05-30-2020 07:49 pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning


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"Katie is gone, the reporters do not look the same, and even some of the cutest faces in my world which come by from time to time are fading. I see them, but they have little effect now. The walnut girl and those two at the frying pan... Er... pool last summer are going through a change and I cannot clearly define it as of yet. I have to think about it. I watched the walnut commercial again and did not feel for her as I did weeks ago. Maybe she will fade, too, and if so, I hope she takes all those other women with her. I need them tempting me like I need more tofu in my life.

Morning. Late days. Concern over my feelings for her. Jamie is fading but still there.

I have more time today than I have in recent weeks. My routine awaits and feels like a friend that is going to welcome me once again. The sun is shining, the air is cool as always, and the idea of the disparity of those two facts has become very comfortable. I have been perusing the archives and realized that year after year I bitched and moaned about the unacceptable weather patterns and lack of a decent drop in the early fall, whereas now the weather does not affect me in the same way. My move to the coast all those years ago turned out to be a positive change that I did not fully embrace until recently. All bad news on the television. I need to switch that. Over to a film from the mid-nineties which was a big deal at the time. No ads, no reporters, no negativity. Much better. And no dreams throughout the night that I can recall. The one in my head has taken over like a storm to my psyche and I cannot deny its power. Today will be the first full day of time to myself since realizing that I love a woman I can never know or see again. So far I have not looked at the images. All my strength will be required to avoid them. Good God, she pulls me unlike anything else in the world right now.

Today is going to be very important. As the first day with all this time in front of me, I see a test. One such test came about nearly five years ago after the loss of Her. I had to maintain myself and attempt keeping my head out of the ground. That was not easy, nor fun. Her pull upon me had been tremendous and losing a soul which felt as a part of mine resulted in feelings of emptiness which became dire very quickly. My current emotional state is different. I know she is out there... Somewhere. She has been out there for all these years and only in the last few days have I begun to yearn for that time. I could have shot better images, I could have said hello, I could have done a million things which may have turned into chances. Well, I was mired in family and our schedule, so I shot and walked away. I remember seeing the digital negatives on the computer when I had the time to do backend work, and for some reason the sight of her did not strike me as hard shortly after the fact. I sat on them, edited the images of family and distributed them accordingly for everyone's enjoyment, but in the end she remained locked away in that folder. Hmm. I suppose the duchess had to be absent from my life for a long while before I was in a position to realize her immense meaning. Now? She is the universe.


So I took care of enough stuff which allows me to sit and think (good and bad, heh) as well as get things organized after I left the garage a holy mess the other day. The sun is warm and the rest of the Bay Area is very warm, but still in here the breeze remains quite cool. I had to grab a sweatshirt to sit out here while I am certain others on the opposite side of the hill are sweating. Fine, they can have it. Cooler weather here equals a less-bitchy me. The temperature will be rising as we approach the holiday, too. Yikes for them, still cool for me. God bless the ocean right down the street.

She is the universe. I am not kidding. I can't even toss things in the recycle bin without thinking of her.

The title. Extrication. So, the meaning of that word as it relates to my current state of mind and the condition of heart is as such... I am removing (extricating) the other interests in my life to make room for just one soul. And I know nothing of it. Not a fucking thing. Jeans, hair, bag, jacket, sandals, soda, two tops, and of all fucking things, half a face. HALF. Do you see how this could ruin me for all time? I am so far out of whack over this woman that I have gone to lengths in removing those over which I would typically obsess. That's right kids, I am tossing all of it to the incinerator of the mind so I can focus all of my emotional energy toward the dream that is now the duchess. Part of that is how she might view me, hence the extrication of the women displayed all over my garage. They are all looking at me right now. Heh. One of the posters is more than fifteen square feet and full of skin. It all has to go. I cannot have the woman of my dreams thinking that I am strange. Wait... What? Is not all of this already more odd than having provocative imagery in the garage? I am obsessing over a woman I can never know or see again in my life, and the idea of thinking of her feelings is strange? Wow... I am all over the mental health issues right now. Unbelievable. Put simply, extrication is alteration of my life to negate difficulties related to anything which may impede my ability to focus upon the dream. Um... Dream? Were there not two? Yes.

