cannot even move from place to place on this small property without her following along, all gentle and loving. Her face is right there before my eyes, constantly. Every now and again something comes along and pulls me from deep thoughts of her and takes priority, and then whatever it is that needs attention falls away and I return to her. All her. The duchess. Oy God, she is in there so deeply now. Maybe Jaime resembles Vanessa Morning. Coffee. Vampires. Heh. Yesterday turned out to be alright, I guess, although I feel I could have done more. Thoughts of her continue to derail me at times. I am trying, still. She gets in there and I can do nothing about it at all, even when I need to push forward and work through a problem or project. At the same time, I want her swirling around my heart at each step. I need her there. And now I am reminded of two dreams early this morning. While lately I have not seen much at night, nor have I been inundated with visions of mansions and mysterious women, the occasional blurb of a memory has popped up in the morning, made me think briefly, and then disappeared before I could even begin to analyze. This morning I do remember two differing scenes, other people (I knew them), and my parents. Someone else, too. I am not going to go into a ton of detail because neither was really anything to write home about, but the inclusion of my parents kind of threw me for a loop. A warehouse, the brother of one of my friends from the bar with a huge truck or RV of some kind, and another person trying to learn about the vehicle. And then a bathroom with some of my friends there speaking about some problem. I was joking around. After, I was in a living room (I think) and with someone else, a male. We were talking about another truck that was parked on what appeared to be where the stairs should have been. I was trying to control the truck from the rear bumper -- as if it was not for driving and more like a huge toy -- and I overheard comments regarding traction, like the truck was in the mud. I tried to make it drive forward and it ended up flipping over backwards and taking some of the sheetrock with it. I climbed the incline to inform my parents that everything was fine despite the noise. It was like they were asleep in the master bedroom of our house in Livermore. The crashing truck was not terribly noisy, nor did it make a big mess. The whole of my worry when it began to roll backwards kind of went away suddenly. And... Morning. Oh boy, Hoyt is talking with Jessica (Deborah). He's all mushy over her big eyes and red hair. I can understand that. They cast her well. So the dreams are rather stupid, did not include anything I am trying to deal with at the moment, and left me thinking that my mind is really not doing what it needs to work out issues. Maybe just relaxed, maybe trying to let things go, I have no idea. The dream in the bathroom reminded me of recent flap over me leaving my job, but it was not uncomfortable at all. We were joking around. I do not understand where this shit came from, and I do not like more information being shoved into my brain at a time when I have much to work through. Much. Her. The routine. The issue of being here all this time, nearly all alone. There is plenty I have to lift off my shoulders and the silly, stupid dreams that accomplish nothing are not welcomed. I have no wish to see more mansions or those women I am constantly after, and just a regular dream is off the table these days. My head works overtime constantly and I suppose after dark everything turns into a giant mixing bowl with my brain between the beaters. One thing is certain, however. Even though the recent dreams left me without any insight and I do not understand the circumstances of each place, I know that if the mansions return I will do nothing to push them away. For whatever reason, I believe that while inside and searching, I am excited and hopeful. Upon accepting the knowledge that there is someone there that I need to locate, my head typically opens a bit and I know the end result is going to be comfort. I never find it, but at the time I do not feel cynical. Just hopeful and longing in a good way. This morning? Those were crap. And I'm done with them. Let's talk about today since my head is already swimming in mush over Jaime. Like any other day, I will take care of those little things that are always on my list before lunch. After, I need to move into the new office and set this up to be ready for whatever flood of loving words needs to be put down when I begin to dream of that goddess standing there in the courtyard looking like she could control the world with a glance. That is going to happen at some point, so I will be ready to gush. And the organization will continue, posters, and a bit of cleaning. I have piled up some things that normally would have been donated by now. Those services were halted some weeks ago in light of the virus, so everything has sat. I can compact things, move other stuff around to take up less space, and then I am going to try more shelving above the door. Time will tell. I have to improve myself for her. And I already know how crazy I am so shut up. I had to drop the windows so one of the cats could walk across the keyboard without disturbing this code. And there was the wallpaper of the passion. Oy. The only thing more beautiful is Jaime. With the correct turn of events and a shitload of resources I could probably acquire the watch, but the other one? Not so much. I have yearned to see her face every minute of every day, she affects me unlike anyone or anything else in this world, and I popped open the images of her again. That is being done against my better judgment but I am weakened by the sight. I can't help it, I have to see her sometimes. When I am away from this machine, I miss her. When I am in front of it, I will look. Every time I look at her I am partially reminded of that day. I still don't remember where that place is. Maybe it was similar to the DeYoung museum or the Academy of Sciences in the city. Both of those attractions have restaurants of a sort. We crossed the courtyard where I saw Jaime and I think through part of the building to the left of what can be seen in the photos, and the restaurant was on the opposite side. We may have gone there directly after me shooting the duchess outside, or perhaps we went elsewhere first. Ten fucking years and no data have left me guessing, but I must figure it out. I have to know where we were, I want to visit again and stand in that place while I dream of her right there. One of these days I am going to find it. I need her. A visit there may help. I don't know. Until then, I will sit tight, yearn, hurt, work, and breathe my way through each fucking day. I will carry on loving her from afar. I am glad we do not see Daphne's breasts. I am a believer that it is not necessary for the role. Some allow it, others do not. And from what I have read, Elizabeth had to be pretty fucking drunk before she could relax enough to shoot the scenes sans clothing and all over Ryan. That's funny, but she did it. I would say I could show more respect for her keeping the skin covered, but the truth is the work is up to her, and I respect her either way. As gorgeous as her body is in those scenes, I still would be enamored with her character after seeing less. And as I said before, there is something wrong with her face. Still can't put my finger on it. Whatever. Just a show. The day. Today. After publishing yesterday, I am still sitting on just shy of two-thousand lines yet to be placed with the rest. Unreal. She brings the emotion out of me like nothing else in the world. Marina with the fangs. She is like the devil incarnate, mysterious, frightening, but still oh so gorgeous. Oy... Stay away. Her gaze could wipe out millions. The woman near the coffee house leads me to believe that I will keep searching no matter what takes place in my life now or in the future. I do not think that can reach an end, finding Jaime notwithstanding. Am I ever going to change that behavior? Or does the partial realization