Now there is one.

This entire situation is unbelievable, even for me. As much as I have gone out of my mind over one woman or another, one dream or another, the state of my head now is further into the territory of unhinged than I can ever remember. The beginning of my time spent with the Brunette was along these lines, and I threw my entire life into the dumpster just to spend an afternoon in her presence. Well, that was a massive lesson and this feels dissimilar. I will continue to try working on some sort of explanation of how it happened, but I do not believe anything will ever be clear. She is in my heart. All the way in there and expanding. I am at a loss like never before. Ending up committed in an institution does not seem far-fetched right now. I can see that happening, and soon. Although considering how forceful I can be with regard to my feelings and lifestyle, I would not let that take place, instead building a wall around myself and a few possessions in order to continue living in my unbalanced, irrational, and dreamy-eyed state. Saying farewell to reality feels like a utopian idea.

Let us head in another direction for a while.


As is my custom of late, I will mention music heard on my drive north this morning. Yesterday was very similar to the previous week in that I stuck to a variety of tracks from the album I cannot identify. Funny, that is the one I have never shared or discussed with another human being, and now I find that after rediscovering the brilliant compositions I feel even more strongly about it. I cannot share, and will not. None of the names will be mentioned here at all. And I have reinforced the idea that it is the most important music in existence, to me. It does not relate to her, but it does represent many other parts of my life that I must retain in order to remain who I am. And there went a girl who seemed to be the dog walker, but something was different. I never pay attention to the fucking dog, though. Whatever. Probably a different girl. There are many more walking around the neighborhood than prior to the shelter order. Hmm.

This morning I ran a playlist I had made after finding music hidden on the RAID device in my office. Lots of songs that sat there for years as I focused upon what is available on this computer. Much of it went to the phone for listening while driving, but those artists and songs on the RAID have been forgotten for quite some time. The first three are directly related to my weakened condition, never-ending search, and feelings toward her. Surprising? Not coming from me. As stingy as you may think I am about the other album, these I will share. Too important.

The first is 'Am I Ever Gonna Change' by Extreme. Not necessarily a band I listened to often, but that song goes back to the late nineties and my long drive south to work in the morning. The lyrics are partially religious, however that is obviously not the reason it stands out now. I am referring to the search for oneself and the attached questions and pitfalls. When I was young, any dream of a girl that I knew resulted in a short-termed yet massive crush. Well, decades later that still happens for one reason or another. I have not grown out of the dreamy, adolescent feeling when there is an object of my affection. Right now, she is it. All of it. No dreams, just dreaming while wide awake. Memories, longing, yearning, and feeling as if the world will end if there is no resolution to this current swelling of my heart. I have not changed in that way. Not at all. The dreams will rule. Also, the never-ending search for shapes, forms, and examples of my obsession continue to appear and disappear often enough to leave me wondering if the damage caused by me constantly on the look for something special will ever change, cease or let up its pull upon me. I do not know the answers to any of those questions and continue to wonder. Am I ever going to change those parts of me which cause so much difficulty? Not even God knows that one.

Two. This one is straight out of left field and struck me like a hammer to my temple. 'Dreamin' About You' by Kick Axe. Yep, that is an old, obscure tune from an album released to little fanfare at the time. It has since gained a cult following for the older rock generation, and I have an appreciation for the point of George Criston's incredible vocals and the story that comes to life. A dream lover, of sorts, is the subject and the entire composition is basically a boiled-down plea to know of his love. Questions, observations, and references to the past rule his singing, an emotionally-charged performance that causes me to think of her and all of my own fucking questions. 'I keep you locked up inside my mind'. Yep, there it is, one line from a song full of my desire to know her, see her, anything at all. The need consumes me in the space of four-and-a-half minutes. He sings, I lose my head. Powerful, identity-crushing singing that brings me to my knees every time.