the other day mean that the instinct cannot be extracted? I don't fucking know. I have to search for her, though. If that means I will never relax or be at peace, well... I have little choice in the matter. My feelings for Jaime keep growing out of control. Searching is just not a choice right now, it is necessary for my daily living. If I do change in the future and the compulsion eases up? That is hard to imagine. Right now I am right in the middle of this so perhaps looking to an end or any type of resolution is ill-advised. Jaime is out there, somewhere. If I cease searching, I may miss her, and that would be the end of my world, but only if I knew it. Hmm... Is that a paradox? Whatever. Fuck that. I look before even thinking about it. Instinctive, as I said before. The only exception is while around certain people, at which time I either keep my gaze close or force myself to look away and focus upon others. When I am alone? I look until I feel guilty. Rarely am I able to see for very long, anyway. The world keeps moving despite my deviant yearning. I have to keep moving, as well. Maybe not I wanted that woman all over me immediately. Wait until the last paragraph. Fuck me, anyway. The images here are becoming less and less important as I dream of the duchess. She has taken nearly all of my ambition and rolled it into a ball of turmoil and worry. Said worry used to be the images displayed down each entry. I needed them to illustrate my feelings regarding the obsession and make a big statement at the same time. That would be my control over the atmosphere I've worked so hard to create. Years of very provocative imagery have left me at a loss over what to display now. I do not feel the dire necessity to illustrate my control over this space, nor do I need to continue glancing a woman's labia in hopes of adding visual detail to the words. True, the compound curves over which I have broken my back to research are all over the place, but honestly do not need to be so dramatically shown. I think readers have gotten the idea. Some have come very close to showing a little more than they should (and believe me when I say the closeup images of those nether regions have already been captured, edited, scrutinized, and are awaiting publishing) and I had to be careful in avoiding crossing a very intimate line. I have not. Close, but I have not. And now? Expect to see more faces and more clothing. Oh, I'm sure the occasional slip will show up, though. The images are often too compelling to avoid displaying here. More faces, more captions, more covered skin. And they depend upon the subject of each entry most of the time. Other times I just don't care. Jaime's image will never be here again. Ever. I placed them just long enough to have a complete reverse of heart and now I wish I had never included them. Hopefully they went no further than that page. And the tall beauty that I spoke with at the bar is gone, as well. I had to eliminate them. Just a matter of time. Those images of the duchess are mine and only mine, and that makes me feel a little more comfortable about capturing her at the time. Years later, I still get to see her frozen for eternity. I love it, and I love her more now than I did at the top of the page. Believe it. I am ok, but not well at all. Mushy. Goo goo ga ga. Her face. God help me. One facet of her pull upon me is disturbing. Ever since 'Extraction' I have been moving myself away from others and truncating the electronic contact. It still continues and I am further away than before seeing my love in those images. Each day has me thinking how comfortable I have become here without others around me. One recent weekend -- three weeks back, maybe -- there were a few out in my garage visiting (one being the owner of the motorcycle), and after less than thirty minutes I began to feel their voices grating against my hearing. I could not stand it after a while and all my effort was required to extricate the noise and work myself past it. The experience was as that of a party when the mood is joyous and outgoing but a person feels none of it and simply needs to leave. All of my time alone has narrowed me so much that I do not wish to see anyone or hear them speaking. The phone messages are fine because I can control them. I can also shut the thing off, block contacts, whatever. That little machine allows me options and I hold it close. No one visits the house unless I initiate such. Overall, I have complete command over the entire situation. The issue is that I am now concerned of what I am becoming as a result. When the time comes for me to get out there and among the mass, I may find it very uncomfortable which can drive me to drastic measures, or I could come across as very abrasive. Either is bad, but only part of me gives a fuck. Through all of the time since being closed off, only one thing has lifted me, and that is Jaime. Not a thing. Scratch that. The woman, the dream that is the duchess has been in my head and heart for days on end and has the ability to keep me company during those times while physically alone. And this... The never-ending, compelling exposition and exploration that maintains my sanity as much as possible while dreaming of that woman in my heart. Everything adds up to a situation in life that I have never imagined. Not like this. Eventually I will need to go out there for work. One way or another, that time will come. When it arrives, I have no fucking idea of who I may be. The only exception would be working from home, but that is as likely as the limo full of models. This day is just beginning. I am still in pajamas in front of the vampires with coffee. Soon, though, I must get out there and move things along. Garbage day, some items for donation, I need to get food together for the local bank, and then perhaps this machine on the bench later. I might work on putting more girls back up but right now they are not a priority. I keep thinking of Jaime keeping me company -- warm thoughts of her soft eyes -- and the idea that I will continue in this vein for quite some time. I have to keep going without pause. She is in there and bringing it out of me like never before. How this happened I may never know, however I am so deep within the soup at this point that imagining the before period is really difficult. I have things to do that will occupy the mind for the most part, so I am thankful. Too much dwelling upon the duchess will have me all melted on the floor and useless. Heh. She can do that. Along with the gushy, mushy crap that no one needs to hear, there is turmoil over searching and not finding. The woman out there the other day spun me into a whipped fucking worthless pile of person for a time and I need to analyze her pull. It happened so quickly that my head did not stop spinning until two episodes into the housework. Damn, she did that. She really did, and I still see her walking her long legs across the parking lot thrice. Not Jaime. And that is illustrated below. I will not need to drive down there for a few days which is good. I have the sinking feeling that she is there quite often and right around the same time. If I see her again, I will drop a bit further. The woman is not the duchess, but still I am intrigued. Two parts of me that remain disparate yet relate once in a while and split me in half. Lots to explore, lots of time right now, and I fully intend to take advantage of it in hopes of understanding the woman of my dreams and the dreams of women. The gazelle in the parking lot is an exception. That one I fully understand. It is rare, but I already know why. You may not like this next paragraph, but it is short. The enormous gradient between Jaime and the woman at the coffee house? Well, those pants lifted me and dropped my sorry self into a vat of molten desire. Whereas I immediately and strongly wished to plant my lips to her soft labia for an entire afternoon, what I wish with Jamie is to stare at her eyes and reveal all that is in my heart. I am falling for her as quickly and dramatically as I am falling apart. Falling. She is out there."