Three... 'Stranger' by Jefferson Starship. Not as detailed a slam as the previous song, but still it stirs me inside. I will admit that a good portion of the stirring is Grace Slick and her fucking power. I have always loved her voice, stature and command of the stage (I've seen them a few times in the past, live), and to extend my love for her voice into the territory of thinking that the woman in question is a complete stranger simply mixes me up. Not Grace, the other one. You know. And when one verse begins with 'familiar stranger', I melt in the knowledge that this woman is a stranger, but one I can see anytime I wish. Yep, I still look at the images from time to time and fall off a cliff. I cannot avoid them. Mystery, beauty unlike anything ever, and the idea that my heart is filled with her... Every bit of it is contained in a few megabytes of data. 'Stranger', as a noun. There is also me, 'stranger' than you may expect upon first glance. I have melted myself into a puddle of goo many times in the last week. All of it over her, the beauty of the universe, and a stranger. A noun. Damn.

There you go. And will I be listening on the way back south this afternoon? You're fucking right.

The key to all this is actually more related to the first track. The search, as it has stood for more years than I care to admit. That search takes place to this very moment. As the second song was streaming from the speakers, I spied a woman walking along a path above the beach who aligns with much of the inside of my head. That moment hit me hard, as if I have no choice anymore. Who is she? I will never know, but still I gazed over there as much as I could while commanding my car and thought about her on and off for the remainder of the trip home. Yoga pants with a purple and blue pattern, French-cut gray shirt showing off her shape, and a ponytail swinging to and fro and forcing me to dream of those fucking numbers again. She was gorgeous, tall, everything. Why? Why do I keep searching? There will always be some example or another coming along if my eyes continue their fruitless scan of the roadway and scenery, and if the issue of seeing that type of woman causes me so much turmoil and torment, why do it? I do not know other than to say that the compulsion is now so ingrained that it has become an instinct. And now there is another facet which did not exist mere days ago. Yep, you guessed it. She may be out there, somewhere. If I do not look, I may miss her. Insane? Like stated above, you're fucking right. Every aspect of the idea of her, the images, and my unending search for a very specific type of physical beauty is completely nuts. Say it with me... Out of balance. Half a person, by choice. There goes another beauty walking a dog and her two children. Fucking stunning, and her arms are defined as if she spends time heavily exercising. Hmm... Arm definition and strength. Maybe she should walk over here and punch me in the face. Go ahead and laugh. I am beyond fucked up. Still ok, but fucked. What? Whatever. I really am ok.

I took care of a shit ton of housework to afford myself the time to sit out here near the sun and work on this computer, and then the very subject of the last paragraph walks by in yoga pants. Just my luck.

The fact that I am hoping she is out there is already crazy. Unreal. And that single observation takes the cake when discussing the subject of my mental health. This is not right, but I am doing it -- full of all the wrong thoughts -- anyway. I keep looking as if one of those women out there is her. Do you see how ridiculous this is? The trip was more than ten fucking years ago and the chance that I will see her here, near home, is equally unrealistic. Again, I keep looking. I cannot help it. To say that the possibility is not there remains false. There is a chance. An astronomical chance, but one nevertheless. Just think of how her importance has dominated me and expanded so greatly in a very short period of time. Think about that for a minute. Do you see? I am fine, and at the same time not well at all. That dreamy state from childhood has returned (or never left me) and is now occupying the lion's share of my waking hours. From dawn when I brew the coffee and feed the cats right along into the evening dinner hour and on to when I finally lay my head down for the night, she is there. She is out there, somewhere, and the likelihood and stratospheric chance that I will look upon her beautiful face again is going to ruin me. I am doing it anyway because, as I captioned those images, I never learned balance like an adult. Inside there is too much drive to discover -- and that futile search which never leaves my head -- for me to rise and think like a healthy-minded human being. Cut back to the three songs and you can see.