Exception
Mature content No. 138 Published June 8th, 2020 5:53am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Still here. Inside my little world that contains me and her. God damn fuck shit everything anyway. I cannot stop looking at her and I cannot take exception to the fact that I love her. There you go, right out of the fucking gate this time. This morning as I left the shopping center to head north and enter my comfortable routine, there was another. They will never stop appearing because my eyes are always moving. A mass of dark blonde hair, pants which left nothing to the imagination, and slender arms below sharp shoulders. There she was by the coffee house. This is going to continue to happen and is serving to inflame my search. If I am out in the world, something will undoubtedly run across my gaze and cause all manner of shit to spin, as if God himself is there with a huge immersion blender jammed through the top of my sorry head. As soon as I notice a shape off in the distance, my gaze swings whether or not I feel the will to avoid a sight like that. I see it, and then I feel like I am making someone uncomfortable by looking, and then I realize the woman does not know, and then back to guilt, and then I lose sight and drive on down the fucking road. The guilt melts away, my brain tries to recall her form from head to toe, and then the pain inside over so many years passing me by with little to no opportunity for exploration of the most compelling interest in my life. Every fucking time. As of just recently, there is now another pile of shit which slaps me in the face when this takes place, and that is thinking that the woman may be Jaime. I might be all in or all the way out of my mind. Not sure which. Both? Another morning, drive down and back, and then my precious routine. Today was a slower start due to my head blowing up again over her. The one early on outside the coffee house was not that much of an issue, although she did remind me of the search, and that led me to the subject of it. Yep. Remember when I said I cannot even toss things into the recycle without dreaming of her? Well, dishes, sweeping, the television... Everything. All my strength was required to avoid cocktails at ten this morning, but I made it. I did not wish to disappoint someone I do not know. You read that right. I am so far out of balance that it likely will not return. I love her. After moving images around to prepare some for publishing, I stared at her again. The crop... The closeup. That is never a good idea and I did it again. God she moves me so. The day. Well, I am just an hour away from driving south and enjoying the peace of the highway as my time here comes to a close. I completed several things I set out to do today. A few others can wait until tomorrow's routine time. Priorities first, others after. The television followed me for hours because I need it. And I do love it to an extent. My new life is just weeks old but already cemented in my mind. All of the quiet, the little chores, breaks when I need them, and that gaping separation from the others which sets me at ease no matter what may be happening. The days are rarely difficult aside from her being in charge of my life. I cannot see her and there is nothing on this fucking world that I need more. Honestly. I am a giant representation of the most clingy, needy pile of emotion imaginable right now. If it passes, the horizon is pretty fucking far away because at this moment she still dances in my heart. That half a face, the nose, the pursed lips... I am head over heels. I really am. Tell me this is wrong and those will be the last words to my ears from you. I do not care who speaks. Do not question me. I am becoming fiercely devoted to her. Hmm... Defensive? Yes, and I do not mean to spout like that. Sometimes the mood strikes and it just flows like shit from a city waste line. Oy, I was talking about my day. Hmm... Some things done to my satisfaction, others await. The girls have not been put back up in the garage yet because I need to focus upon those tasks which support daily life. Food, consumables, etc. are at the top of the list. My deviant obsession and sense of weakness must wait. The girls will wait. All in good time. I didn't mean to interrupt the above paragraph by being a flaming bitch. I am rolling with time, the only exception being the woman who has the ability to stop it for me. And a funny? There is the issue of an 'obsessive love affair' on the television right now. Impeccable timing. Usually when there is a woman stuck in my head I am wishing to be free of her. I remember the girl on Oak Street years back when I was heading out of the building and nearly stepped into her as she was passing on the sidewalk. I jumped back and apologized for exiting so quickly (not really safe), after which she smiled and told me there were no worries. I simply surprised her. She said 'bye' and continued along toward the corner with my gaze bonded to her. She was amazing, everything on fucking display right there just feet from my eyes, and walking as if she knew I was staring. I had to. Her pants revealed every detail and my head spun for a few seconds until she disappeared around the corner. All of my will was required to carry on with my duties and not dash after her. But what would or could I have said? The idea is completely ridiculous and I have never stopped a woman in such a situation. Good God, I wanted to speak with her so badly, to set up coffee or something and then describe why a woman such as she was so fucking important to me. None of that crap is realistic, though. Good could come of it, or nothing, or a shitload of bad. There was too much fear and she left the area as if there was a purpose to her stepping. She likely did not have much time for anything judging by the speed. The whole thing went by very quickly and I reeled for days afterward. She was so gorgeous from head to toe, I could smell her hair, and that smile was the clincher. Her face. Do you understand? Her face was the importance even if the rest of her was the subject of my years-long obsession. That smile slapped me silly. Fuck, was that girl ever unbelievably beautiful. And the face of Jamie... More. Much more. Mysterious, lovely, soft. Too much for me to put into words even after all those years of college composition and grammar. I just can't do her justice. And now that the images have been stingily removed, no one gets to see her except me. The face. Her face. The new map of the universe. As far as I can remember, that point in time when the girl walked away from me on Oak was very desperate. There were others, and each contributed her own unique beauty to my mental portfolio of damaging imagery. All those days, weeks, and months of traveling through the city to a handful of destinations had me perusing the landscape in search