You probably thought that my unbalanced and unhinged mindset peaked when I stated that I love her. Nope. It continues to grow. I feel more for her now than I did just a day ago. Nuts.


Today I have fewer responsibilities than weekdays. The same few chores are there and I will embrace them as always, along with my typical television show(s) in the background. I need that. As a child of the seventies, television keeps me company while alone. The process of me trying to analyze why the duchess has embedded herself so deeply into my heart will continue, too. I have to keep working on that if for no other reason than to understand myself and the search mentioned above. I cannot speak to anyone else about it due to the genesis of such a quest, and that in itself pushes me further away from others. I have effectively extricated numerous people from my life since being at home which leaves much more space for her. She is filling me inside. After the coffee is gone and I dress in street clothes, I will leave the machine to the side and begin my day of organization and cleaning. This morning is peaceful and I have no recollection of any dreaming throughout the night. Slowly but surely, all those women I have pictured here for years, along with the reporters, actors, and those on the streets are leaving me. Extricated. Exiting. Extra space for the duchess and my feelings for her. Not good, but great.

The cats are in a pile on the love seat. Peace and quiet, mobsters on the television. Coffee. Heh.

And Cara when she was young. No feelings. No desire. Even she cannot extricate the duchess from my head, and that fact with Cara looking fucking stunning beyond belief. Nothing there. Another highly attractive woman in media. I just went back and looked at the images of the duchess and that one side of her face mildly resembles that of Cristin from years ago. Hmm. Maybe the nose, I don't know. Cristin is on the show I am watching, too. Big fucking surprise there.

Jamie again. Big eyes. Whatever. I need to see someone else's eyes right now.

This exploration is going to have to continue until I can find some sort of balance. I do not know if that is possible right now, though. She is in there pretty fucking deep and partially ruling my movements throughout a given day. I keep thinking about her and the way that image struck me. This brings one thing to mind from just days ago. The pictures on this machine are partially organized into subfolders and categorized by name. Some names I do not know, so they have been tossed into the miscellaneous folder and left there for the duration. That is where I found her as I searched for someone else. Well, the original point of my looking was an image I remember when I went nuts over Diana, and it was she and another model in the same photo. A wallpaper-sized image of the two of them putting makeup on each other at the same time. I do not know what happened to the image but it doesn't matter now. I saw the three candids from the trip to San Diego (or Los Angeles, I cannot find evidence of where we were then) and then words began to spin me into a froth. The images are enormous having been captured by a full-frame DSLR, and as such show much more than can be seen in the previous entry. Upon sighting her there in the folder, I opened each, one at a time, and my heart swelled instantly. Right up until that fucking second I was fine. Seeing her and considering that I shot those myself, I thought of the other one in the bar and sought it as well. Another folder -- one for images which are 'projects' -- and there she was. The tall one from Super Bowl Sunday. Well, that fell off in the last few days and I have pulled her image from the site. I don't feel right about it being here anymore. Images of the duchess stayed until I felt that visitors had seen them and they were removed as well. Anyway, the very click of the first image of the duchess and the hair on my arms stood up. I went further, my heart went further, and the structure of one of the most difficult entries ever began to take shape. Now I feel about as weak as I ever have, hollow inside because I will never see her again, and in need of something to pull me up. Again, I am truly fine otherwise. Honestly. I just don't understand how this happened. Images. And then I felt something. And then I felt more. And then she became the universe. As I explore and write further, I feel more, I head back to her likeness, and then become completely smitten all over again. This is important. It may eventually reveal how I became the person capable of falling down over a pair of thighs. We may see. Maybe.

I can't get her face out of my head. Even with Jamie on and off the screen looking as beautiful as ever, the duchess is in charge. Her hair. Nose. Damn it. I need to get away from this for a little while. I am overjoyed that the day is just beginning and I can get busy with things to possibly allow her to ease up on me. Oh, never mind that... None of this is her fault. It is mine. She is a stranger, remember? I am fair, if screwed up.