of what I knew was there. Always searching, sometimes finding, but whether or not I saw what my head needed, the inside of me was still damaged. Years of turmoil over seeing and not understanding had taken their toll. The only idea was to try and get out of that business in favor of a stable atmosphere away from all those forms on the street. The girl on Oak was one of many, and likely the closest in a long time. After that day seeing her, each occasion while we worked at the same building had me constantly searching for her. Desperation, yearning, nothing. I love her. I am ok, mostly. Morning again. Early. Another day in front of me. I need to improve upon yesterday. I took care of some things but nothing dramatic. My head began to go all over the place in the mid afternoon and that nearly had me stopped completely. A little bit of worry actually held me in its grip for a while. I ended up moving some material around in the garage and stayed glued to the background television in order to maintain my upward stance which has carried me through these last few weeks. I have to keep the possibilities in mind or I may really topple over. The worry is minimal because I know I will be fine. I also need to keep the others the fuck outside my space. They offer nothing that can help me during these uncertain months. This exposition is going to be overanalyzed very soon. I keep thinking of her and anything written in such a direction has to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to ensure I am doing what I can to keep it neat. I simply cannot leave anything sloppy when it comes to the duchess. I have gone back many times into the archives and viewed work from many years ago and tried to correct little errors here and there which is not uncommon. The code from the archived years is very outdated (some of it, anyway) due to standards changing throughout time. The validating process has been on hold since months ago because of some scripting syntax that I cannot seem to resolve, and the whole fucking mess is beginning to irritate me. As I said above, she is the primary thought in my brain and I must keep this neat and flowing. There is always something which can be improved, too. Just the nature of the work. Jaime follows along. So far I am not speaking to her out loud like a demented television show character. When that day comes, lock me up.
Elizabeth... Inspiration (I think)
Why the long tirade about that girl in the city? I guess the idea was to illustrate just how far I have fallen over seeing someone like her. There were others around that time -- one that lived in the building -- which pulled at me and then moved away. The closeness to the girl on Oak was different. She looked right at my eyes as opposed to being across the street or something. She was right there in front of me, less than arm's length. I imploded because I am weak, the only exception to the ongoing issue of strength being a woman who appears at a distance and disappears just as quickly. That usually results in forgetting within minutes. Oak Street was prolonged and close. There is Arlene again, looking brainless as ever, and then Daphne and her slender nose. Chrissakes she was cute back then, but sometimes it's difficult to decide which of the two looks more dopey. Heh. Anyway, seeing the duchess across the courtyard was years before spending so much time in the big city. She was there, not far from me, and I flipped out and shot. Well, the terms in which I considered such beauty and unique appearance back then were different. I searched, but not like now. I mean before rediscovering her images, that is. The 'before' period. I searched all the time during those in-between years and saw what I saw. But the reaction was usually more linked to desire than it is now. I still feel that from time to time, although it is different. I am more understanding of the source. During the time of that now-fateful trip south, I looked everywhere in desperation and tried to find something which matched my dreams of form. And boy did I find her. I just didn't realize to what extent until days ago. I don't remember where I was going with this. Whatever. Deborah has big eyes. Funny, all of the women they attempt to glamorize seem to pale when compared to those in the background. She is two inches shy of six feet. Yikes. And the cat keeps walking across my keyboard. So cute. Fog outside again. Jaime has changed the way I see women while out and about. I am still searching for the same things as before discovering her, but now I also look for her. There are many exceptions to the way I see others -- women, that is -- most being ignored almost immediately upon realizing one trait or another is out of place or misaligned. The woman from the shopping center a few days ago was the pinnacle of what I have spied out in the world and immediately made me think of the beautiful Jaime and her dark hair. As soon as I realized that my eyes were not just appreciating another example of a picturesque form, but instead hoping that the woman was the duchess, everything pivoted on itself and left me wondering if I can look around anymore without that same hope. I don't know how well I am explaining this. I seem to be wavering quite a bit and I think Jaime is the reason. Several times I've gone back to those images, like this morning, and the sight of her face is making me lose track of everything I wished to place here. I am becoming confused as to the subject. Exception. Her beauty derails me in a hot second. It happens several times each day, believe it or not. Sometimes I can't get her out of my head to concentrate on work. She takes over. Again, and as I have likely said in many of these 'E' chapters, the weakness is the reason. I am strong in many ways, but the fact remains that the dire nature of my thinking and swooning over Jaime is out of a sense of need, and that translates to weakness. I need her. Have I mentioned that? Probably more than thrice. I really have to push when I need work done or while being asked to do something because mid-sentence she will appear out of nowhere and turn me into a pile of mush. Yes, she can do that. But I make it happen. Weak. Clingy. The exception to those terms and the way they are shaping me is I can still push to be ok. I do not worry anymore about making it through whatever because these last two-plus months have shown me that I can get up if need be. And I am still there, for the most part, despite loving a woman I cannot find. So, back to this day. It's new, fresh, and awaiting whatever I wish to complete. All of the usual chores first thing may be delayed a little while to continue here. I don't know yet. My drive will be in a little while -- hopefully the green pants will not show up and gazelle her way to the market again -- and then back here shortly thereafter for some comfort and