Well, I ventured into the auxiliary work space to relax and sit. I did get off my ass and rebuild the clock, and that means the duchess was out of my head for a little while. There are lots of other things I can work on, but that adds up to dragging out the saws and shit. I really don't feel like it right now. The simple peace of sitting here with music in the background is too nice to disturb. The woman floated back into my head and heart and now I do not know what to do other than gush about that shot of her face. Jesus. I had no idea at the time, but her expression is wondrous and beautiful. When shooting, the display on the rear panel of the camera shows the image until the shutter release is depressed half way and the camera returns to capture mode. That little image is not clear nor easy to see. It is basically a small representation of the exposure. At the time I did not really see her clearly but felt an unrelenting need to save her appearance. I thought I would be studying back then, as I had often attempted to derive the measurements of a woman's shape through a common reference: the distance between pupils. That is basically the only constant which can be used for scale. I've gone into this before, however I did not have the opportunity to capture her beautiful face, so that went away. For whatever reason, I shelved her images along with a few others and did not look back until mere days ago. Now look what happened. Weak? Desperate? Many other terms apply right now. She is amazing. Enough of that.

The face of the duchess has me at her gorgeous mercy. I want to hold her, smell her hair, tell her everything that is in my heart. 'Black Voyage' is playing right now. Very appropriate considering that I am losing grip on reality.

Risque d'incendie. Des graves dommages peuvent survenir. Believe it. In progress, perhaps. Woe is me.

The time has come for me to leave this alone for a little while and go back inside. The domestic chores await, along with some familiar television in the background. Commercials be damned, I am not going to see them. I do not care, anyway. All those shapes are fading fast. I cannot have her thinking bad things about me, no matter where she is these days. I have to maintain myself as if she is watching at every step. I need to stand up, as it were. Work must intrude.

April 3rd, 2010, 12:39 to 12:40 pdt. I wish I had known.

I kept going this afternoon, beyond the writing, into the kitchen to take care of it, and then to the garage again with this machine in tow. The breeze coming through the doors was very cool despite the sun in the yard commanding warmth. I am certain that the other side of the hill is hot. Yikes. After spending a bit of time reorganizing some things and tapping into the server for a while, I am back inside. The wind got to me, as did thoughts of her. Once again she has advanced within me to the point of dreaming. The words may falter here, though. I am having trouble finding the terms to adequately describe my feelings. This is tough, and I mean tougher than trying to outline just what Andrea and I felt for each other in a nearly equal amount of time. And now the metamorph is on screen again because I am watching the series in order over and over throughout weeks. She is wondrous and has me leaning toward the Cherry 2000 again. Damn it. I need to focus. That is difficult enough already without high art splayed across the panel.

What was I saying?


Extrication of much, that is the subject. I think. Well, I did plan out what will be placed on the walls of the garage when the girls are removed. I have amassed posters of all types for many years so a selection of images and flags will begin tomorrow. The garage is done for today, as is my willingness to sit out there drinking. I can do that inside the house.