security. Even with the garage doors wide open, I do not worry about anyone here. I believe by this point in time they have received the message that I am perpetually unavailable. Doors open, life closed. I will move along through the day and try to keep my head up and out of the din. I keep saying that I am ok, however that is not always true. Ups and downs. Right now? Up. I have the day before me, the duchess wrapped around my heart, and the time to explore or work as I see fit. The green pants really threw me the other day. I still see her a little... Ponytail, boots, tall as hell. She will fade like all the others, and sometime in the future if my schedule remains, another will come into view and derail me. Hopefully that woman will be you-know-who. I keep thinking about all this science fiction and fantasy television and the idea that if I believe it and think hard enough she will hear me out there somewhere. Nuts? Of course, but the feelings are so strong that any reach is what I will extend. The duchess is out there. As for the artwork on display so often at that shopping center, most likely I will see nothing of note and simply return north to my cocoon. Once I arrive here, the worry goes away for the most part. What I see on a regular basis on the street is different. The occasional woman, but usually not anything with which I need to be concerned. I might work on the garage a little bit, and there are a few items to move around in the house, so along with my usual business I have tasks and their subsequent rewards. The projects will again take a back seat to the higher priorities. There is that adorable wing nut of a blonde again. God damn she looks sweet, stupid, and menacing at the same time. Perhaps I just know the show too well by this point. Heh. Still cute, though. Tons of smile. Whoever added her to the cast did well. Another day. I saw her again... The one from the other morning, standing six feet and wearing tight pants and boots. She was parked across from the coffee house and went back and forth twice. She changed jackets, moved some items into the trunk of her car, and walked around quite a bit. She is not Jaime, God damn it all, but still captured my attention completely. The woman was present nearly the entire time I was in the parking lot. Fuck me. I saw plenty. The truth is, she is not the one for whom I constantly search, but the fact remains that the woman is stunning from head to toe. Button-down shirt, the smoothest pants possible, and again her hair was tied into a long ponytail. Up until she dropped her lanky self into the small car, she had a mask on due to our current health order. A few minutes passed and she returned to pick up three cups of coffee and then sat, removed the mask, and drove away. I glimpsed her face for a few seconds and that was that. Nothing else was in mind with the exception of Jaime. I needed to spot that woman again and see if she was the goddess of my focus. The answer is no, however the beauty is the closest I have seen to the real Jaime. Tall, thin, and walking on air. The coffee house may be a daily thing for her, I don't know, but twice in three days lends to the possibility. That means I may see her again, hopefully. Gorgeous, all of her. I will not be driving down there again until next week if the situation does not change. I am home in comfort, but the incident illuminates my desperation. Normally I would have gawked at her like any other incredible form. Now? Hoping she was the one in my dreams is all I have. There have been countless examples of my obsession throughout years but only one I thought might be her. Damn it. She is out there, and now I realize that my obsession has narrowed to a point which is all but impossible. It hurts. I love her.
Andrea?
Soon I am going to get into the routine. For now, I must place the words here while they are fresh. I listened to two of the three songs on the drive north again and pictured her standing in that courtyard over and over. Not even the beauty and solace of the ocean to the left could extract her from my tired brain. I am desperate, and with the exception of knowing my day will be comfortable, trouble is brewing deep inside over knowing she is out there, somewhere. The images again. I love them to no end. Her height, the jeans, almost seeing her fingers, and that glimpse of her beautiful face that I see everywhere... All of it adds up to my severely diminishing grip on reality. She is real -- I know because I saw her right over there -- she entered my mind and my lens, and then disappeared likely forever. It hurts, and no matter how many times I point that out nor how much I can reason my way through this newest obsession, the feelings continue to expand, like the search. Fruitless, futile, depressing. All of it. Spinning me over and over until I have to explore and gush. Mush. Mushy. Goo goo, still. I feel so weak. I need to see her, hug her, and tell her of my love. I cannot, but she is out there. Damn it all, anyway. The second song nearly had me in tears just before the tunnel. Not surprising. Switchtrack. I included an image of Elizabeth to illustrate that there is definitely something out of place when I see her. I can't put my finger on it, though. Her role on the show is short-lived, so she is gone quickly if I roll through the episodes in order. Her hair is beautiful, eyes are lovely and soft, mouth and lips shaped like a dream, and the rest of her is very attractive, right down to those little feet. The face, though... Something. When I think of Jaime and look at that shot of her face, there is nothing out of place, although I cannot see all of it. I know, too. I saw it while there. Jaime is Jaime. There are lots of reasons why I decided to point the camera at her, none of which are making me fall. I saw the mechanics of her beauty at a time when I was still reeling from the server in Pleasanton and the girl at the car wash and was compelled beyond belief. Now? Ten years later? I see much more and have gone into that in spades. I am not comparing Jaime to Elizabeth or vice versa. I am stating that though Elizabeth is stunning, there are no feelings attached. She is a person, but I am not goo goo. Jaime is three images and a memory, and I am sliding into a hole filled with love for her. Obsessed with the possibility, depressed by the minuscule amount of the same, but still falling. She is amazing, and her face is the key. Elizabeth is not the same at all, and I do not know why. Just an example. The other photo? Walker when she was on Star Trek a million years ago? Almost a match to Andrea, and that is an example of a face in which nothing at all is out of order. That face is unbelievable, just like the angel to whom I was glued for weeks. Faces. Indeed. Vanessa? I stood three feet from her last year. I cannot even begin to describe what I saw when she smiled. One of the most stunningly gorgeous and exotic forms I have ever seen. The posters in the garage do not do her justice. Not even close. I will probably never see her again. As expected. She is as real as Jaime, however the difference would not fit standing on end in the Mariana Trench. Heh. I love her. I really do, and more than yesterday. I am beginning to feel 'not ok'. Today. Here I go again with the little chores, dreaming of her, and then the garage, and then more dreaming of her. Wow, see a pattern? I do. The garage is going to be interesting. I began to remove the provocative imagery the other day, but now changed my mind. Not only am I going to return the two big prints to their previous locations, I fully intend to add two more that were not hanging out there before. I have been sitting on them as I tried to work everything out and make them fit. So, why the big change after going on about how Jaime may feel? Well, put simply, she will never see what I have done. I have hope that she will cross my path some time in the future -- somewhere -- but the odds are not in my favor. Not even close. And? Maybe after discussing everything with her, she might understand. I wish so much to be in that situation and I know how ridiculous all of this is sounding, but as I said many times now... I am screwed up. I can't help picturing us having a conversation as I take in the sight of her face. I need it as I need to throw myself at her. I really need it. Badly. In doing so, I honestly feel that she would find the subject interesting and there would be no issue with my decorating preferences. They are going back up and it will be a slow process. I have secured new, dynamic lighting for highlighting all of the forms out there and getting everything together and functioning is going to take time. Little steps when I can take them. I already miss Briana's face in mere days of her being rolled and out of view. I need her expression and big eyes back in place. Expect it. Such a project encompasses lots of work but I will get it done. I am hoping Jaime would understand. Just imagine her standing in my garage. I would not be staring at posters. The days are rolling by. Another entry published this morning (a day late because I agonized over some of the wording), and three more are complete and awaiting the same. I just keep going. There is a tally of lines dedicated to all of this recent analysis over that woman, the number continuing to rise steadily as each day passes by. More will come, too. I do not see an end to this material and that means the fiction is so far back that returning my head to the story is going to require much time. My exploration of the love I feel for Jaime has now surpassed the story length of the Train. Oof. Coffee refill. Outside for a few to look at my work today, and then who-knows-what. I love her. I really do. Well, the big poster is back on the chimney in the garage. Gawd... Briana's expression. Hmm... That would be a good entry title. I am pretty proud of the way it looks now. Before I took it down, the vision was irritating me because it was not leveled properly in the beginning. So, I removed the ladies and waited until such time as I felt Jaime would not mind them being replaced in all their nearly-nude glory. I pulled most of the screws out of the backing, leveled it and the stringer across the top, then nailed the girls up, even with the surrounding panel, and again installed the canopy which contains strips of lighting. Now when I look over there I see not only Briana and her incredible facial expression, but everything is even and straight. Much better. I will be on to the other images tomorrow. I am certain that once Jaime knows all about me, she would not mind them being on display once again. What the fuck did I just say? Holy fucking shit, Batman. I've lost it. All of my indoor chores were completed earlier. That left me time to sit with this machine and dream of the face of the ages. God damn it, I just want to see her. That's all. Even for a minute. My head is awash yet again. I have to try, though. I need this... And her. Ugh. Sitting out here right now and listening to a very atmospheric, incredibly deep and layered concept album has me even more emotional than just an hour ago while I rebuilt my poster display. As soon as the third track began, I realized that something I published prior to this included an enormous error on my part. A misstatement. A big one. The comments about the album I declared as the only one I ever really needed were not precise. I overlooked what I am hearing now, and that is a gross misrepresentation of both my taste and the depth of the music. There are two: The album I cannot identify and one that I can. I will. In fact, not only will I share the title and artist, but below you can find an excerpt from the Wikipedia on the impact of said album, dating back to 1997:
'OK Computer received critical acclaim and has been cited by listeners, critics and musicians as one of the greatest albums of all time. It was nominated for the Grammy Award for Album of the Year and won Best Alternative Music Album at the 40th Annual Grammy Awards in 1998. The album initiated a stylistic shift in British rock away from Britpop toward melancholic, atmospheric alternative rock that became more prevalent in the next decade. The album depicts a world fraught with rampant consumerism, social alienation, emotional isolation and political malaise; in this capacity, OK Computer has been said to have prescient insight into the mood of 21st-century life. In 2014, it was included by the Library of Congress in the National Recording Registry as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".'
Yes, Radiohead. A composition of epic, gorgeous, sweeping music not to be taken lightly. The highlights are many. I will not get into a massive review or long dissertation about this album. I will only say that nothing else in the world can swing my mood to and fro as quickly, frightfully, or dramatically. The other album I have not identified is something else entirely. Radiohead's beautiful recordings of these songs put me in a place I cannot even describe. It is beyond everything, and I am in love with the journey from beginning to end. That's right folks. The music makes me gush over Jaime. Everything makes me gush over Jaime. Each step of the day I feel her in my waiting heart and the need surges like water over sand in a wind storm. I cannot even move from place to place on this small property without her following along, all gentle and loving. Her face is right there before my eyes, constantly. Every now and again something comes along and pulls me from deep thoughts of her and takes priority, and then whatever it is that needs attention falls away and I return to her. All her. The duchess. Oy God, she is in there so deeply now.