And why is Jennifer Love here? That is an easy one. Since rediscovering the images of the now-duchess, my focus quickly narrowed from her height and overall appearance to just her lovely face. I cannot get past that part of her no matter the circumstance of my brain. Her face and that expression from heaven went straight into my waiting heart and inflamed it in the process. Just her face. So, because of my past appreciation for the face on this page, I thought it appropriate to place someone here that I have not only overlooked for years, but a person who exudes many facets of beauty through nothing more than the structure of her face. She reminds me of the one in Dublin that I met for lunch, and though they do not look similar, the eyes and lower part of her jawline absolutely match. Jennifer has been stunning since her teen years and only became moreso throughout time. Now? Holy crap, amazing. And since she is here, I must go into the issue of desire. I have NEVER felt that for her. I simply needed to look. She is not terribly tall, lanky, or any of that, but her features add up to an image that has moved me like few others. That nose, those big, dark eyes, and the flowing hair that followed nearly every role she played have had me enamored for more than two decades. I have not spoken of her due to the fact that she received much attention from the media and fan base because of her breasts. They are there, that is all, but if you understand that our fucked up society spends far too much time focusing upon size, you will understand that for a woman of her frame, the breasts quickly became prominent in people's eyes. That effectively reduces her to an object that is there simply for contrast. Breasts. Big fucking deal. She is a person, and as I understand the type of person from what I have read throughout the years from sources that pride themselves on accuracy, she is a very genuine and gentle soul. The outward beauty shines whether or not her breasts are in the image. Look at her face and the sculptured nature of it and you will see what I mean... Soft, caring eyes, an image exuding her nature as a person, and her very self showing through. Or don't look. I don't care either way, but for myself, I have always looked upon her beauty as a reference point. Her insides shining through. A sharp reference and a person from which many could learn of the word 'real'. I appreciate her in many ways, the least of which being her beauty. There you go.

Famke Janssen is five-foot-eleven-and-a-half inches tall. Oy. I knew she was up there, but Jesus.

So, in the house now. The duchess is out there somewhere, wrapped around my heart, dominating my fucking brain, and unknowingly ruling many of my actions. I wish she did know. Damn it, anyway. I went back and stared at her for the umpteenth time and lost my shit again. Damn, damn. I can't help it, I have to see sometimes and every glance ends with my heart torched to the limit. Just a tiny bit of hair moved to her right and I would see one eye. As I sit on this fucking sofa, I would pack up and burn everything I have for a half-second glimpse of the same. I really would. Ok, I need to knock that shit off right now. I'll go crazy.

Too late. I need to extricate my own fucking obsession. Heh.

The work out there today was nice. A little reconfiguring of stuff in the drawers, a few breaks, and all the while audio from the show streaming from my speakers. I wanted to take care of the little nags that get left by the wayside, plus the garbage goes out tomorrow night and I streamlined everything to make my Sunday a little more relaxing. Throughout everything I did while outside, two issues played tag inside me for what felt an eternity before I could clearly see it all. One has already been gleaned, and the other is enormous. She keeps floating into my head and carrying the previous Jaime with her. The robot. The dreamy machine. Yep. The idea is still there even after my recent discovery of the woman. Many things faded, but the relationship between my dreams of the machines and finding those images of a woman that will never cross my path again are melding together to form another machine. Unrealistic? Of course! Which part of anything published here in the last two weeks is realistic? None. Nothing. I am regressing. The machine dreaminess has me over a fucking barrel now. There is no technology for such, she is not clearly imaged, the other Jaime has no physical description, so the entire works is just a big, fat, imaginary pile of shit that I am allowing to be in charge of my every thought. Big problem now. Big problem. She is out there, and that may be affecting my mind as I think of her. Unlike the machines, she is real. Nowhere near me or my demented fucking off-kilter sense of reality, but out there. Real. An actual living, breathing flesh and blood woman who just happens to be controlling me from afar with nary an effort. Yep. I am so twisted, deluded, and fucking insanely out of balance that nothing else I can place here is going to have any influence on anything. I've already stated that I love her, and once that admission found the keyboard, everything else began to seem pretty normal. Yep, even dreaming of robots that look like supermodels. God damn fucking hell, I wish I could laugh at that shit right now. I need it like I need to see her face.

Emily fucking Wickersham. Hmm... Very interesting at this point in life. I do not know what to think, but she has been there making me realize that what I have been doing is very wrong. Many things, wrong or otherwise out of order, kind of like my brain these days. Emily did nothing, of course, and what I see and feel due to her is all in my head. Her appearance for a few minutes simply catalyzed a few words and let them flow, and then everything pushed me to open my eyes a tad further until the larger image became pulled into focus. I will have to make a few changes today. I do not know why seeing her up there on the screen engaged in conversation with Robert Iler did that to me. I'll have to make changes as a result, so they will begin as soon as I get off my ass and work on Sunday business. And now? Back to the subjects at hand... Her, and me.