Maybe Jaime resembles Vanessa
Morning. Coffee. Vampires. Heh. Yesterday turned out to be alright, I guess, although I feel I could have done more. Thoughts of her continue to derail me at times. I am trying, still. She gets in there and I can do nothing about it at all, even when I need to push forward and work through a problem or project. At the same time, I want her swirling around my heart at each step. I need her there. And now I am reminded of two dreams early this morning. While lately I have not seen much at night, nor have I been inundated with visions of mansions and mysterious women, the occasional blurb of a memory has popped up in the morning, made me think briefly, and then disappeared before I could even begin to analyze. This morning I do remember two differing scenes, other people (I knew them), and my parents. Someone else, too. I am not going to go into a ton of detail because neither was really anything to write home about, but the inclusion of my parents kind of threw me for a loop. A warehouse, the brother of one of my friends from the bar with a huge truck or RV of some kind, and another person trying to learn about the vehicle. And then a bathroom with some of my friends there speaking about some problem. I was joking around. After, I was in a living room (I think) and with someone else, a male. We were talking about another truck that was parked on what appeared to be where the stairs should have been. I was trying to control the truck from the rear bumper -- as if it was not for driving and more like a huge toy -- and I overheard comments regarding traction, like the truck was in the mud. I tried to make it drive forward and it ended up flipping over backwards and taking some of the sheetrock with it. I climbed the incline to inform my parents that everything was fine despite the noise. It was like they were asleep in the master bedroom of our house in Livermore. The crashing truck was not terribly noisy, nor did it make a big mess. The whole of my worry when it began to roll backwards kind of went away suddenly. And... Morning. Oh boy, Hoyt is talking with Jessica (Deborah). He's all mushy over her big eyes and red hair. I can understand that. They cast her well. So the dreams are rather stupid, did not include anything I am trying to deal with at the moment, and left me thinking that my mind is really not doing what it needs to work out issues. Maybe just relaxed, maybe trying to let things go, I have no idea. The dream in the bathroom reminded me of recent flap over me leaving my job, but it was not uncomfortable at all. We were joking around. I do not understand where this shit came from, and I do not like more information being shoved into my brain at a time when I have much to work through. Much. Her. The routine. The issue of being here all this time, nearly all alone. There is plenty I have to lift off my shoulders and the silly, stupid dreams that accomplish nothing are not welcomed. I have no wish to see more mansions or those women I am constantly after, and just a regular dream is off the table these days. My head works overtime constantly and I suppose after dark everything turns into a giant mixing bowl with my brain between the beaters. One thing is certain, however. Even though the recent dreams left me without any insight and I do not understand the circumstances of each place, I know that if the mansions return I will do nothing to push them away. For whatever reason, I believe that while inside and searching, I am excited and hopeful. Upon accepting the knowledge that there is someone there that I need to locate, my head typically opens a bit and I know the end result is going to be comfort. I never find it, but at the time I do not feel cynical. Just hopeful and longing in a good way. This morning? Those were crap. And I'm done with them. Let's talk about today since my head is already swimming in mush over Jaime. Like any other day, I will take care of those little things that are always on my list before lunch. After, I need to move into the new office and set this up to be ready for whatever flood of loving words needs to be put down when I begin to dream of that goddess standing there in the courtyard looking like she could control the world with a glance. That is going to happen at some point, so I will be ready to gush. And the organization will continue, posters, and a bit of cleaning. I have piled up some things that normally would have been donated by now. Those services were halted some weeks ago in light of the virus, so everything has sat. I can compact things, move other stuff around to take up less space, and then I am going to try more shelving above the door. Time will tell. I have to improve myself for her. And I already know how crazy I am so shut up. I had to drop the windows so one of the cats could walk across the keyboard without disturbing this code. And there was the wallpaper of the passion. Oy. The only thing more beautiful is Jaime. With the correct turn of events and a shitload of resources I could probably acquire the watch, but the other one? Not so much. I have yearned to see her face every minute of every day, she affects me unlike anyone or anything else in this world, and I popped open the images of her again. That is being done against my better judgment but I am weakened by the sight. I can't help it, I have to see her sometimes. When I am away from this machine, I miss her. When I am in front of it, I will look. Every time I look at her I am partially reminded of that day. I still don't remember where that place is. Maybe it was similar to the DeYoung museum or the Academy of Sciences in the city. Both of those attractions have restaurants of a sort. We crossed the courtyard where I saw Jaime and I think through part of the building to the left of what can be seen in the photos, and the restaurant was on the opposite side. We may have gone there directly after me shooting the duchess outside, or perhaps we went elsewhere first. Ten fucking years and no data have left me guessing, but I must figure it out. I have to know where we were, I want to visit again and stand in that place while I dream of her right there. One of these days I am going to find it. I need her. A visit there may help. I don't know. Until then, I will sit tight, yearn, hurt, work, and breathe my way through each fucking day. I will carry on loving her from afar. I am glad we do not see Daphne's breasts. I am a believer that it is not necessary for the role. Some allow it, others do not. And from what I have read, Elizabeth had to be pretty fucking drunk before she could relax enough to shoot the scenes sans clothing and all over Ryan. That's funny, but she did it. I would say I could show more respect for her keeping the skin covered, but the truth is the work is up to her, and I respect her either way. As gorgeous as her body is in those scenes, I still would be enamored with her character after seeing less. And as I said before, there is something wrong with her face. Still can't put my finger on it. Whatever. Just a show. The day. Today. After publishing yesterday, I am still sitting on just shy of two-thousand lines yet to be placed with the rest. Unreal. She brings the emotion out of me like nothing else in the world. Marina with the fangs. She is like the devil incarnate, mysterious, frightening, but still oh so gorgeous. Oy... Stay away. Her gaze could wipe out millions. The woman near the coffee house leads me to believe that I will keep searching no matter what takes place in my life now or in the future. I do not think that can reach an end, finding Jaime notwithstanding. Am I ever going to change that behavior? Or does the partial realization the other day mean that the instinct cannot be extracted? I don't fucking know. I have to search for her, though. If that means I will never relax or be at peace, well... I have little choice in the matter. My feelings for Jaime keep growing out of control. Searching is just not a choice right now, it is necessary for my daily living. If I do change in the future and the compulsion eases up? That is hard to imagine. Right now I am right in the middle of this so perhaps looking to an end or any type of resolution is ill-advised. Jaime is out there, somewhere. If I cease searching, I may miss her, and that would be the end of my world, but only if I knew it. Hmm... Is that a paradox? Whatever. Fuck that. I look before even thinking about it. Instinctive, as I said before. The only exception is while around certain people, at which time I either keep my gaze close or force myself to look away and focus upon others. When I am alone? I look until I feel guilty. Rarely am I able to see for very long, anyway. The world keeps moving despite my deviant yearning. I have to keep moving, as well.
Maybe not
I wanted that woman all over me immediately. Wait until the last paragraph. Fuck me, anyway. The images here are becoming less and less important as I dream of the duchess. She has taken nearly all of my ambition and rolled it into a ball of turmoil and worry. Said worry used to be the images displayed down each entry. I needed them to illustrate my feelings regarding the obsession and make a big statement at the same time. That would be my control over the atmosphere I've worked so hard to create. Years of very provocative imagery have left me at a loss over what to display now. I do not feel the dire necessity to illustrate my control over this space, nor do I need to continue glancing a woman's labia in hopes of adding visual detail to the words. True, the compound curves over which I have broken my back to research are all over the place, but honestly do not need to be so dramatically shown. I think readers have gotten the idea. Some have come very close to showing a little more than they should (and believe me when I say the closeup images of those nether regions have already been captured, edited, scrutinized, and are awaiting publishing) and I had to be careful in avoiding crossing a very intimate line. I have not. Close, but I have not. And now? Expect to see more faces and more clothing. Oh, I'm sure the occasional slip will show up, though. The images are often too compelling to avoid displaying here. More faces, more captions, more covered skin. And they depend upon the subject of each entry most of the time. Other times I just don't care. Jaime's image will never be here again. Ever. I placed them just long enough to have a complete reverse of heart and now I wish I had never included them. Hopefully they went no further than that page. And the tall beauty that I spoke with at the bar is gone, as well. I had to eliminate them. Just a matter of time. Those images of the duchess are mine and only mine, and that makes me feel a little more comfortable about capturing her at the time. Years later, I still get to see her frozen for eternity. I love it, and I love her more now than I did at the top of the page. Believe it. I am ok, but not well at all. Mushy. Goo goo ga ga. Her face. God help me. One facet of her pull upon me is disturbing. Ever since 'Extraction' I have been moving myself away from others and truncating the electronic contact. It still continues and I am further away than before seeing my love in those images. Each day has me thinking how comfortable I have become here without others around me. One recent weekend -- three weeks back, maybe -- there were a few out in my garage visiting (one being the owner of the motorcycle), and after less than thirty minutes I began to feel their voices grating against my hearing. I could not stand it after a while and all my effort was required to extricate the noise and work myself past it. The experience was as that of a party when the mood is joyous and outgoing but a person feels none of it and simply needs to leave. All of my time alone has narrowed me so much that I do not wish to see anyone or hear them speaking. The phone messages are fine because I can control them. I can also shut the thing off, block contacts, whatever. That little machine allows me options and I hold it close. No one visits the house unless I initiate such. Overall, I have complete command over the entire situation. The issue is that I am now concerned of what I am becoming as a result. When the time comes for me to get out there and among the mass, I may find it very uncomfortable which can drive me to drastic measures, or I could come across as very abrasive. Either is bad, but only part of me gives a fuck. Through all of the time since being closed off, only one thing has lifted me, and that is Jaime. Not a thing. Scratch that. The woman, the dream that is the duchess has been in my head and heart for days on end and has the ability to keep me company during those times while physically alone. And this... The never-ending, compelling exposition and exploration that maintains my sanity as much as possible while dreaming of that woman in my heart. Everything adds up to a situation in life that I have never imagined. Not like this. Eventually I will need to go out there for work. One way or another, that time will come. When it arrives, I have no fucking idea of who I may be. The only exception would be working from home, but that is as likely as the limo full of models. This day is just beginning. I am still in pajamas in front of the vampires with coffee. Soon, though, I must get out there and move things along. Garbage day, some items for donation, I need to get food together for the local bank, and then perhaps this machine on the bench later. I might work on putting more girls back up but right now they are not a priority. I keep thinking of Jaime keeping me company -- warm thoughts of her soft eyes -- and the idea that I will continue in this vein for quite some time. I have to keep going without pause. She is in there and bringing it out of me like never before. How this happened I may never know, however I am so deep within the soup at this point that imagining the before period is really difficult. I have things to do that will occupy the mind for the most part, so I am thankful. Too much dwelling upon the duchess will have me all melted on the floor and useless. Heh. She can do that. Along with the gushy, mushy crap that no one needs to hear, there is turmoil over searching and not finding. The woman out there the other day spun me into a whipped fucking worthless pile of person for a time and I need to analyze her pull. It happened so quickly that my head did not stop spinning until two episodes into the housework. Damn, she did that. She really did, and I still see her walking her long legs across the parking lot thrice. Not Jaime. And that is illustrated below. I will not need to drive down there for a few days which is good. I have the sinking feeling that she is there quite often and right around the same time. If I see her again, I will drop a bit further. The woman is not the duchess, but still I am intrigued. Two parts of me that remain disparate yet relate once in a while and split me in half. Lots to explore, lots of time right now, and I fully intend to take advantage of it in hopes of understanding the woman of my dreams and the dreams of women. The gazelle in the parking lot is an exception. That one I fully understand. It is rare, but I already know why. You may not like this next paragraph, but it is short. The enormous gradient between Jaime and the woman at the coffee house? Well, those pants lifted me and dropped my sorry self into a vat of molten desire. Whereas I immediately and strongly wished to plant my lips to her soft labia for an entire afternoon, what I wish with Jamie is to stare at her eyes and reveal all that is in my heart. I am falling for her as quickly and dramatically as I am falling apart. Falling. She is out there."
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