I am so different than prior to the shelter order. Life has been simplified somehow, as if remaining here at home all this time kept me away from others for a reason. I sleep better (most of the time, dreams notwithstanding -- they were happening anyway), I cocoon myself in here and spend more of my life considering larger issues, and my willingness to go back to the way things were has been eliminated. Extricated. Whatever. The fact is these changes may have taken place regardless of the pandemic. I likely would have arrived at this point in time. Emily again. God, she was so fucking cute in that role. No, I don't think of her that way at all. Just appreciation, like the others. The duchess has extricated desire from my being. Believe it, and believe that the power she holds over me is growing, expanding to include other aspects of life. Different now. Some good, some not so good, but still I know that whatever comes along during this crazy period I can deal with it. Yes, I have pulled away from much, and as something I have threatened to do for years, the feeling now is not that of isolation, but freedom. Nothing pulls at me. No one. Well, one soul does at every step, but you know who that is.

As always, here I am in the morning with coffee and quiet television (mobsters) above the fireplace. Soon I will head outside and work on the day's important aspects and then settle myself into the garage, my new office. There are so many words and feelings swirling within me since the realization that I have latched myself to a woman yet again that I need to spend time concentrating upon the reasoning behind my weakness. Again. Four-plus years ago I allowed myself to enter another soul and in the end it was a mistake. We held tight to our foggy, spinning, dysfunctional lives and each other. As I have stated before, a few more months of that and both would have been destroyed. We were bad for each other, reckless, intelligent enough to leverage the world toward our needs, and fiercely devoted to exacting our schedule of enjoyment while leaving everyone else wondering. Now, something similar is virtually impossible. That hurts, but may be good for me. I don't know for sure yet. The fact remains, however, that study cannot do any harm. Working on my issues is what this space has become. Sometimes a solution, other times a knife, but always helpful. I am hideously out of sorts over this woman, leaning heavily to one side, and trying to maintain a facade before others while turning inward in the most dire way. Hence the isolation. The facade is weighty. I have to let it down often or it will overload me. The duchess has me wide open.


I keep seeing these commercials for automobiles with their gorgeous scenery and feel that I would give my right arm to go on a road trip right now. I'm certain others feel the same after being so stuck for months.

Beginning with 'Expectation' (written mere days ago), the direction here has been far from the past. All those entries that went around the beauty world over and over, or in hopes of describing a form or enigma that had been seen by me out in the places I frequent... No more. Oh, of course there will be the occasional blurb like the recent sight on my drive north, but nothing like the past. Those rare examples of the inside of my head will still be out there, wherever. Here? Something much larger and more compelling is taking place and will not let up. I am strained right now. Still ok, just pulled. There was one direction which derived from the dreams, robots, control, desire, whatever. The other is likely apparent now in spades. Her. That one. THE one that has slammed me unlike any other for a very long time. I will admit that the not knowing has the ability to break my spirit in half, yet there is a compulsion related to that woman which I have found fascinating, and that is mystery. I know nothing, so my imagination must work overtime. I keep recalling that afternoon in the courtyard and the fact that I was with others but still pointed my huge camera at her out of a need which forced my hand. I didn't care who may have seen me taking aim at her, I had to do it. Compelled, obsessed, overwhelmed by the sight. The dire nature of that situation feels more apparent now, I believe. Now or never, shoot before she disappears forever. So I did. [As an aside, you may find something funny about the last several days. After locating and subsequently gushing over this woman, I took the raw image file data and used it as a basis for an extensive search for other images I may have shot that day. I still can't remember where we were, and there do not seem to be any other shots anywhere in my vast array of storage devices. I searched like a crazy person and will continue to do so until such time as I feel the options are exhausted. Heh. Crazy person. Me.] I aimed and snapped (and that mirror-flip and shutter release is fucking loud) and then acted as if nothing was out of order on that sunny day. I saw her, HAD to keep her, and did what I needed in order to feel the satisfaction of seeing the highest order of beauty whenever I wished. Right? Wrong? We've gone over that already and I do not give half a shit at this point. Other fish to fry. Big fish. There was Sara in a deep-blue top with shining hair. Oy. She looks different now. And wow does this blonde reporter have a fucking schnoz. I have been sitting here agonizing over the duchess and the words for nearly three hours. Time to get the fuck up and complete a few tasks.

Some business out of the way and I am back in my new little world. The duchess has been following me at each step. I have to live as if she is watching, always. I cannot have her thinking negatively about me, and I realize how that must sound. It is the way I operate now, though. She has too much influence upon me to do things any other way. Deanna is about to degrade into a domineering, jealous, lewd, aging wench. Ha! I love this episode, even when it is audio only. I'm nuts. Anyway, the day moves along -- the holiday is tomorrow -- and I move along with it. Most of my work is complete so I have plenty of free time now for exploration of my new insane mindset and the woman in charge of everything. The goddess of the universe. Yep. This is who I am now.

Recalling Maggie and the overwhelming desire to swallow her entire, gorgeous body makes me consider the idea that despite Jaime being beautiful beyond belief and me lacking any physical feelings affects me differently. Of course, most of the time when I have seen or described a woman, I feel none of that. What becomes immediately apparent is torment, confusion over what I am seeing, and a strong need to hide away and try to put the words about her which form in my head in order. The most prominent example in recent memory was the girl at the restaurant over a year ago. I wrote 'The Server and the Separation' in an attempt to place her beauty in descriptive terms but I fell short. Along with words, there was a bit of desire while first noticing her at the end of the bar. She reminded me of the Raven in many ways. That woman was so much -- too much to place here with any decent image -- and very quickly I wanted to devour Her. I really did. The draw upon my senses was just incredible. Not only was I viewing Her right before my eyes, but we spent time together in the office almost daily. That drove me insane every fucking time. The Raven was right there, rather than the others who added up to nothing more than fleeting glances out in the world. We were close. Very fucking close, and very quickly. Weeks passed and my desire was like an out-of-control gas explosion within. The server at the restaurant likely could have surged into similar territory given enough time, but that did not happen. I rarely saw her. I believe on two other occasions was she there near the bar. As time passed, the server began to look different to me. I cannot explain it fully, only that the desire quickly faded. Still beautiful, mysterious, and ungodly-shaped, yet there was less inside me. Jaime brings forth a very different dream. One full of love, understanding and appreciation above all other things. That includes anything physical. Unbelievable. I hope I am making some sense here. My head no longer functions as it used to. Not at all.

And now that last statement brings to light an extension of the current situation and my being home for more than two months. Prior to gushing about this woman, I went to great lengths in describing the importance of day to day life now. The new routine, I suppose. From the morning coffee until I drop my confused head to the pillow, each step is for a reason. Not simply focus upon things that need to be done around the house, but something more, as if I have forced myself to maintain clarity of schedule and purpose out of a need to survive. The crisis continues to affect many people around the world and I am no different. The changes performed since March have taken place for my well-being. I have not had a problem remaining at home nearly all of the time. Honestly, I have not. Embracing the possibilities and moving forward after learning that I can keep myself well by extricating anything which feels threatening has become a lifestyle. Said lifestyle is helping to keep my head up, the importance of which becomes my very life. Breathing, the simplicity of a meal, and everything in between now adds up to survival and comfort. I will not adjust any aspect of this for anyone nor any reason. Jaime would understand. Yep... Even when addressing something which seemingly has nothing to do with her, I realize that she is a part of everything. Crazy person, but one who is still upright for the most part. I intend to continue this cocoon until such time as I feel that the world will not try to push back. If that never happens, here I remain. The goddess of the universe will be right here with me.

I am undone, and this is merely the beginning.

She is out there."